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Yes, it was disappearance; here again, as in the mad will he had long ago returned to its author, the idea of a disappearance and the name of Henry Jekyll stood bracketed. Written by Lanyon’s hand, what should it mean? Curiosity urged him to dive at once to the bottom of the mystery; but professional honour and faith to his dead friend were stringent obligations, and the packet slept in the inmost corner of his private safe. From that day forth, Utterson desired the society of his surviving friend with less eagerness. Poole had no pleasant news to communicate: the doctor now more than ever confined himself to the cabinet, where he would sometimes even sleep; he was out of spirits, had grown very silent, did not read.
Incident at the Window
It chanced on Sunday, when Utterson was on his usual walk with Enfield, that their way lay once again through the by-street, and both stopped to gaze on the door.
“Well,” said Enfield, “that story’s at an end at least. We shall never see more of Mr. Hyde.”
“Did I ever tell you that I once saw him, and shared your feeling of repulsion?”
“So you found it out, did you? But if that be so, we may step into the court and take a look at the windows. To tell you the truth, I am uneasy about poor Jekyll.”
The court was very cool and damp, full of premature twilight, though the sky high overhead was still bright with sunset. The middle window was half open; sitting close beside it, taking the air with an infinite sadness of mien like some disconsolate prisoner, Utterson saw Dr. Jekyll.
“What! Jekyll! I trust you are better.”
“I am very low, Utterson, very low. It will not last long, thank God.”
“You stay too much indoors. Come now; get your hat and take a quick turn with us.”
“You are very good; I should like to very much; but no, no, no, it is quite impossible; I dare not. But indeed, Utterson, I am very glad to see you.”
“That is just what I was about to venture to propose,” returned the doctor with a smile. But the words were hardly uttered before the smile was struck out of his face and succeeded by an expression of such abject terror and despair as froze the very blood of the two gentlemen below. They saw it but for a glimpse, for the window was instantly thrust down; and they turned and left the court without a word.
In silence they traversed the by-street; and it was not until they had come into a neighbouring thoroughfare, where even upon a Sunday there were still some stirrings of life, that Utterson at last turned and looked at his companion. They were both pale; there was an answering horror in their eyes.
“God forgive us, God forgive us,” said Utterson.
But Mr. Enfield only nodded his head very seriously, and walked on once more in silence.
The Last Night
Mr. Utterson was sitting by his fireside one evening after dinner, when he was surprised to receive a visit from Poole.
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