1 My brother could get very little precise detail out of them.
2 My younger brother was in London when the Martians fell at Woking.
3 My brother turned down towards Victoria, and met a number of such people.
4 A man in a blue and white blazer addressed my brother, full of strange tidings.
5 One grey-headed old gentleman came and abused the South-Western Company bitterly to my brother.
6 In London, also, on Saturday night there was a thunderstorm, and my brother reached Waterloo in a cab.
7 One of the men there, a reservist he said he was, told my brother he had seen the heliograph flickering in the west.
8 Going on along the Strand to Trafalgar Square, the paper in his hand, my brother saw some of the fugitives from West Surrey.
9 They seemed to increase as night drew on, until at last the roads, my brother said, were like Epsom High Street on a Derby Day.
10 My brother went to church at the Foundling Hospital in the morning, still in ignorance of what had happened on the previous night.
11 My brother felt no anxiety about us, as he knew from the description in the papers that the cylinder was a good two miles from my house.
12 It was curious, my brother said, to see how ruthlessly the usual contents of the paper had been hacked and taken out to give this place.
13 A nocturnal newspaper reporter, mistaking my brother for the traffic manager, to whom he bears a slight resemblance, waylaid and tried to interview him.
14 In Wellington Street my brother met a couple of sturdy roughs who had just been rushed out of Fleet Street with still-wet newspapers and staring placards.
15 A little while after that a squad of police came into the station and began to clear the public off the platforms, and my brother went out into the street again.
16 Of course all the students in the crammer's biology class, to which my brother went that day, were intensely interested, but there were no signs of any unusual excitement in the streets.
17 The shutters of a map shop in the Strand were being taken down, my brother said, and a man in his Sunday raiment, lemon-yellow gloves even, was visible inside the window hastily fastening maps of Surrey to the glass.
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