Острів доктора Моро
Montgomery’s “Bank Holiday.”
Behindmelaytheyard,vividlyblack-and-whiteinthemoonlight,andthepileofwoodandfaggotsonwhichMoreauandhismutilatedvictimslay,oneoveranother.Theyseemedtobegrippingoneanotherinonelastrevengefulgrapple.Hiswoundsgaped,blackasnight,andthebloodthathaddrippedlayinblackpatchesuponthesand.ThenIsaw,withoutunderstanding,thecauseofmyphantom,—aruddyglowthatcameanddancedandwentuponthewallopposite.Imisinterpretedthis,fancieditwasareflectionofmyflickeringlamp,andturnedagaintothestoresintheshed.Iwentonrummagingamongthem,aswellasaone-armedmancould,findingthisconvenientthingandthat,andputtingthemasideforto-morrow’slaunch.Mymovementswereslow,andthetimepassedquickly.Insensiblythedaylightcreptuponme.
Thechantingdieddown,givingplacetoaclamour;thenitbeganagain,andsuddenlybrokeintoatumult.Iheardcriesof,"More!more!"asoundlikequarrelling,andasuddenwildshriek.Thequalityofthesoundschangedsogreatlythatitarrestedmyattention.Iwentoutintotheyardandlistened.Thencuttinglikeaknifeacrosstheconfusioncamethecrackofarevolver.
Irushedatoncethroughmyroomtothelittledoorway.AsIdidsoIheardsomeofthepacking-casesbehindmegoslidingdownandsmashtogetherwithaclatterofglassontheflooroftheshed.ButIdidnotheedthese.Iflungthedooropenandlookedout.
