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Post by Silent Scream Queen on Mar 2, 2022 8:41:21 GMT -5
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Post by Silent Scream Queen on Mar 9, 2022 8:39:32 GMT -5
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Post by Silent Scream Queen on Mar 15, 2022 13:16:14 GMT -5
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Post by Silent Scream Queen on Mar 15, 2022 13:24:52 GMT -5
For a time, however, the red weed grew with astonishing vigour and luxuriance. It spread up the sides of the pit by the third or fourth day of our imprisonment, and its cactus-like branches formed a carmine fringe to the edges of our triangular window. And afterwards I found it broadcast throughout the country, and especially wherever there was a stream of water.
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Post by Silent Scream Queen on Mar 22, 2022 10:30:01 GMT -5
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Post by Silent Scream Queen on Mar 30, 2022 3:11:27 GMT -5
The Birds Out of the hood hung lank shreds of brown, at which the hungry birds pecked and tore. I turned and looked down the slope of the hill to where, enhaloed now in birds, stood those other two Martians that I had seen overnight, just as death had overtaken them. The one had died, even as it had been crying to its companions; perhaps it was the last to die, and its voice had gone on perpetually until the force of its machinery was exhausted. They glittered now, harmless tripod towers of shining metal, in the brightness of the rising sun.
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Post by Silent Scream Queen on Mar 30, 2022 3:27:03 GMT -5
London about me gazed at me spectrally. The windows in the white houses were like the eye sockets of skulls. About me my imagination found a thousand noiseless enemies moving.
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Post by Silent Scream Queen on Mar 31, 2022 9:51:18 GMT -5
Here are the last three. Our adventure reaches its end. The torment was over. Even that day the healing would begin. The survivors of the people scattered over the country—leaderless, lawless, foodless, like sheep without a shepherd—the thousands who had fled by sea, would begin to return; the pulse of life, growing stronger and stronger, would beat again in the empty streets and pour across the vacant squares. Whatever destruction was done, the hand of the destroyer was stayed. All the gaunt wrecks, the blackened skeletons of houses that stared so dismally at the sunlit grass of the hill, would presently be echoing with the hammers of the restorers and ringing with the tapping of their trowels. At the thought I extended my hands towards the sky and began thanking God. In a year, thought I—in a year. . . .
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