Загублений світ
It was Dreadful in the Forest
Whatanightforawalk!Andthensuddenlycamethethought,"Whynot?"SupposeIstolesoftlyaway,supposeImademywaydowntothecentrallake,supposeIwasbackatbreakfastwithsomerecordoftheplace—wouldInotinthatcasebethoughtanevenmoreworthyassociate?Then,ifSummerleecarriedthedayandsomemeansofescapewerefound,weshouldreturntoLondonwithfirst-handknowledgeofthecentralmysteryoftheplateau,towhichIalone,ofallmen,wouldhavepenetrated.IthoughtofGladys,withher"Thereareheroismsallroundus."Iseemedtohearhervoiceasshesaidit.IthoughtalsoofMcArdle.Whatathreecolumnarticleforthepaper!Whatafoundationforacareer!Acorrespondentshipinthenextgreatwarmightbewithinmyreach.Iclutchedatagun—mypocketswerefullofcartridges—and,partingthethornbushesatthegateofourzareba,quicklyslippedout.MylastglanceshowedmetheunconsciousSummerlee,mostfutileofsentinels,stillnoddingawaylikeaqueermechanicaltoyinfrontofthesmoulderingfire.
IhadnotgoneahundredyardsbeforeIdeeplyrepentedmyrashness.ImayhavesaidsomewhereinthischroniclethatIamtooimaginativetobeareallycourageousman,butthatIhaveanoverpoweringfearofseemingafraid.Thiswasthepowerwhichnowcarriedmeonwards.Isimplycouldnotslinkbackwithnothingdone.
