Загублений світ
It was Dreadful in the Forest
Evenifmycomradesshouldnothavemissedme,andshouldneverknowofmyweakness,therewouldstillremainsomeintolerableself-shameinmyownsoul.AndyetIshudderedatthepositioninwhichIfoundmyself,andwouldhavegivenallIpossessedatthatmomenttohavebeenhonorablyfreeofthewholebusiness.
Itwasdreadfulintheforest.ThetreesgrewsothicklyandtheirfoliagespreadsowidelythatIcouldseenothingofthemoon-lightsavethathereandtherethehighbranchesmadeatangledfiligreeagainstthestarrysky.Astheeyesbecamemoreusedtotheobscurityonelearnedthatthereweredifferentdegreesofdarknessamongthetrees—thatsomeweredimlyvisible,whilebetweenandamongthemtherewerecoal-blackshadowedpatches,likethemouthsofcaves,fromwhichIshrankinhorrorasIpassed.Ithoughtofthedespairingyellofthetorturediguanodon—thatdreadfulcrywhichhadechoedthroughthewoods.Ithought,too,oftheglimpseIhadinthelightofLordJohn’storchofthatbloated,warty,blood-slaveringmuzzle.EvennowIwasonitshunting-ground.Atanyinstantitmightspringuponmefromtheshadows—thisnamelessandhorriblemonster.Istopped,and,pickingacartridgefrommypocket,Iopenedthebreechofmygun.AsItouchedthelevermyheartleapedwithinme.Itwastheshot-gun,nottherifle,whichIhadtaken!
Againtheimpulsetoreturnsweptoverme.Here,surely,wasamostexcellentreasonformyfailure—oneforwhichnoonewouldthinkthelessofme.
