Собака Баскервиллей
Second Report of Dr. Watson
"StapletonwaswithmewhenIhearditlast. Hesaidthatitmightbethecallingofastrangebird."
"No,no,itwasahound. MyGod,cantherebesometruthinallthesestories? IsitpossiblethatIamreallyindangerfromsodarkacause? Youdon’tbelieveit,doyou,Watson?"
"No,no."
"AndyetitwasonethingtolaughaboutitinLondon,anditisanothertostandouthereinthedarknessofthemoorandtohearsuchacryasthat. Andmyuncle! Therewasthefootprintofthehoundbesidehimashelay. Itallfitstogether. Idon’tthinkthatIamacoward,Watson,butthatsoundseemedtofreezemyveryblood. Feelmyhand!"
Itwasascoldasablockofmarble.
"You’llbeallrightto-morrow."
"Idon’tthinkI’llgetthatcryoutofmyhead. Whatdoyouadvisethatwedonow?"
"Shallweturnback?"
"No,bythunder; wehavecomeouttogetourman,andwewilldoit. Weaftertheconvict,andahell-hound,aslikelyasnot,afterus. Comeon! We’llseeitthroughifallthefiendsofthepitwerelooseuponthemoor."
Westumbledslowlyalonginthedarkness,withtheblackloomofthecraggyhillsaroundus,andtheyellowspeckoflightburningsteadilyinfront. Thereisnothingsodeceptiveasthedistanceofalightuponapitch-darknight, andsometimestheglimmerseemedtobefarawayuponthehorizonandsometimesitmighthavebeenwithinafewyardsofus.
