Острів доктора Моро
How the Beast Folk Taste Blood.
Itseemedtomeratheraprettylittlecreature;andasMontgomerystatedthatitneverdestroyedtheturfbyburrowing,andwasverycleanlyinitshabits,Ishouldimagineitmightproveaconvenientsubstituteforthecommonrabbitingentlemen’sparks.
Wealsosawonourwaythetrunkofatreebarkedinlongstripsandsplintereddeeply.Montgomerycalledmyattentiontothis."Nottoclawbarkoftrees,thatistheLaw,"hesaid."Muchsomeofthemcareforit!"Itwasafterthis,Ithink,thatwemettheSatyrandtheApe-man.TheSatyrwasagleamofclassicalmemoryonthepartofMoreau,—hisfaceovineinexpression,likethecoarserHebrewtype;hisvoiceaharshbleat,hisnetherextremitiesSatanic.Hewasgnawingthehuskofapod-likefruitashepassedus.BothofthemsalutedMontgomery.
"Hail,"saidthey,"totheOtherwiththeWhip!"
"There’saThirdwithaWhipnow,"saidMontgomery."Soyou’dbettermind!"
"Washenotmade?"saidtheApe-man."Hesaid—hesaidhewasmade."
TheSatyr-manlookedcuriouslyatme."TheThirdwiththeWhip,hethatwalksweepingintothesea,hasathinwhiteface."
"Hehasathinlongwhip,"saidMontgomery.
"Yesterdayhebledandwept,"saidtheSatyr."Youneverbleednorweep.TheMasterdoesnotbleedorweep.
