Montgomery’s “Bank Holiday.”

           Whenthiswasaccomplished,andwehadwashedandeaten,MontgomeryandIwentintomylittleroomandseriouslydiscussedourpositionforthefirsttime.Itwasthennearmidnight.Hewasalmostsober,butgreatlydisturbedinhismind.HehadbeenstrangelyundertheinfluenceofMoreau’spersonality:IdonotthinkithadeveroccurredtohimthatMoreaucoulddie.Thisdisasterwasthesuddencollapseofthehabitsthathadbecomepartofhisnatureinthetenormoremonotonousyearshehadspentontheisland.Hetalkedvaguely,answeredmyquestionscrookedly,wanderedintogeneralquestions.

           "Thissillyassofaworld,"hesaid;"whatamuddleitallis!Ihaven’thadanylife.Iwonderwhenit’sgoingtobegin.Sixteenyearsbeingbulliedbynursesandschoolmastersattheirownsweetwill;fiveinLondongrindinghardatmedicine,badfood,shabbylodgings,shabbyclothes,shabbyvice,ablunder,—Ididn’tknowanybetter,—andhustledofftothisbeastlyisland.Tenyearshere!What’sitallfor,Prendick?Arewebubblesblownbyababy?"

           Itwashardtodealwithsuchravings."Thethingwehavetothinkofnow,"saidI,"ishowtogetawayfromthisisland."

           "What’sthegoodofgettingaway?I’manoutcast.WhereamItojoinon?It’sallverywellforyou,Prendick.PooroldMoreau!Wecan’tleavehimheretohavehisbonespicked.