Остров доктора Моро
How the Beast Folk Taste Blood.
Astrangepersuasioncameuponme,that,saveforthegrossnessoftheline,thegrotesquenessoftheforms,Ihadherebeforemethewholebalanceofhumanlifeinminiature,thewholeinterplayofinstinct,reason,andfateinitssimplestform.TheLeopard-manhadhappenedtogounder:thatwasallthedifference.Poorbrute!
Poorbrutes!IbegantoseethevileraspectofMoreau’scruelty.IhadnotthoughtbeforeofthepainandtroublethatcametothesepoorvictimsaftertheyhadpassedfromMoreau’shands.Ihadshiveredonlyatthedaysofactualtormentintheenclosure.Butnowthatseemedtomethelesserpart.Before,theyhadbeenbeasts,theirinstinctsfitlyadaptedtotheirsurroundings,andhappyaslivingthingsmaybe.Nowtheystumbledintheshacklesofhumanity,livedinafearthatneverdied,frettedbyalawtheycouldnotunderstand;theirmock-humanexistence,beguninanagony,wasonelonginternalstruggle,onelongdreadofMoreau—andforwhat?Itwasthewantonnessofitthatstirredme.
HadMoreauhadanyintelligibleobject,Icouldhavesympathisedatleastalittlewithhim.Iamnotsosqueamishaboutpainasthat.Icouldhaveforgivenhimalittleeven,hadhismotivebeenonlyhate.Buthewassoirresponsible,soutterlycareless!Hiscuriosity,hismad,aimlessinvestigations,drovehimon;andtheThingswerethrownouttoliveayearorso,tostruggleandblunderandsuffer,andatlasttodiepainfully
