Собака Баскервиллей

The Hound of the Baskervilles

           "Hist! "criedHolmes,andIheardthesharpclickofacockingpistol. "Lookout! It’scoming!" 

           Therewasathin,crisp,continuouspatterfromsomewhereintheheartofthatcrawlingbank. Thecloudwaswithinfiftyyardsofwherewelay,andweglaredatit,allthree,uncertainwhathorrorwasabouttobreakfromtheheartofit. IwasatHolmes’selbow,andIglancedforaninstantathisface. Itwaspaleandexultant,hiseyesshiningbrightlyinthemoonlight. Butsuddenlytheystartedforwardinarigid,fixedstare,andhislipspartedinamazement. AtthesameinstantLestradegaveayellofterrorandthrewhimselffacedownwardupontheground. Isprangtomyfeet,myinerthandgraspingmypistol,mymindparalyzedbythedreadfulshapewhichhadsprungoutuponusfromtheshadowsofthefog. Ahounditwas,anenormouscoal-blackhound,butnotsuchahoundasmortaleyeshaveeverseen. Fireburstfromitsopenmouth,itseyesglowedwithasmoulderingglare,itsmuzzleandhacklesanddewlapwereoutlinedinflickeringflame. Neverinthedeliriousdreamofadisorderedbraincouldanythingmoresavage,moreappalling,morehellishbeconceivedthanthatdarkformandsavagefacewhichbrokeuponusoutofthewalloffog. 

           Withlongboundsthehugeblackcreaturewasleapingdownthetrack,followingharduponthefootstepsofourfriend. Soparalyzedwerewebytheapparitionthatweallowedhimtopassbeforewehadrecoveredournerve. ThenHolmesandIbothfiredtogether,andthecreaturegaveahideoushowl,whichshowedthatoneatleasthadhithim. Hedidnotpause,however,butboundedonward. FarawayonthepathwesawSirHenrylookingback,hisfacewhiteinthemoonlight,hishandsraisedinhorror,glaringhelplesslyatthefrightfulthingwhichwashuntinghimdown. 

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