Странная история доктора Джекила и мистера Хайда
The Last Night
“Ithinkthere’sbeenfoulplay,”saidPoole,hoarsely.
“Foulplay!”criedthelawyer,agooddealfrightenedandratherinclinedtobeirritatedinconsequence. “Whatfoulplay? Whatdoesthemanmean?”
“Idaren’tsay,sir”wastheanswer;“butwillyoucomealongwithmeandseeforyourself?”
Mr.Utterson’sonlyanswerwastoriseandgethishatandgreat-coat;butheobservedwithwonderthegreatnessofthereliefthatappeareduponthebutler’sface,andperhapswithnoless,thatthewinewasstilluntastedwhenhesetitdowntofollow.
Itwasawild,cold,seasonablenightofMarch,withapalemoon,lyingonherbackasthoughthewindhadtiltedher,andaflyingwrackofthemostdiaphanousandlawnytexture. Thewindmadetalkingdifficult,andfleckedthebloodintotheface. Itseemedtohavesweptthestreetsunusuallybareofpassengers,besides;forMr.UttersonthoughthehadneverseenthatpartofLondonsodeserted. Hecouldhavewisheditotherwise;neverinhislifehadhebeenconsciousofsosharpawishtoseeandtouchhisfellow-creatures;forstruggleashemight,therewasborneinuponhismindacrushinganticipationofcalamity. Thesquare,whentheygotthere,wasallfullofwindanddust,andthethintreesinthegardenwerelashingthemselvesalongtherailing.
