Yes, returned Mr. Hyde, it is as well we have met; and _a propos_,
you should have my address. And he gave a number of a street in Soho.
Good God! thought Mr. Utterson, can he, too, have been thinking of
the will? But he kept his feelings to himself and only grunted in
acknowledgment of the address.
And now, said the other, how did you know me?
By description, was the reply.
Whose description?
We have common friends, said Mr. Utterson.
Common friends, echoed Mr. Hyde, a little hoarsely. Who are they?
Jekyll, for instance, said the lawyer.
He never told you, cried Mr. Hyde, with a flush of anger. I did not
think you would have lied.
Come, said Mr. Utterson, that is not fitting language.
The other snarled aloud into a savage laugh; and the next moment, with
extraordinary quickness, he had unlocked the door and disappeared into
the house.
The lawyer stood awhile when Mr. Hyde had left him, the picture of
disquietude. Then he began slowly to mount the street, pausing every
step or two and putting his hand to his brow like a man in mental
perplexity. The problem he was thus debating as he walked, was one of a
class that is rarely solved. Mr. Hyde was pale and dwarfish, he gave an
impression of deformity without any nameable malformation, he had a
displeasing smile, he had borne himself to the lawyer with a sort of
murderous mixture of timidity and boldness, and he spoke with a husky,
whispering and somewhat broken voice; all these were points against
him, but not all of these together could explain the hitherto unknown
disgust, loathing and fear with which Mr. Utterson regarded him. There
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