Серце темряви

           Wehadaglimpseofthetoweringmultitudeoftrees,oftheimmensemattedjungle,withtheblazinglittleballofthesunhangingoverit—allperfectlystill—andthenthewhiteshuttercamedownagain,smoothly,asifslidingingreasedgrooves.Iorderedthechain,whichwehadbeguntoheavein,tobepaidoutagain.Beforeitstoppedrunningwithamuffledrattle,acry,averyloudcry,asofinfinitedesolation,soaredslowlyintheopaqueair.Itceased.Acomplainingclamour,modulatedinsavagediscords,filledourears.Thesheerunexpectednessofitmademyhairstirundermycap.Idon’tknowhowitstrucktheothers:tomeitseemedasthoughthemistitselfhadscreamed,sosuddenly,andapparentlyfromallsidesatonce,didthistumultuousandmournfuluproararise.Itculminatedinahurriedoutbreakofalmostintolerablyexcessiveshrieking,whichstoppedshort,leavingusstiffenedinavarietyofsillyattitudes,andobstinatelylisteningtothenearlyasappallingandexcessivesilence.‘GoodGod!Whatisthemeaning—’stammeredatmyelbowoneofthepilgrims—alittlefatman,withsandyhairandredwhiskers,whoworesidespringboots,andpinkpyjamastuckedintohissocks.Twoothersremainedopen-mouthedawhileminute,thendashedintothelittlecabin,torushoutincontinentlyandstanddartingscaredglances,withWinchestersat‘ready’intheirhands.