Острів доктора Моро
The Crying of the Puma.
Theywerepainfulatfirst,buttheirconstantresurgenceatlastaltogetherupsetmybalance.IflungasideacribofHoraceIhadbeenreading,andbegantoclenchmyfists,tobitemylips,andtopacetheroom.PresentlyIgottostoppingmyearswithmyfingers.
Theemotionalappealofthoseyellsgrewuponmesteadily,grewatlasttosuchanexquisiteexpressionofsufferingthatIcouldstanditinthatconfinedroomnolonger.Isteppedoutofthedoorintotheslumberousheatofthelateafternoon,andwalkingpastthemainentrance—lockedagain,Inoticed—turnedthecornerofthewall
Thecryingsoundedevenlouderoutofdoors.Itwasasifallthepainintheworldhadfoundavoice.YethadIknownsuchpainwasinthenextroom,andhaditbeendumb,Ibelieve—Ihavethoughtsince—Icouldhavestooditwellenough.Itiswhensufferingfindsavoiceandsetsournervesquiveringthatthispitycomestroublingus.Butinspiteofthebrilliantsunlightandthegreenfansofthetreeswavinginthesoothingsea-breeze,theworldwasaconfusion,blurredwithdriftingblackandredphantasms,untilIwasoutofearshotofthehouseinthechequeredwall.
