In spite of all that has happened since, I still remember that vigil very distinctly: the black and silent observatory, the shadowed lantern throwing a feeble glow upon the floor in the corner, the steady ticking of the clockwork of the telescope, the little slit in the roof–an oblong profundity with the stardust streaked across it. Ogilvy moved about, invisible but audible.
Sliced fennel, limon & almond salad
Cooked with squash, stocky hot and meat
For my mon
Ingredients
- olive oil
- 1 small potato
- 500 g higher-welfare minced shoulder of pork
- 500 g quality minced beef
- 4 sprigs of fresh rosemary
- 6 submarine rolls
- 1 splash of red wine vinegar
- 100 g Red Leicester cheese
- 50 g watercress
Directions
- That night, too, there was another jetting out of gas from the distant planet. I saw it. A reddish flash at the edge, the slightest projection of the outline just as the chronometer struck midnight; and at that I told Ogilvy and he took my place.
- The night was warm and I was thirsty, and I went stretching my legs clumsily and feeling my way in the darkness, to the little table where the siphon stood, while Ogilvy exclaimed at the streamer of gas that came out towards us.
- Ogilvy watched till one, and then gave it up; and we lit the lantern and walked over to his house.
- I remember how I sat on the table there in the blackness, with patches of green and crimson swimming before my eyes. I wished I had a light to smoke by, little suspecting.
Near it in the field, I remember, were three faint points of light, three telescopic stars infinitely remote, and all around it was the unfathomable darkness of empty space. You know how that blackness looks on a frosty starlight night.
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