Отруєний пояс
Chapter IV. A Diary Of The Dying
EvenasIdidsomyconscienceprickedme,forIfeltthatperhapsifIhadheldmyhandallofthemmighthavepassedintheirsleep.Thethoughtwasbanished,however,bythevoiceoftheladyfromtheinnerroomcrying:—
"George,George,Iamstifling!"
"Itisallright,Mrs.Challenger,"Iansweredastheothersstartedtotheirfeet."Ihavejustturnedonafreshsupply."
EvenatsuchamomentIcouldnothelpsmilingatChallenger,whowithagreathairyfistineacheyewaslikeahuge,beardedbaby,newwakenedoutofsleep.Summerleewasshiveringlikeamanwiththeague,humanfears,asherealizedhisposition,risingforaninstantabovethestoicismofthemanofscience.LordJohn,however,wasascoolandalertasifhehadjustbeenrousedonahuntingmorning.
"Fifthlyandlastly,"saidhe,glancingatthetube."Say,youngfellah,don’ttellmeyou’vebeenwritin’upyourimpressionsinthatpaperonyourknee."
"Justafewnotestopassthetime."
"Well,Idon’tbelieveanyonebutanIrishmanwouldhavedonethat.Iexpectyou’llhavetowaittilllittlebrotheramoebagetsgrownupbeforeyou’llfindareader.Hedon’tseemtotakemuchstockofthingsjustatpresent.Well,HerrProfessor,whataretheprospects?"
Challengerwaslookingoutatthegreatdriftsofmorningmistwhichlayoverthelandscape.Hereandtherethewoodedhillsroselikeconicalislandsoutofthiswoollysea.
"Itmightbeawindingsheet,"saidMrs.Challenger,whohadenteredinherdressing-gown."There’sthatsongofyours,George,’Ringouttheold,ringinthenew.’Itwasprophetic.
