ˈæz i ˈspəʊk | ðə ˈɡliːm ə ðə
ˈsaɪd ˈlaɪts əv ə ˈkærɪʤ | ˈkeɪm ˈraʊn ðə ˈkɜːv ə ði ˈævənjuː ||
ɪt wəz ə ˈsmɑːt ˈlɪtl̩ ˈlændɔː | wɪʧ ˈrætl̩d ˈʌp tə ˈdɔːr əv ˈbraɪəni ˈlɒʤ
|| ˈæz ɪp ˈpʊld ˈʌp | ˈwʌn ə ðə ˈləʊfɪŋ ˈmen ət ðə ˈkɔːnə | ˈdæʃ
ˈfɔːwəd | tu ˈəʊpən ðə ˈdɔːr | ɪn ðə ˈhəʊp əv ˈɜːnɪŋ ə ˈkɒpə
| bət wəz ˈelbəʊd əˈweɪ | baɪ əˈnʌðə ˈləʊfə | hud ˈrʌʃt ˈʌp
| wɪð ðə ˈseɪm ɪnˈtenʃn̩ || ə ˈfɪəs ˈkwɒrəl ˈbrəʊk ˈaʊt | wɪʧ wəz
ɪŋˈkriːs baɪ ðə ˈtuː ˈɡɑːdzmən | hu ˈtʊk ˈsaɪdz wɪð ˈwʌn ə ðə
ˈlaʊnʤəz | əm baɪ ðə ˈsɪzə ˈɡraɪndə | hu wəz ˈiːkwəli ˈhɒt əˈpɒn ði ˈʌðə
ˈsaɪd || ə ˈbləʊ wəz ˈstrʌk | ən ˈɪn ən ˈɪnstənt | ðə ˈleɪdi
| hud ˈstep frəm ɜː ˈkærɪʤ | wəz ðə ˈsentər əv ə ˈlɪtl̩ ˈnɒt | əv
ˈflʌʃt ən ˈstrʌɡlɪŋ ˈmen | hu ˈstrʌk ˈsævɪʤli ət iːʧ ˈʌðə | wɪð
ðeə ˈfɪsts ən ˈstɪks || ˈhəʊmz ˈdæʃt ɪntə ðə ˈkraʊd | tə prəˈtek
ðə ˈleɪdi | bət ˈʤʌst əz i ˈriːʧt ə | hi ˈɡeɪv ə ˈkraɪ | ə
ˈdrɒp tə ðə ˈɡraʊnd | wɪð ðə ˈblʌd ˈrʌnɪŋ ˈfriːli ˈdaʊn ɪz ˈfeɪs
|| ˈæt ɪz ˈfɔːl | ðə ˈɡɑːdzmən ˈtʊk tə ðeə ˈhiːlz ɪn ˈwʌn
dəˈrekʃn̩ | ən ðə ˈlaʊnʤəz ˈɪn ði ˈʌðə | waɪl ə ˈnʌmbər ə ˈbetə
ˈdres ˈpiːpl̩ | hud ˈwɒʧ ðə ˈskʌfl̩ | wɪˈðaʊt ˈteɪkɪŋ ˈpɑːt ɪn ɪt
| ˈkraʊdɪd ˈɪn tə ˈhelp ðə ˈleɪdi | ən tu əˈten tə ði ˈɪnʤəb ˈmæn
|| ˈaɪriːn ˈædlə | əz aɪl ˈstɪl ˈkɔːl ə | həd ˈhʌrid ˈʌp ðə ˈsteps
| bət ʃi ˈstʊd ət ðə ˈtɒp | wɪð ɜː suˈpɜːb ˈfɪɡə | ˈaʊtlaɪnd
əˈɡens ðə ˈlaɪts ə ðə ˈhɔːl | ˈlɔːkɪŋ ˈbæk ɪntə ðə ˈstriːt
ɪz ðə ˈpɔː ˈʤentl̩mən ˈmʌʧ ˈhɜːt
ʃi ˈɑːst
hiz ˈdeɡ ˈkraɪd ˈsevrəl ˈvɔɪsɪz
ˈnəʊ | ˈnəʊ | ðəz ˈlaɪf
ɪn ɪm ˈʃaʊtɪd əˈnʌðə || bət il bi ˈɡɒm bəˈfɔː ju kəŋ ˈɡet ɪm tə ˈhɒspətl̩
hiz ə ˈbreɪv ˈfeləʊ ˈsed ə
ˈwʊmən || ðeɪd əv ˈhæd ðə ˈleɪdiz ˈpɜːs ən ˈwɒʧ | ɪf ɪt ˈhæbm̩ ˈbiːn fə ˈhɪm
|| ðeɪ wər ə ˈɡæŋ | ən ə ˈrʌf ˈwʌn ˈtuː | ˈɑː | hiz ˈbriːðɪŋ
| ˈnaʊ
hi ˈkɑːnt ˈlaɪ ɪn ðə ˈstriːt ||
ˈmeɪ wi ˈbrɪŋ ɪm ˈɪm ˈmɑːm
ˈʃɔːli || ˈbrɪŋ ɪm ˈɪntə ðə ˈsɪtɪŋ
ˈruːm || ðəz ə ˈkʌmftəbl̩ ˈsəʊfə | ˈðɪs ˈweɪ ˈpliːz
Doyle, Arthur Conan. The Original Illustrated Sherlock Holmes. “Reproduced from the original publication in The Strand Magazine with the classic illustrations by Sidney Paget.” Edison, New Jersey: Castle Books, [after 1954]. Internet Archive version of a copy donated by Friends of the San Francisco Library. http://www.victorianweb.org/art/illustration/pagets/8.html
As he spoke the gleam
of the side-lights of a carriage came round the curve of the avenue. It was a
smart little landau which rattled up to the door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled
up, one of the loafing men at the corner dashed forward to open the door in the
hope of earning a copper, but was elbowed away by another loafer, who had
rushed up with the same intention. A fierce quarrel broke out, which was
increased by the two guardsmen, who took sides with one of the loungers, and by
the scissors-grinder, who was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was
struck, and in an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage, was the
centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling men, who struck savagely at
each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes dashed into the crowd to protect
the lady; but just as he reached her he gave a cry and dropped to the ground,
with the blood running freely down his face. At his fall the guardsmen took to
their heels in one direction and the loungers in the other, while a number of
better-dressed people, who had watched the scuffle without taking part in it,
crowded in to help the lady and to attend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I
will still call her, had hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top with
her superb figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking back into
the street.
“Is the poor
gentleman much hurt?” she asked.
“He is dead,” cried
several voices.
“No, no, there's life
in him!” shouted another. “But he'll be gone before you can get him to
hospital.”
“He's a brave
fellow,” said a woman. “They would have had the lady's purse and watch if it
hadn't been for him. They were a gang, and a rough one, too. Ah, he's breathing
now.”
“He can't lie in the
street. May we bring him in, marm?”
No comments:
Post a Comment