Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

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THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE by Robert Louis Stevenson Editing by B.D. Wilson Table of Contents STORY OF THE DOOR SEARCH FOR MR. HYDE DR. JEKYLL WAS QUITE AT EASE THE CAREW MURDER CASE INCIDENT OF THE LETTER INCIDENT OF DR. LANYON INCIDENT AT THE WINDOW THE LAST NIGHT DR. LANYON'S NARRATIVE HENRY JEKYLL'S FULL STATEMENT OF THE CASE STORY OF THE DOOR Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in disc
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  THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE  by Robert Louis StevensonEditing by B.D. WilsonTable of Contents STORY OF THE DOOR SEARCH FOR MR. HYDEDR. JEKYLL WAS QUITE AT EASETHE CAREW MURDER CASEINCIDENT OF THE LETTER INCIDENT OF DR. LANYONINCIDENT AT THE WINDOWTHE LAST NIGHTDR. LANYON'S NARRATIVEHENRY JEKYLL'S FULL STATEMENT OF THECASE STORY OF THE DOOR  Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scantyand embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary and yet somehow lovable. Atfriendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something eminently human beaconed from his eye;something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent symbolsof the after-dinner face, but more often and loudly in the acts of his life. He was austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone, to mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed the theater, had not crossed thedoors of one for twenty years. But he had an approved tolerance for others; sometimes wondering, almostwith envy, at the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and in any extremity inclined to helprather than to reprove. I incline to Cain's heresy, he used to say quaintly: I let my brother go to the devil inhis own way. In this character, it was frequently his fortune to be the last reputable acquaintance and the lastgood influence in the lives of downgoing men. And to such as these, so long as they came about hischambers, he never marked a shade of change in his demeanor. No doubt the feat was easy to Mr. Utterson; for he was undemonstrative at the best, and even his friendshipseemed to be founded in a similar catholicity of good-nature. It is the mark of a modest man to accept his  friendly circle ready-made from the hands of opportunity; and that was the lawyer's way. His friends werethose of his own blood or those whom he had known the longest; his affections, like ivy, were the growth of time, they implied no aptness in the object. Hence, no doubt the bond that united him to Mr. Richard Enfield,his distant kinsman, the well-known man about town. It was a nut to crack for many, what these two couldsee in each other, or what subject they could find in common. It was reported by those who encountered themin their Sunday walks, that they said nothing, looked singularly dull and would hail with obvious relief theappearance of a friend. For all that, the two men put the greatest store by these excursions, counted them thechief jewel of each week, and not only set aside occasions of pleasure, but even resisted the calls of business,that they might enjoy them uninterrupted.It chanced on one of these rambles that their way led them down a by-street in a busy quarter of London. Thestreet was small and what is called quiet, but it drove a thriving trade on the weekdays. The inhabitants wereall doing well, it seemed and all emulously hoping to do better still, and laying out the surplus of their grainsin coquetry; so that the shop fronts stood along that thoroughfare with an air of invitation, like rows of smiling saleswomen. Even on Sunday, when it veiled its more florid charms and lay comparatively empty of  passage, the street shone out in contrast to its dingy neighborhood, like a fire in a forest; and with its freshly painted shutters, well-polished brasses, and general cleanliness and gaiety of note, instantly caught and pleased the eye of the passenger.Two doors from one corner, on the left hand going east the line was broken by the entry of a court; and just atthat point a certain sinister block of building thrust forward its gable on the street. It was two storeys high;showed no window, nothing but a door on the lower story and a blind forehead of discolored wall on theupper; and bore in every feature, the marks of prolonged and sordid negligence. The door, which wasequipped with neither bell nor knocker, was blistered and disdained. Tramps slouched into the recess andstruck matches on the panels; children kept shop upon the steps; the schoolboy had tried his knife on themoldings; and for close on a generation, no one had appeared to drive away these random visitors or to repair their ravages.Mr. Enfield and the lawyer were on the other side of the by-street; but when they came abreast of the entry,the former lifted up his cane and pointed. Did you ever remark that door? he asked; and when his companion had replied in the affirmative. It isconnected in my mind, added he, with a very odd story. Indeed? said Mr. Utterson, with a slight change of voice, and what was that? Well, it was this way, returned Mr. Enfield: I was coming home from some place at the end of the world,about three o'clock of a black winter morning, and my way lay through a part of town where there wasliterally nothing to be seen but lamps. Street after street and all the folks asleep—street after street, all lightedup as if for a procession and all as empty as a church—till at last I got into that state of mind when a manlistens and listens and begins to long for the sight of a policeman. All at once, I saw two figures: one a littleman who was stumping along eastward at a good walk, and the other a girl of maybe eight or ten who wasrunning as hard as she was able down a cross street. Well, sir, the two ran into one another naturally enoughat the corner; and then came the horrible part of the thing; for the man trampled calmly over the child's bodyand left her screaming on the ground. It sounds nothing to hear, but it was hellish to see. It wasn't like a man;it was like some damned Juggernaut. I gave a few hallos, took to my heels, collared my gentleman, and brought him back to where there was already quite a group about the screaming child. He was perfectly cooland made no resistance, but gave me one look, so ugly that it brought out the sweat on me like running. The people who had turned out were the girl's own family; and pretty soon, the doctor, for whom she had beensent put in his appearance. Well, the child was not much the worse, more frightened, according to theSawbones; and there you might have supposed would be an end to it. But there was one curiouscircumstance. I had taken a loathing to my gentleman at first sight. So had the child's family, which was onlynatural. But the doctor's case was what struck me. He was the usual cut and dry apothecary, of no particular   age and color, with a strong Edinburgh accent and about as emotional as a bagpipe. Well, sir, he was like therest of us; every time he looked at my prisoner, I saw that Sawbones turn sick and white with desire to killhim. I knew what was in his mind, just as he knew what was in mine; and killing being out of the question,we did the next best. We told the man we could and would make such a scandal out of this as should makehis name stink from one end of London to the other. If he had any friends or any credit, we undertook that heshould lose them. And all the time, as we were pitching it in red hot, we were keeping the women off him as best we could for they were as wild as harpies. I never saw a circle of such hateful faces; and there was theman in the middle, with a kind of black sneering coolness—frightened too, I could see that—but carrying itoff, sir, really like Satan. `If you choose to make capital out of this accident,' said he, `I am naturally helpless. No gentleman but wishes to avoid a scene,' says he. `Name your figure.' Well, we screwed him up to ahundred pounds for the child's family; he would have clearly liked to stick out; but there was somethingabout the lot of us that meant mischief, and at last he struck. The next thing was to get the money; and wheredo you think he carried us but to that place with the door?—whipped out a key, went in, and presently came back with the matter of ten pounds in gold and a check for the balance on Coutts's, drawn payable to bearer and signed with a name that I can't mention, though it's one of the points of my story, but it was a name atleast very well known and often printed. The figure was stiff; but the signature was good for more than that if it was only genuine. I took the liberty of pointing out to my gentleman that the whole business lookedapocryphal, and that a man does not, in real life, walk into a cellar door at four in the morning and come outwith another man's check for close upon a hundred pounds. But he was quite easy and sneering. `Set your mind at rest,' says he, `I will stay with you till the banks open and cash the check myself.' So we all set off,the doctor, and the child's father, and our friend and myself, and passed the rest of the night in my chambers;and next day, when we had breakfasted, went in a body to the bank. I gave in the check myself, and said Ihad every reason to believe it was a forgery. Not a bit of it. The check was genuine. Tut-tut, said Mr. Utterson. I see you feel as I do, said Mr. Enfield. Yes, it's a bad story. For my man was a fellow that nobody couldhave to do with, a really damnable man; and the person that drew the check is the very pink of the proprieties, celebrated too, and (what makes it worse) one of your fellows who do what they call good. Black mail I suppose; an honest man paying through the nose for some of the capers of his youth. Black MailHouse is what I call the place with the door, in consequence. Though even that, you know, is far fromexplaining all, he added, and with the words fell into a vein of musing.From this he was recalled by Mr. Utterson asking rather suddenly: And you don't know if the drawer of thecheck lives there? A likely place, isn't it? returned Mr. Enfield. But I happen to have noticed his address; he lives in somesquare or other. And you never asked about the—place with the door? said Mr. Utterson. No, sir: I had a delicacy, was the reply. I feel very strongly about putting questions; it partakes too muchof the style of the day of judgment. You start a question, and it's like starting a stone. You sit quietly on thetop of a hill; and away the stone goes, starting others; and presently some bland old bird (the last you wouldhave thought of) is knocked on the head in his own back garden and the family have to change their name. No sir, I make it a rule of mine: the more it looks like Queer Street, the less I ask. A very good rule, too, said the lawyer. But I have studied the place for myself, continued Mr. Enfield. It seems scarcely a house. There is noother door, and nobody goes in or out of that one but, once in a great while, the gentleman of my adventure.There are three windows looking on the court on the first floor; none below; the windows are always shut butthey're clean. And then there is a chimney which is generally smoking; so somebody must live there. And yet
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