from me? I have served him long enough. And then... The man paused and
passed his hand over his face.
These are all very strange circumstances, said Mr. Utterson, but I
think I begin to see daylight. Your master, Poole, is plainly seized
with one of those maladies that both torture and deform the sufferer;
hence, for aught I know, the alteration of his voice; hence the mask
and the avoidance of his friends; hence his eagerness to find this
drug, by means of which the poor soul retains some hope of ultimate
recovery God grant that he be not deceived! There is my explanation; it
is sad enough, Poole, ay, and appalling to consider; but it is plain
and natural, hangs well together, and delivers us from all exorbitant
alarms.
Sir, said the butler, turning to a sort of mottled pallor, that
thing was not my master, and there s the truth. My master here he
looked round him and began to whisper is a tall, fine build of a man,
and this was more of a dwarf. Utterson attempted to protest. O, sir,
cried Poole, do you think I do not know my master after twenty years?
Do you think I do not know where his head comes to in the cabinet door,
where I saw him every morning of my life? No, sir, that thing in the
mask was never Dr. Jekyll God knows what it was, but it was never Dr.
Jekyll; and it is the belief of my heart that there was murder done.
Poole, replied the lawyer, if you say that, it will become my duty
to make certain. Much as I desire to spare your master s feelings, much
as I am puzzled by this note which seems to prove him to be still
alive, I shall consider it my duty to break in that door.
Ah, Mr. Utterson, that s talking! cried the butler.
And now comes the second question, resumed Utterson: Who is going to
do it?
Why, you and me, sir, was the undaunted reply.
That s very well said, returned the lawyer; and whatever comes of
it, I shall make it my business to see you are no loser.
There is an axe in the theatre, continued Poole; and you might take
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