A shell in the pit," said I, "if the worse comes to worst will kill them all." The intense excitement of the events had no doubt left my perceptive powers in a state of artist. I remember that dinner table with extraordinary vividness even now. My dear wife's sweet anxious face peering at me from under the pink lampshade, the white cloth with it silver and glass table furniture—for in those days even philosophical writers had luxuries—the crimson-purple wine in my glass, are photographically distinct. At the end of it I sat, tempering nuts with a cigarette, regretting Ogilvy's rashness, and denouncing the shortsighted timidity of the Martians. So some respectable dodo in the Mauritius might have lorded it in his nest, and discussed the arrival of that sinful of pitiless sailors in want of animal food. "We will peck them to death tomorrow, my dear.

The War of the Worlds