Остров доктора Моро
The Crying of the Man.
Ibowedforward,andcoveredmyfacewithmyhands.Presentlyhereturnedwithasmallmeasurecontainingadarkliquid.Thishegaveme.Itookitunresistingly,andhehelpedmeintothehammock.
WhenIawoke,itwasbroadday.ForalittlewhileIlayflat,staringattheroofaboveme.Therafters,Iobserved,weremadeoutofthetimbersofaship.ThenIturnedmyhead,andsawamealpreparedformeonthetable.IperceivedthatIwashungry,andpreparedtoclamberoutofthehammock,which,verypolitelyanticipatingmyintention,twistedroundanddepositedmeuponall-foursonthefloor.
Igotupandsatdownbeforethefood.Ihadaheavyfeelinginmyhead,andonlythevaguestmemoryatfirstofthethingsthathadhappenedovernight.Themorningbreezeblewverypleasantlythroughtheunglazedwindow,andthatandthefoodcontributedtothesenseofanimalcomfortwhichIexperienced.Presentlythedoorbehindme—thedoorinwardtowardstheyardoftheenclosure—opened.IturnedandsawMontgomery’sface.
"Allright,"saidhe."I’mfrightfullybusy."Andheshutthedoor.
AfterwardsIdiscoveredthatheforgottore-lockit.ThenIrecalledtheexpressionofhisfacethepreviousnight,andwiththatthememoryofallIhadexperiencedreconstructeditselfbeforeme.Evenasthatfearcamebacktomecameacryfromwithin;butthistimeitwasnotthecryofapuma.Iputdownthemouthfulthathesitateduponmylips,andlistened.
