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“It’s time to go back,”
“Your books,” she said. “Your fine clothes. “Your Illes and your fine ior uele rre,”
"They didn't know any better,"
“Such ugly people. I’m glad they’ve gone.”
“Yes, but we’re not going,”
“There’s nothing there any more.”
In the quiet autumn Mr. Bittering stood, very dark now, very golden-eyed, upon the slope above his villa, looking at the valley.
“Such odd, such ridiculous houses the Earth people built.”
“The town’s empty. No one’s going back,”
Five years later a rocket fell out of the sky. It lay steaming in the valley.
“The town’s empty, but we found native life in the hills, sir. Dark people. Yellow eyes. Martians. Very friendly. We talked a bit,
“Dark, eh?”
“We won the war on Earth! We’re here to rescue you! Hey!”
The rocket men searched the hills.
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