Отравленный пояс

Chapter IV. A Diary Of The Dying

           EvenasIdidsomyconscienceprickedme,forIfeltthatperhapsifIhadheldmyhandallofthemmighthavepassedintheirsleep.Thethoughtwasbanished,however,bythevoiceoftheladyfromtheinnerroomcrying:—

           "George,George,Iamstifling!"

           "Itisallright,Mrs.Challenger,"Iansweredastheothersstartedtotheirfeet."Ihavejustturnedonafreshsupply."

           EvenatsuchamomentIcouldnothelpsmilingatChallenger,whowithagreathairyfistineacheyewaslikeahuge,beardedbaby,newwakenedoutofsleep.Summerleewasshiveringlikeamanwiththeague,humanfears,asherealizedhisposition,risingforaninstantabovethestoicismofthemanofscience.LordJohn,however,wasascoolandalertasifhehadjustbeenrousedonahuntingmorning.

           "Fifthlyandlastly,"saidhe,glancingatthetube."Say,youngfellah,don’ttellmeyou’vebeenwritin’upyourimpressionsinthatpaperonyourknee."

           "Justafewnotestopassthetime."

           "Well,Idon’tbelieveanyonebutanIrishmanwouldhavedonethat.Iexpectyou’llhavetowaittilllittlebrotheramoebagetsgrownupbeforeyou’llfindareader.Hedon’tseemtotakemuchstockofthingsjustatpresent.Well,HerrProfessor,whataretheprospects?"

           Challengerwaslookingoutatthegreatdriftsofmorningmistwhichlayoverthelandscape.Hereandtherethewoodedhillsroselikeconicalislandsoutofthiswoollysea.

           "Itmightbeawindingsheet,"saidMrs.Challenger,whohadenteredinherdressing-gown."There’sthatsongofyours,George,’Ringouttheold,ringinthenew.’Itwasprophetic.

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