Загублений світ
I was the Flail of the Lord
ItwasagreedthatIshouldwritehomefullaccountsofmyadventuresintheshapeofsuccessiveletterstoMcArdle,andthattheseshouldeitherbeeditedfortheGazetteastheyarrived,orheldbacktobepublishedlater,accordingtothewishesofProfessorChallenger,sincewecouldnotyetknowwhatconditionshemightattachtothosedirectionswhichshouldguideustotheunknownland.Inresponsetoatelephoneinquiry,wereceivednothingmoredefinitethanafulminationagainstthePress,endingupwiththeremarkthatifwewouldnotifyourboathewouldhandusanydirectionswhichhemightthinkitpropertogiveusatthemomentofstarting.Asecondquestionfromusfailedtoelicitanyansweratall,saveaplaintivebleatfromhiswifetotheeffectthatherhusbandwasinaveryviolenttemperalready,andthatshehopedwewoulddonothingtomakeitworse.Athirdattempt,laterintheday,provokedaterrificcrash,andasubsequentmessagefromtheCentralExchangethatProfessorChallenger’sreceiverhadbeenshattered.Afterthatweabandonedallattemptatcommunication.
Andnowmypatientreaders,Icanaddressyoudirectlynolonger.Fromnowonwards(if,indeed,anycontinuationofthisnarrativeshouldeverreachyou)itcanonlybethroughthepaperwhichIrepresent.InthehandsoftheeditorIleavethisaccountoftheeventswhichhaveleduptooneofthemostremarkableexpeditionsofalltime,sothatifIneverreturntoEnglandthereshallbesomerecordastohowtheaffaircameabout.IamwritingtheselastlinesinthesaloonoftheBoothlinerFrancisca,andtheywillgobackbythepilottothekeepingofMr.McArdle.LetmedrawonelastpicturebeforeIclosethenotebook—apicturewhichisthelastmemoryoftheoldcountrywhichIbearawaywithme.Itisawet,foggymorninginthelatespring;athin,coldrainisfalling.Threeshiningmackintoshedfiguresarewalkingdownthequay,makingforthegang-plankofthegreatlinerfromwhichtheblue-peterisflying.
