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.  Terror seized me, a horror
of my temerity.  In front of me the road became pitchy black as though
it was tarred, and I saw a contorted shape lying across the pathway.  I
could not bring myself to go on.  I turned down St. John's Wood Road,
and ran headlong from this unendurable stillness towards Kilburn.  I
hid from the night and the silence, until long after midnight, in a
cabmen's shelter in Harrow Road.  But before the dawn my courage
returned, and while the stars were still in the sky I turned once more
towards Regent's Park.  I missed my way among the streets, and
presently saw down a long avenue, in the half-light of the early dawn,
the curve of Primrose Hill.  On the summit, towering up to the fading
stars, was a third Martian, erect and motionless like the others.