Воспоминания Шерлока Холмса

           Butremember,"headded,tappingmelightlyonthechestandgiggling,‘ifyouspeaktoahumansoulaboutthis—onehumansoul,mind—well,mayGodhavemercyuponyoursoul!’

           "Icannottellyoutheloathingandhorrorwithwhichthisinsignificant-lookingmaninspiredme.Icouldseehimbetternowasthelamp-lightshoneuponhim.Hisfeatureswerepeakyandsallow,andhislittlepointedbeardwasthreadyandillnourished.HepushedhisfaceforwardashespokeandhislipsandeyelidswerecontinuallytwitchinglikeamanwithSt.Vitus’sdance.Icouldnothelpthinkingthathisstrange,catchylittlelaughwasalsoasymptomofsomenervousmalady.Theterrorofhisfacelayinhiseyes,however,steelgray,andglisteningcoldlywithamalignant,inexorablecrueltyintheirdepths.

           "‘Weshallknowifyouspeakofthis,"saidhe.‘Wehaveourownmeansofinformation.Nowyouwillfindthecarriagewaiting,andmyfriendwillseeyouonyourway.’

           "Iwashurriedthroughthehallandintothevehicle,againobtainingthatmomentaryglimpseoftreesandagarden.Mr.Latimerfollowedcloselyatmyheelsandtookhisplaceoppositetomewithoutaword.Insilenceweagaindroveforaninterminabledistancewiththewindowsraised,untilatlast,justaftermidnight,thecarriagepulledup.

           "‘Youwillgetdownhere,Mr.Melas,"saidmycompanion.‘Iamsorrytoleaveyousofarfromyourhouse,butthereisnoalternative.