ld write my own
hand; and once I had conceived that kindling spark, the way that I must
follow became lighted up from end to end.

Thereupon, I arranged my clothes as best I could, and summoning a
passing hansom, drove to an hotel in Portland Street, the name of
which I chanced to remember. At my appearance (which was indeed comical
enough, however tragic a fate these garments covered) the driver could
not conceal his mirth. I gnashed my teeth upon him with a gust of
devilish fury; and the smile withered from his face--happily for
him--yet more happily for myself, for in another instant I had certainly
dragged him from his perch. At the inn, as I entered, I looked about me
with so black a countenance as made the attendants tremble; not a look
did they exchange in my presence; but obsequiously took my orders,
led me to a private room, and brought me wherewithal to write. Hyde
in danger of his life was a creature new to me; shaken with inordinate
anger, strung to the pitch of murder, lusting to inflict pain. Yet the
creature was astute; mastered his fury with a great effort of the will;
composed his two important letters, one to Lanyon and one to Poole; and
that he might receive actual evidence of their being posted, sent them
out with directions that they should be registered. Thenceforward, he
sat all day over the fire in the private room, gnawing his nails; there
he dined, sitting alone with his fears, the waiter visibly quailing
before his eye; and thence, when the night was fully come, he set forth
in the corner of a closed cab, and was driven to and fro about the
streets of the city. He, I say--I cannot say, I. That child of Hell had
nothing human; nothing lived in him but fear and hatred. And when at
last, thinking the driver had begun to grow suspicious, he discharged
the cab and ventured on foot, attired in his misfitting clothes, an
object marked out for observation, into the midst of the nocturnal
passengers, these two base passions raged within him like a tempest.
He walked fast, hunted by his fears, chattering to himself, skulking
through the less frequented thoroughfares, counting the minutes that
still divided him from midnight. Once a woman spoke to him, offering, I
think, a box of lights. He smote her in the face, and she fled.

When I came to myself at Lanyon's, the horror of my old friend perhaps
affected me somewhat: I do not know; it was at least but a drop in
the sea to the abhorrence with which I l