"What does it mean?" he said.  "What do these things mean?"

I stared at him and made no answer.

He extended a thin white hand and spoke in almost a complaining
tone.

"Why are these things permitted?  What sins have we done?  The
morning service was over, I was walking through the roads to clear my
brain for the afternoon, and then--fire, earthquake, death!  As if it
were Sodom and Gomorrah!  All our work undone, all the work---- What
are these Martians?"