Остров доктора Моро
The Hunting of the Man.
Itriedhimwithsomeotherquestions,buthischattering,promptresponseswereasoftenasnotquiteatcrosspurposeswithmyquestion.Somefewwereappropriate,othersquiteparrot-like.
IwassointentuponthesepeculiaritiesthatIscarcelynoticedthepathwefollowed.Presentlywecametotrees,allcharredandbrown,andsotoabareplacecoveredwithayellow-whiteincrustation,acrosswhichadriftingsmoke,pungentinwhiffstonoseandeyes,wentdrifting.Onourright,overashoulderofbarerock,Isawthelevelblueofthesea.Thepathcoileddownabruptlyintoanarrowravinebetweentwotumbledandknottymassesofblackishscoria.Intothisweplunged.
Itwasextremelydark,thispassage,aftertheblindingsunlightreflectedfromthesulphurousground.Itswallsgrewsteep,andapproachedeachother.Blotchesofgreenandcrimsondriftedacrossmyeyes.Myconductorstoppedsuddenly."Home!"saidhe,andIstoodinafloorofachasmthatwasatfirstabsolutelydarktome.Iheardsomestrangenoises,andthrusttheknucklesofmylefthandintomyeyes.Ibecameawareofadisagreeableodor,likethatofamonkey’scageill-cleaned.Beyond,therockopenedagainuponagradualslopeofsunlitgreenery,andoneitherhandthelightsmotedownthroughnarrowwaysintothecentralgloom.
