Собака Баскервіллів

           "Queerplace,themoor! "saidhe. 

           "Butwhatisit?" 

           "ThepeasantssayitistheHoundoftheBaskervillescallingforitsprey. I’vehearditonceortwicebefore,butneverquitesoloud." 

           Ilookedround,withachilloffearinmyheart,atthehugeswellingplain,mottledwiththegreenpatchesofrushes. Nothingstirredoverthevastexpansesaveapairofravens,whichcroakedloudlyfromatorbehindus. 

           "Youareaneducatedman. Youdon’tbelievesuchnonsenseasthat?"saidI. "Whatdoyouthinkisthecauseofsostrangeasound?" 

           "Bogsmakequeernoisessometimes. It’sthemudsettling,orthewaterrising,orsomething." 

           "No,no,thatwasalivingvoice." 

           "Well,perhapsitwas. Didyoueverhearabitternbooming?" 

           "No,Ineverdid." 

           "It’saveryrarebird—practicallyextinct—inEnglandnow,butallthingsarepossibleuponthemoor. Yes,Ishouldnotbesurprisedtolearnthatwhatwehaveheardisthecryofthelastofthebitterns." 

           "It’stheweirdest,strangestthingthateverIheardinmylife." 

           "Yes,it’sratheranuncannyplacealtogether. Lookatthehill-sideyonder. Whatdoyoumakeofthose?" 

           Thewholesteepslopewascoveredwithgraycircularringsofstone,ascoreofthematleast.