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- Герберт Уеллс
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"
Good
heavens
!
"
said
Mr.
Bunting
,
hesitating
between
two
horrible
alternatives
.
He
heard
a
frightful
struggle
in
the
passage
of
the
inn
,
and
his
decision
was
made
.
He
clambered
out
of
the
window
,
adjusted
his
costume
hastily
,
and
fled
up
the
village
as
fast
as
his
fat
little
legs
would
carry
him
.
From
the
moment
when
the
Invisible
Man
screamed
with
rage
and
Mr.
Bunting
made
his
memorable
flight
up
the
village
,
it
became
impossible
to
give
a
consecutive
account
of
affairs
in
Iping
.
Possibly
the
Invisible
Man
's
original
intention
was
simply
to
cover
Marvel
's
retreat
with
the
clothes
and
books
.
But
his
temper
,
at
no
time
very
good
,
seems
to
have
gone
completely
at
some
chance
blow
,
and
forthwith
he
set
to
smiting
and
overthrowing
,
for
the
mere
satisfaction
of
hurting
.
You
must
figure
the
street
full
of
running
figures
,
of
doors
slamming
and
fights
for
hiding-places
.
You
must
figure
the
tumult
suddenly
striking
on
the
unstable
equilibrium
of
old
Fletcher
's
planks
and
two
chairs
--
with
cataclysmic
results
.
You
must
figure
an
appalled
couple
caught
dismally
in
a
swing
.
And
then
the
whole
tumultuous
rush
has
passed
and
the
Iping
street
with
its
gauds
and
flags
is
deserted
save
for
the
still
raging
unseen
,
and
littered
with
cocoanuts
,
overthrown
canvas
screens
,
and
the
scattered
stock
in
trade
of
a
sweetstuff
stall
.
Everywhere
there
is
a
sound
of
closing
shutters
and
shoving
bolts
,
and
the
only
visible
humanity
is
an
occasional
flitting
eye
under
a
raised
eyebrow
in
the
corner
of
a
window
pane
.
The
Invisible
Man
amused
himself
for
a
little
while
by
breaking
all
the
windows
in
the
"
Coach
and
Horses
,
"
and
then
he
thrust
a
street
lamp
through
the
parlour
window
of
Mrs.
Gribble
.
He
it
must
have
been
who
cut
the
telegraph
wire
to
Adderdean
just
beyond
Higgins
'
cottage
on
the
Adderdean
road
.
And
after
that
,
as
his
peculiar
qualities
allowed
,
he
passed
out
of
human
perceptions
altogether
,
and
he
was
neither
heard
,
seen
,
nor
felt
in
Iping
any
more
.
He
vanished
absolutely
.
But
it
was
the
best
part
of
two
hours
before
any
human
being
ventured
out
again
into
the
desolation
of
Iping
street
.
When
the
dusk
was
gathering
and
Iping
was
just
beginning
to
peep
timorously
forth
again
upon
the
shattered
wreckage
of
its
Bank
Holiday
,
a
short
,
thick-set
man
in
a
shabby
silk
hat
was
marching
painfully
through
the
twilight
behind
the
beechwoods
on
the
road
to
Bramblehurst
.
He
carried
three
books
bound
together
by
some
sort
of
ornamental
elastic
ligature
,
and
a
bundle
wrapped
in
a
blue
table-cloth
.
His
rubicund
face
expressed
consternation
and
fatigue
;
he
appeared
to
be
in
a
spasmodic
sort
of
hurry
.
He
was
accompanied
by
a
voice
other
than
his
own
,
and
ever
and
again
he
winced
under
the
touch
of
unseen
hands
.
"
If
you
give
me
the
slip
again
,
"
said
the
Voice
,
"
if
you
attempt
to
give
me
the
slip
again
--
"
"
Lord
!
"
said
Mr.
Marvel
.
"
That
shoulder
's
a
mass
of
bruises
as
it
is
.
"
"
On
my
honour
,
"
said
the
Voice
,
"
I
will
kill
you
.
"
