"Herbert George Wells. When the Sleeper Wakes" - читать интересную книгу автора

For awhile both were motionless, then Graham's companion stood up, and
reaching towards the fastenings of the cable fumbled with some indistinct
tackle.

"What is that? " asked Graham.

The only answer was a faint cry. The man crouched motionless. Graham peered
and saw his face dimly. He was staring down the long ribbon of sky, and
Graham, following his eyes, saw the flying machine small and faint and
remote. Then he saw that the wings spread on either side, that it headed
towards them, that every moment it grew larger. It was following the edge
of the chasm towards them.

The man's movements became convulsive. He thrust two cross bars into
Graham's hand. Graham could not see them, he ascertained their form by
feeling. They were slung by thin cords to the cable. On the cord were hand
grips of some soft elastic substance. "Put the cross between your legs,"
whispered the guide hysterically, "and grip the holdfasts. Grip tightly,
grip!"

Graham did as he was told.

"Jump," said the voice. "In heaven's name, jump!"

For one momentous second Graham could not speak. He was glad afterwards
that darkness hid his face. He said nothing. He began to tremble violently.
He looked sideways at the swift shadow that swallowed up the sky as it
rushed upon him.

"Jump! Jump-in God's name! Or they will have us," cried Graham's guide, and
in the violence of his passion thrust him forward.

Graham tottered convulsively, gave a sobbing cry, a cry in spite of
himself, and then, as the flying machine swept over them, fell forward into
the pit of that darkness, seated on the cross wood and holding the ropes
with the clutch of death. Something cracked, something rapped smartly
against a wall. He heard the pulley of the cradle hum on its rope. He heard
the aeronauts shout. He felt a pair of knees digging into his back.... He
was sweeping headlong through the air, falling through the air. All his
strength was in his hands. He would have screamed but he had no breath.

He shot into a blinding light that made him grip the tighter. He recognised
the great passage with the running ways, the hanging lights and interlacing
girders. They rushed upward and by him. He had a momentary impression of a
great circular aperture yawning to swallow him up.

He was in the dark again, falling, falling, gripping with aching hands, and
behold! a clap of sound, a burst of light, and he was in a brightly lit
hall with a roaring multitude of people beneath his feet. The people! His
people! A proscenium, a stage rushed up towards him, and his cable swept