But when at last, after quite thirty or forty minutes
she spoke, her voice was perfectly firm and calm. She said:
'Are you there?'
'Yes,' said I, 'yes, Leda.'
'What was the color,' says she, 'of the poison-cloud which destroyed the
world?'
'Purple, Leda,' said I.
'And it had a smell like almonds or peach blossoms, did it not?' says
she.
'Yes,' said I, 'yes.'
'Then,' says she, 'there is _another_ eruption. Every now and again I
seem to scent strange whiffs like that ... and there is a purple vapour
in the East which glows and glows ... just see if you can see it....'
I flew across the room to an east window, threw up the grimy sash, and
looked. But the view was barred by the plain brick back of a tall
warehouse. I rushed back, gasped to her to wait, rushed down the two
stairs, and out upon the Hard. For a minute I ran dodging wildly about,
seeking a purview to the East, and finally ran up the dockyard, behind
the storehouses to the Semaphore, and reached the top, panting for life.
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