XIV The Further Vision chapter 14 paragraph 10 among 12 paragraphs
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“Suddenly I noticed that the circular westward outline of the sun
had changed; that a concavity, a bay, had appeared in the curve. I saw this
grow larger. For a minute perhaps I stared aghast at this blackness that
was creeping over the day, and then I realised that an eclipse was
beginning. Either the moon or the planet Mercury was passing across the
sun’s disk. Naturally, at first I took it to be the moon, but there
is much to incline me to believe that what I really saw was the transit of
an inner planet passing very near to the earth.
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“The darkness grew apace; a cold wind began to blow in freshening
gusts from the east, and the showering white flakes in the air increased in
number. From the edge of the sea came a ripple and whisper. Beyond these
lifeless sounds the world was silent. Silent? It would be hard to convey
the stillness of it. All the sounds of man, the bleating of sheep, the
cries of birds, the hum of insects, the stir that makes the background of
our lives—all that was over. As the darkness thickened, the eddying
flakes grew more abundant, dancing before my eyes; and the cold of the air
more intense. At last, one by one, swiftly, one after the other, the white
peaks of the distant hills vanished into blackness. The breeze rose to a
moaning wind. I saw the black central shadow of the eclipse sweeping
towards me. In another moment the pale stars alone were visible. All else
was rayless obscurity. The sky was absolutely black.
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“A horror of this great darkness came on me. The cold, that smote
to my marrow, and the pain I felt in breathing, overcame me. I shivered,
and a deadly nausea seized me. Then like a red-hot bow in the sky appeared
the edge of the sun. I got off the machine to recover myself. I felt giddy
and incapable of facing the return journey. As I stood sick and confused I
saw again the moving thing upon the shoal—there was no mistake now
that it was a moving thing—against the red water of the sea. It was a
round thing, the size of a football perhaps, or, it may be, bigger, and
tentacles trailed down from it; it seemed black against the weltering
blood-red water, and it was hopping fitfully about. Then I felt I was
fainting. But a terrible dread of lying helpless in that remote and awful
twilight sustained me while I clambered upon the saddle.
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XV The Time Traveller’s Return
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“So I came back. For a long time I must have been insensible upon
the machine. The blinking succession of the days and nights was resumed,
the sun got golden again, the sky blue. I breathed with greater freedom.
The fluctuating contours of the land ebbed and flowed. The hands spun
backward upon the dials. At last I saw again the dim shadows of houses, the
evidences of decadent humanity. These, too, changed and passed, and others
came. Presently, when the million dial was at zero, I slackened speed. I
began to recognise our own pretty and familiar architecture, the thousands
hand ran back to the starting-point, the night and day flapped slower and
slower. Then the old walls of the laboratory came round me. Very gently,
now, I slowed the mechanism down.
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“I saw one little thing that seemed odd to me. I think I have told
you that when I set out, before my velocity became very high, Mrs. Watchett
had walked across the room, travelling, as it seemed to me, like a rocket.
As I returned, I passed again across that minute when she traversed the
laboratory. But now her every motion appeared to be the exact inversion of
her previous ones. The door at the lower end opened, and she glided quietly
up the laboratory, back foremost, and disappeared behind the door by which
she had previously entered. Just before that I seemed to see Hillyer for a
moment; but he passed like a flash.
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“Then I stopped the machine, and saw about me again the old
familiar laboratory, my tools, my appliances just as I had left them. I got
off the thing very shakily, and sat down upon my bench. For several minutes
I trembled violently. Then I became calmer. Around me was my old workshop
again, exactly as it had been. I might have slept there, and the whole
thing have been a dream.
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“And yet, not exactly! The thing had started from the south-east
corner of the laboratory. It had come to rest again in the north-west,
against the wall where you saw it. That gives you the exact distance from
my little lawn to the pedestal of the White Sphinx, into which the Morlocks
had carried my machine.
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“For a time my brain went stagnant. Presently I got up and came
through the passage here, limping, because my heel was still painful, and
feeling sorely begrimed. I saw the Pall Mall Gazette on the table by
the door. I found the date was indeed today, and looking at the timepiece,
saw the hour was almost eight o’clock. I heard your voices and the
clatter of plates. I hesitated—I felt so sick and weak. Then I
sniffed good wholesome meat, and opened the door on you. You know the rest.
I washed, and dined, and now I am telling you the story.
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XVI After the Story
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“I know,” he said, after a pause, “that all this will be
absolutely incredible to you, but to me the one incredible thing is that I
am here tonight in this old familiar room looking into your friendly faces
and telling you these strange adventures.” He looked at the Medical
Man. “No. I cannot expect you to believe it. Take it as a
lie—or a prophecy. Say I dreamed it in the workshop. Consider I have
been speculating upon the destinies of our race, until I have hatched this
fiction. Treat my assertion of its truth as a mere stroke of art to enhance
its interest. And taking it as a story, what do you think of it?”
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He took up his pipe, and began, in his old accustomed manner, to tap
with it nervously upon the bars of the grate. There was a momentary
stillness. Then chairs began to creak and shoes to scrape upon the carpet.
I took my eyes off the Time Traveller’s face, and looked round at his
audience. They were in the dark, and little spots of colour swam before
them. The Medical Man seemed absorbed in the contemplation of our host. The
Editor was looking hard at the end of his cigar—the sixth. The
Journalist fumbled for his watch. The others, as far as I remember, were
motionless.
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The Editor stood up with a sigh. “What a pity it is you’re
not a writer of stories!” he said, putting his hand on the Time
Traveller’s shoulder.
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The Time Traveller turned to us. “Where are the matches?” he
said. He lit one and spoke over his pipe, puffing. “To tell you the
truth... I hardly believe it myself..... And yet...”
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His eye fell with a mute inquiry upon the withered white flowers upon
the little table. Then he turned over the hand holding his pipe, and I saw
he was looking at some half-healed scars on his knuckles.
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The Medical Man rose, came to the lamp, and examined the flowers.
“The gynæceum’s odd,” he said. The Psychologist leant
forward to see, holding out his hand for a specimen.
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