Острів доктора Моро
At the Schooner’s Rail.
IfIdon’t—well?"
Hegruntedundecidedly.IfeltIhadhimatadisadvantage,hadcaughthiminthemoodofindiscretion;andtotellthetruthIwasnotcurioustolearnwhatmighthavedrivenayoungmedicalstudentoutofLondon.Ihaveanimagination.Ishruggedmyshouldersandturnedaway.Overthetaffrailleantasilentblackfigure,watchingthestars.ItwasMontgomery’sstrangeattendant.Itlookedoveritsshoulderquicklywithmymovement,thenlookedawayagain.
Itmayseemalittlethingtoyou,perhaps,butitcamelikeasuddenblowtome.Theonlylightnearuswasalanternatthewheel.Thecreature’sfacewasturnedforonebriefinstantoutofthedimnessofthesterntowardsthisillumination,andIsawthattheeyesthatglancedatmeshonewithapale-greenlight.Ididnotknowthenthatareddishluminosity,atleast,isnotuncommoninhumaneyes.Thethingcametomeasstarkinhumanity.Thatblackfigurewithitseyesoffirestruckdownthroughallmyadultthoughtsandfeelings,andforamomenttheforgottenhorrorsofchildhoodcamebacktomymind.Thentheeffectpassedasithadcome.Anuncouthblackfigureofaman,afigureofnoparticularimport,hungoverthetaffrailagainstthestarlight,andIfoundMontgomerywasspeakingtome.
"I’mthinkingofturningin,then,"saidhe,"ifyou’vehadenoughofthis."
Iansweredhimincongruously.Wewentbelow,andhewishedmegood-nightatthedoorofmycabin
