Собака Баскервиллей

The Hound of the Baskervilles

           "Wherecanshebe,then,sincethereisnolightinanyotherroomexceptthekitchen?" 

           "Icannotthinkwheresheis." 

           IhavesaidthatoverthegreatGrimpenMiretherehungadense,whitefog. Itwasdriftingslowlyinourdirection,andbankeditselfuplikeawallonthatsideofus,low,butthickandwelldefined. Themoonshoneonit,anditlookedlikeagreatshimmeringice-field,withtheheadsofthedistanttorsasrocksborneuponitssurface. Holmes’sfacewasturnedtowardsit,andhemutteredimpatientlyashewatcheditssluggishdrift. 

           "It’smovingtowardsus,Watson." 

           "Isthatserious?" 

           "Veryserious,indeedtheonethinguponearthwhichcouldhavedisarrangedmyplans. Hecan’tbeverylong,now. Itisalreadyteno’clock. Oursuccessandevenhislifemaydependuponhiscomingoutbeforethefogisoverthepath." 

           Thenightwasclearandfineaboveus. Thestarsshonecoldandbright,whileahalf-moonbathedthewholesceneinasoft,uncertainlight. Beforeuslaythedarkbulkofthehouse,itsserratedroofandbristlingchimneyshardoutlinedagainstthesilver-spangledsky. Broadbarsofgoldenlightfromthelowerwindowsstretchedacrosstheorchardandthemoor. Oneofthemwassuddenlyshutoff. Theservantshadleftthekitchen. Thereonlyremainedthelampinthedining-roomwherethetwomen,themurderoushostandtheunconsciousguest,stillchattedovertheircigars. 

           Everyminutethatwhitewoollyplainwhichcoveredonehalfofthemoorwasdriftingcloserandclosertothehouse. 

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