Випадок Чарльза Декстера Варда

           Theywereinacoveredbasket,andMr.Wardneversawwhattheywere.

           Thenthedoctorlockedhimselfinthelibraryoncemore,andbythecloudsofsmokewhichrolleddownpastthewindowsfromthechimneyitwasknownthathehadlightedthefire.Later,afteragreatrustlingofnewspapers,thatoddwrenchandcreakingwereheardagain;followedbyathumpingwhichnoneoftheeavesdroppersliked.ThereaftertwosuppressedcriesofWillett’swereheard,andharduponthesecameaswishingrustleofindefinablehatefulness.Finallythesmokethatthewindbeatdownfromthechimneygrewverydarkandacrid,andeveryonewishedthattheweatherhadsparedthemthischokingandvenomousinundationofpeculiarfumes.Mr.Ward’sheadreeled,andtheservantsallclusteredtogetherinaknottowatchthehorribleblacksmokeswoopdown.Afteranageofwaitingthevaporsseemedtolighted,andhalf-formlesssoundsofscraping,sweeping,andotherminoroperationswereheardbehindthebolteddoor.Andatlast,aftertheslammingofsomecupboardwithin,Willettmadehisappearance—sad,pale,andhaggard,andbearingthecloth-drapedbaskethehadtakenfromtheupstairslaboratory.Hehadleftthewindowopen,andintothatonceaccursedroomwaspouringawealthofpure,wholesomeairtomixwithaqueernewsmellofdisinfectants.Theancientovermantelstilllingered;butitseemedrobbedofmalignitynow,androseascalmandstatelyinitswhitepanelingasifithadneverbornethepictureofJosephCurwen