Остров доктора Моро
Montgomery’s “Bank Holiday.”
Hewasdead;andevenashediedalineofwhiteheat,thelimbofthesun,roseeastwardbeyondtheprojectionofthebay,splashingitsradianceacrosstheskyandturningthedarkseaintoawelteringtumultofdazzlinglight.Itfelllikeagloryuponhisdeath-shrunkenface.
IlethisheadfallgentlyupontheroughpillowIhadmadeforhim,andstoodup.Beforemewastheglitteringdesolationofthesea,theawfulsolitudeuponwhichIhadalreadysufferedsomuch;behindmetheisland,hushedunderthedawn,itsBeastPeoplesilentandunseen.Theenclosure,withallitsprovisionsandammunition,burntnoisily,withsuddengustsofflame,afitfulcrackling,andnowandthenacrash.Theheavysmokedroveupthebeachawayfromme,rollinglowoverthedistanttree-topstowardsthehutsintheravine.Besidemewerethecharredvestigesoftheboatsandthesefourdeadbodies.
ThenoutofthebushescamethreeBeastPeople,withhunchedshoulders,protrudingheads,misshapenhandsawkwardlyheld,andinquisitive,unfriendlyeyesandadvancedtowardsmewithhesitatinggestures.
