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Short Stories (story)

The Hound of the Baskervilles (houn)

46891    Our coming was evidently a great event, for station-master and porters clustered round us to carry out our luggage.
46892    It was a sweet, simple country spot, but I was surprised to observe that by the gate there stood two soldierly men in dark uniforms, who leaned upon their short rifles and glanced keenly at us as we passed.
46893    The coachman, a hard-faced, gnarled little fellow, saluted Sir Henry Baskerville, and in a few minutes we were flying swiftly down the broad, white road.
46894    Rolling pasture lands curved upwards on either side of us, and old gabled houses peeped out from amid the thick green foliage, but behind the peaceful and sunlit country-side there rose ever, dark against the evening sky, the long, gloomy curve of the moor, broken by the jagged and sinister hills.
46895    The wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curved upwards through deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, high banks on either side, heavy with dripping moss and fleshy harts-tongue ferns.
46896    Bronzing bracken and mottled bramble gleamed in the light of the sinking sun.
46897    Still steadily rising, we passed over a narrow granite bridge, and skirted a noisy stream, which gushed swiftly down, foaming and roaring amid the grey boulders.
46898    Both road and stream wound up through a valley dense with scrub oak and fir.
46899    At every turning Baskerville gave an exclamation of delight, looking eagerly about him and asking countless questions.
46900    To his eyes all seemed beautiful, but to me a tinge of melancholy lay upon the country-side, which bore so clearly the mark of the waning year.
46901    Yellow leaves carpeted the lanes and fluttered down upon us as we passed.
46902    The rattle of our wheels died away as we drove through drifts of rotting vegetation - sad gifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw before the carriage of the returning heir of the Baskervilles.
46903    'Hullo!' cried Dr Mortimer, 'what is this?'
46904    A steep curve of heath-clad land, an outlying spur of the moor, lay in front of us.
46905    On the summit, hard and clear like an equestrian statue upon its pedestal, was a mounted soldier, dark and stern, his rifle poised ready over his forearm.

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