Странная история доктора Джекила и мистера Хайда
The Last Night
Upwenttheaxeagain,andagainthepanelscrashedandtheframebounded;fourtimestheblowfell; butthewoodwastoughandthefittingswereofexcellentworkmanship; anditwasnotuntilthefifth,thatthelockburstinsunderandthewreckofthedoorfellinwardsonthecarpet.
Thebesiegers,appalledbytheirownriotandthestillnessthathadsucceeded,stoodbackalittleandpeeredin. Therelaythecabinetbeforetheireyesinthequietlamplight,agoodfireglowingandchatteringonthehearth,thekettlesingingitsthinstrain,adrawerortwoopen,papersneatlysetforthonthebusiness-table,andnearerthefire,thethingslaidoutfortea: thequietestroom,youwouldhavesaid,and,butfortheglazedpressesfullofchemicals,themostcommonplacethatnightinLondon.
Rightinthemidsttherelaythebodyofamansorelycontortedandstilltwitching. Theydrewnearontiptoe,turneditonitsbackandbeheldthefaceofEdwardHyde. Hewasdressedinclothesfartoolargeforhim,clothesofthedoctor’sbigness;thecordsofhisfacestillmovedwithasemblanceoflife,butlifewasquitegone; andbythecrushedphialinthehandandthestrongsmellofkernelsthathungupontheair,Uttersonknewthathewaslookingonthebodyofaself-destroyer.
“Wehavecometoolate,”hesaidsternly,“whethertosaveorpunish. Hydeisgonetohisaccount;anditonlyremainsforustofindthebodyofyourmaster.”
