By: Valery Bryusov

The sense of property vanished.

By: Valery Bryusov

Some simulated madness in order to escape punishment.

By: Valery Bryusov

They fled in fright to the outskirts of the town.

By: Valery Bryusov

Everyone fled who could.

By: Valery Bryusov

Life was standardised even to the most minute details.

By: Valery Bryusov

The number of working hours in the day were small in the extreme.

By: H.G. Wells

“Smart degenerates,” he muttered. “Anæmic cockneydom.”

By: H.G. Wells

They despised their bawling patriotisms…

By: H.G. Wells

The rifleman stood up in his pitch-dark chamber…

By: H.G. Wells

For a moment it seemed splendid and then it seemed horrible.

By: H.G. Wells

“Lord! What things can happen in two hours.”

By: H.G. Wells

“Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!” — drowned everything.

By: A. Merritt

“Kiss the bride, Doc!” cried the O’Keefe.

By: H.G. Wells

“They aren’t firing much, but every shot’s a hit.”

By: A. Merritt

Abruptly the tortured crystal chimings ceased.