The hot water from the Martian's overthrow drifted downstream with
me, so that for the best part of a mile I could see little of either
bank.  Once, however, I made out a string of black figures hurrying
across the meadows from the direction of Weybridge.  Halliford, it
seemed, was deserted, and several of the houses facing the river were
on fire.  It was strange to see the place quite tranquil, quite
desolate under the hot blue sky, with the smoke and little threads of
flame going straight up into the heat of the afternoon.  Never before
had I seen houses burning without the accompaniment of an obstructive
crowd.  A little farther on the dry reeds up the bank were smoking and
glowing, and a line of fire inland was marching steadily across a late
field of hay.