Острів доктора Моро

Montgomery’s “Bank Holiday.”

           ThewoundedcreaturebythefireitwasaWolf-brutewithabeardedgreyfacelay,Ifound,withtheforepartofitsbodyuponthestillglowingtimber.ThewretchedthingwasinjuredsodreadfullythatinmercyIblewitsbrainsoutatonce.TheotherbrutewasoneoftheBull-menswathedinwhite.Hetoowasdead.TherestoftheBeastPeoplehadvanishedfromthebeach.

           IwenttoMontgomeryagainandkneltbesidehim,cursingmyignoranceofmedicine.Thefirebesidemehadsunkdown,andonlycharredbeamsoftimberglowingatthecentralendsandmixedwithagreyashofbrushwoodremained.IwonderedcasuallywhereMontgomeryhadgothiswood.ThenIsawthatthedawnwasuponus.Theskyhadgrownbrighter,thesettingmoonwasbecomingpaleandopaqueintheluminousblueoftheday.Theskytotheeastwardwasrimmedwithred.

           SuddenlyIheardathudandahissingbehindme,and,lookinground,sprangtomyfeetwithacryofhorror.Againstthewarmdawngreattumultuousmassesofblacksmokewereboilingupoutoftheenclosure,andthroughtheirstormydarknessshotflickeringthreadsofblood-redflame.Thenthethatchedroofcaught.Isawthecurvingchargeoftheflamesacrosstheslopingstraw.Aspurtoffirejettedfromthewindowofmyroom.

           Iknewatoncewhathadhappened.IrememberedthecrashIhadheard.WhenIhadrushedouttoMontgomery’sassistance,Ihadoverturnedthelamp.

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Roboto Lora
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