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At that instant, just as I took a step backwards from the
telephone, the thing was on us. It was as if we were bathers, up
to our shoulders in water, who suddenly are submerged by a
rolling wave. An invisible hand seemed to have quietly closed
round my throat and to be gently pressing the life from me. I
was conscious of immense oppression upon my chest, great
tightness within my head, a loud singing in my ears, and bright
flashes before my eyes. I staggered to the balustrades of the
stair. At the same moment, rushing and snorting like a wounded
buffalo, Challenger dashed past me, a terrible vision, with
red-purple face, engorged eyes, and bristling hair. His little
wife, insensible to all appearance, was slung over his great
shoulder, and he blundered and thundered up the stair,
scrambling and tripping, but carrying himself and her through
sheer will-force through that mephitic atmosphere to the haven
of temporary safety. At the sight of his effort I too rushed up
the steps, clambering, falling, clutching at the rail, until I
tumbled half senseless upon by face on the upper landing. Lord
John's fingers of steel were in the collar of my coat, and a
moment later I was stretched upon my back, unable to speak or
move, on the boudoir carpet. The woman lay beside me, and
Summerlee was bunched in a chair by the window, his head nearly
touching his knees. As in a dream I saw Challenger, like a
monstrous beetle, crawling slowly across the floor, and a moment
later I heard the gentle hissing of the escaping oxygen.
Challenger breathed two or three times with enormous gulps, his
lungs roaring as he drew in the vital gas.
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