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Try to tell me what it is." "I think there's been foul play," said Poole, hoarsely. " cried the lawyer, a good deal frightened and rather inclined to be irritated in consequence. 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 a flying wrack of the most diaphanous and lawny texture.
The wind made talking difficult, and flecked the blood into the face.
Utterson thought he had never seen that part of London so deserted.Utterson to follow him, and led the way to the back-garden."Now, sir," said he, "you come as gently as you can. It seems he had slipped out to look for this drug or whatever it is; for the cabinet door was open, and there he was at the far end of the room digging among the crates.Right in the midst there lay the body of a man sorely contorted and still twitching.They drew near on tiptoe, turned it on its back and beheld the face of Edward Hyde.
I want you to hear, and I don't want you to be heard. He looked up when I came in, gave a kind of cry, and whipped up-stairs into the cabinet.