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. 

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