Острів доктора Моро

The Hunting of the Man.

           Itriedhimwithsomeotherquestions,buthischattering,promptresponseswereasoftenasnotquiteatcrosspurposeswithmyquestion.Somefewwereappropriate,othersquiteparrot-like.

           IwassointentuponthesepeculiaritiesthatIscarcelynoticedthepathwefollowed.Presentlywecametotrees,allcharredandbrown,andsotoabareplacecoveredwithayellow-whiteincrustation,acrosswhichadriftingsmoke,pungentinwhiffstonoseandeyes,wentdrifting.Onourright,overashoulderofbarerock,Isawthelevelblueofthesea.Thepathcoileddownabruptlyintoanarrowravinebetweentwotumbledandknottymassesofblackishscoria.Intothisweplunged.

           Itwasextremelydark,thispassage,aftertheblindingsunlightreflectedfromthesulphurousground.Itswallsgrewsteep,andapproachedeachother.Blotchesofgreenandcrimsondriftedacrossmyeyes.Myconductorstoppedsuddenly."Home!"saidhe,andIstoodinafloorofachasmthatwasatfirstabsolutelydarktome.Iheardsomestrangenoises,andthrusttheknucklesofmylefthandintomyeyes.Ibecameawareofadisagreeableodor,likethatofamonkey’scageill-cleaned.Beyond,therockopenedagainuponagradualslopeofsunlitgreenery,andoneitherhandthelightsmotedownthroughnarrowwaysintothecentralgloom.

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Roboto Lora
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