Острів доктора Моро
Montgomery’s “Bank Holiday.”
ThenIshutthedoor,lockedit,andwentintotheenclosurewhereMoreaulaybesidehislatestvictims,—thestaghoundsandthellamaandsomeotherwretchedbrutes,—withhismassivefacecalmevenafterhisterribledeath,andwiththehardeyesopen,staringatthedeadwhitemoonabove.Isatdownupontheedgeofthesink,andwithmyeyesuponthatghastlypileofsilverylightandominousshadowsbegantoturnovermyplans.InthemorningIwouldgathersomeprovisionsinthedingey,andaftersettingfiretothepyrebeforeme,pushoutintothedesolationofthehighseaoncemore.IfeltthatforMontgomerytherewasnohelp;thathewas,intruth,halfakintotheseBeastFolk,unfittedforhumankindred.
IdonotknowhowlongIsattherescheming.Itmusthavebeenanhourorso.ThenmyplanningwasinterruptedbythereturnofMontgomerytomyneighbourhood.Iheardayellingfrommanythroats,atumultofexultantcriespassingdowntowardsthebeach,whoopingandhowling,andexcitedshrieksthatseemedtocometoastopnearthewater’sedge.Theriotroseandfell;Iheardheavyblowsandthesplinteringsmashofwood,butitdidnottroublemethen.Adiscordantchantingbegan.
Mythoughtswentbacktomymeansofescape.Igotup,broughtthelamp,andwentintoashedtolookatsomekegsIhadseenthere.ThenIbecameinterestedinthecontentsofsomebiscuit-tins,andopenedone.Isawsomethingoutofthetailofmyeye,—aredfigure,—andturnedsharply.
