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The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

The Last Night
Mr. Utterson was sitting by his fireside one evening after dinner, when he was surprised
to receive a visit from Poole.
"Bless me, Poole, what brings you here?" he cried; and then taking a second look at
him, "What ails you?" he added; "is the doctor ill?"
"Mr. Utterson," said the man, "there is something wrong."
"Take a seat, and here is a glass of wine for you," said the lawyer. "Now, take your
time, and tell me plainly what you want."
"You know the doctor's ways, sir," replied Poole, "and how he shuts himself up. Well,
he's shut up again in the cabinet; and I don't like it, sir--I wish I may die if I like it. Mr.
Utterson, sir, I'm afraid."
"Now, my good man," said the lawyer, "be explicit. What are you afraid of?"
"I've been afraid for about a week," returned Poole, doggedly disregarding the
question, "and I can bear it no more."
The man's appearance amply bore out his words; his manner was altered for the worse;
and except for the moment when he had first announced his terror, he had not once
looked the lawyer in the face. Even now, he sat with the glass of wine untasted on his
knee, and his eyes directed to a corner of the floor. "I can bear it no more," he repeated.
"Come," said the lawyer, "I see you have some good reason, Poole; I see there is
something seriously amiss. Try to tell me what it is."
"I think there's been foul play," said Poole, hoarsely.
"Foul play!" cried the lawyer, a good deal frightened and rather inclined to be irritated
in consequence. "What foul play! What does the man mean?"
"I daren't say, sir," was the answer; "but will you come along with me and see for
yourself?"
Mr. Utterson's only answer was to rise and get his hat and greatcoat; but he observed
with wonder the greatness of the relief that appeared upon the butler's face, and perhaps
with no less, that the wine was still untasted when he set it down to follow.
It was a wild, cold, seasonable night of March, with a pale moon, lying on her back as
though the wind had tilted her, and flying wrack of the most diaphanous and lawny
texture. The wind made talking difficult, and flecked the blood into the face. It seemed to
have swept the streets unusually bare of passengers, besides; for Mr. Utterson thought he
 
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