<div class="wrapper"> <main> <article> <h1>Content</h1> <p>“But it’s something more than a meteorite. It’s a cylinder — an artificial cylinder, man! And there’s something inside.”</p><p>Henderson stood up with his spade in his hand.</p> <p>“What’s that?” he said. He was deaf in one ear.</p> <p>Ogilvy told him all that he had seen. Henderson was a minute or so taking it in. Then he dropped his spade, snatched up his jacket, and came out into the road. The two men hurried back at once to the common, and found the cylinder still lying in the same position. But now the sounds inside had ceased, and a thin circle of bright metal showed between the top and the body of the cylinder. Air was either entering or escaping at the rim with a thin, sizzling sound.</p> <p>— H. G. Wells, <cite>The War of the Worlds</cite></p> </article> <aside> <h1>Sidebar</h1> <p>They listened, rapped on the scaly burnt metal with a stick, and, meeting with no response, they both concluded the man or men inside must be insensible or dead.</p> <p>Of course the two were quite unable to do anything. They shouted consolation and promises, and went off back to the town again to get help. One can imagine them, covered with sand, excited and disordered, running up the little street in the bright sunlight just as the shop folks were taking down their shutters and people were opening their bedroom windows. Henderson went into the railway station at once, in order to telegraph the news to London. The newspaper articles had prepared men’s minds for the reception of the idea.</p> <p>I found a little crowd of perhaps twenty people surrounding the huge hole in which the cylinder lay. I have already described the appearance of that colossal bulk, embedded in the ground. The turf and gravel about it seemed charred as if by a sudden explosion. No doubt its impact had caused a flash of fire. Henderson and Ogilvy were not there. I think they perceived that nothing was to be done for the present, and had gone away to breakfast at Henderson’s house.</p> <p>There were four or five boys sitting on the edge of the Pit, with their feet dangling, and amusing themselves — until I stopped them — by throwing stones at the giant mass. After I had spoken to them about it, they began playing at “touch” in and out of the group of bystanders.</p> <p>— H. G. Wells, <cite>The War of the Worlds</cite></p> </aside> </main> </div>

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