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Wells, H. G. (Herbert George), 1866-1946

"The First Men in the Moon"

I returned to my scenario. But
when next evening the apparition was repeated with remarkable precision,
and again the next evening, and indeed every evening when rain was not
falling, concentration upon the scenario became a considerable effort.
"Confound the man," I said, "one would think he was learning to be a
marionette!" and for several evenings I cursed him pretty heartily. Then
my annoyance gave way to amazement and curiosity. Why on earth should a
man do this thing? On the fourteenth evening I could stand it no longer,
and so soon as he appeared I opened the french window, crossed the
verandah, and directed myself to the point where he invariably stopped.
He had his watch out as I came up to him. He had a chubby, rubicund face
with reddish brown eyes--previously I had seen him only against the
light. "One moment, sir," said I as he turned. He stared. "One moment,"
he said, "certainly. Or if you wish to speak to me for longer, and it is
not asking too much--your moment is up--would it trouble you to
accompany me?"
"Not in the least," said I, placing myself beside him.
"My habits are regular. My time for intercourse--limited."
"This, I presume, is your time for exercise?"
"It is. I come here to enjoy the sunset."
"You don't."
"Sir?"
"You never look at it."
"Never look at it?"
"No. I've watched you thirteen nights, and not once have you looked at the
sunset--not once."
He knitted his brows like one who encounters a problem.


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