Hound of the Baskervilles
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
I have safely arrived at the heart of dark more and I'm staying at the Duchy Hotel in Princeton, just a stone's throw from the notorious prison. It is an ominous place as we speak. I'm enjoying the views out of the window from my writing desk, distant, dark, more limbs through the mist. I look forward with great anticipation to my days of exploration which will help me develop my latest homes in tail The Hound of the Baskervilles. My dear Holmes, my previous letters and telegrams have kept you pretty well up to date. As to all this has occurred in its most godforsaken corner of the world, the longer one stays here the mortars, the spirit of the Mohr sinking toe, one soul, its vastness and also its grim charm. When you are once out upon its bosom, you have left all traces of modern England behind you. But on the other hand, your conscious everywhere of the homes and the work of the prehistoric people on all sides of yours. You walk of the houses of these forgotten folk with their graves and the huge monoliths which are supposed to have marked their temples As you look at their grey stone huts against the scarred hillsides. You leave your own age behind you. And if you were to see a skin clad Harry man cruel out from the low door fitting a flint tipped arrow one to the string of his bow, you would feel that his presence here was more natural than your own. We returned exhausted but fascinated from our travels out on the moor today, my companion took me to a large circle of stones in which others were arranged us huts in the village. This detail cannot be overlooked on are absolutely shall included again to set the scene in the mind of the reader of the whole tale about just water place dark more is is it so hard to know very hard. You see, for example, this great plains of the North here, with queer hills breaking out of it. Do you observe anything remarkable about that? It would be a rare place for a gallop. You would naturally think so. And the thought has cost folk their lives before. Now you noticed those bright green spots scattered thickly over it? Yes, they they seem more fertile than the rest that is the great grim pond. Meyer said. He a four step yonder means death to man or beast. Only yesterday I saw one of the moor ponies wonder into it. He never came out. I saw his head for quite a long time crane ing out of the bog hole, but it sucked him down at last. Even in dry seasons, it is a danger to cross it. But after these autumn rains, it is an awful place. And yet I confined my way to the very heart of it and return alive. And so, dear listener, with this text, I will set the scene. Dr. Watson is hiding in one of the primitive tops left out on the moor with tingling nerves but a fixed purpose. I sat in the dark recess of the hut and waited with samba patients for the coming of its tenant. And then, at last I heard him. Far away came the sharp clink of a boot striking upon a stone, then another, and yet another coming nearer and nearer. I shrank back into the darkest corner and cooked my pistol in my pocket, determined not to discover myself until I had an opportunity of seeing something of the stranger. There was a long pause, which showed that he had stopped. Then, once more, the footsteps approached and the shadow fell across the opening of the hut. It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson said. A well known voice. I really think that you would be more comfortable outside than in for a moment or two. I sat breathless, hardly able to believe my ears. They're my senses and my voice came back to me. While a crushing weight of responsibility seemed in an instant to be lifted from my soul, that cold, incisive, ironical voice could belong to but one man in all the world Holmes. I cried homes.