The man with long hair is Newton. 对划线部分提问 划线部分是 with long hair_百度知道
The man with long hair is Newton. 对划线部分提问 划线部分是 with long hair
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＞＞＞Mr Li is the man ________ long hair. [ ]A. with B. andC...
Mr Li is the man ________ long hair.&&&&&&&
A. with&&&&&&&& B. and&&&&&&&&C. from&&&&&& D. for
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介词：是一种用来表示词与词、词与句之间的关系的虚词，在句中不能单独作句子成分。介词后面一般有名词代词或相当于名词的其他词类，短语或从句作它的宾语。介词的分类：（1）表示时间，处所：从 自 自从 于 打 到 往 在 当 朝 向 顺着 沿着 随着（2）表示方式：按 照 按照 依 依照 本着 经过 通过 根据 以 凭（3）表示目的：为 为了 为着（4）表示原因：因 由于 因为（5）表示对象，范围：对 对于 把 向 跟 与 同 给 关于（6）表示排除：除 除了 除去 除非（7）表示被动：被 叫 让 给（8）表示比较：比 和 同上述介词中的“着，了，过”是语素，不是动态助词。介词at, in, on的区别:&1. 表示时间，注意以下用法：(1) 表示时间的某一点、某一时刻或年龄等用 at。如：I get up at six in the morning. 我早上六点钟起床。He got married at the age of 25. 他 25 岁结婚。(2) 泛指一般意义的上午、下午或晚上以及月或年等较长的时间，一般用 in。如：We watch TV in the evening. 我们晚上看电视。He went to Japan in 1946. 他于 1946 去了日本。(3) 若表示星期几或某一特定的日期，则用 on。如：He left here on the fifth of May. 他于 5 月 5 日离开这儿。2. 表示地点、场所、位置等，注意以下用法：(1) 表示某一点位置，用 at。如：We live at No 87 Beijing Road. 我们住在北京路 87 号。The hospital is at the end of the street. 医院在这条街的尽头。与名词所有格连用表示地点，也用 at。如：at my sister’s 在我姐姐家& at the doctor’s 在医务室(2) 表示空间或范围，用 in。如：What’s in the box? 这盒子里有什么?He lives in Paris with his wife. 他同他妻子住在巴黎。但有时两者可换用。如：The meeting was held at [in] the hotel. 会议在宾馆举行。(3) at 与 in 的另一个区别是：at 用于指较小的地方，而 in 用于指较大的地方。如：in Shanghai 在上海&&& at the station 在车站但是，大与小是相对的，有时随着说话者的着眼点不同，大地方也可能用 at(比如把一个大地方看作一个点时)。如：Our plane refuelled at London. 我们的飞机在伦敦加油。We stopped for an hour at Moscow on our way to Paris. 我们在去巴黎的途中在莫斯科停了 1 个小时。(4) 介词 on 用于地点，主要指在某物的表面。如：What’s on the table? 桌上有什么?There’s a wallet lying on the ground. 地上有个钱包。注：在少数搭配中，也用介词 on。如：He works on a farm. 他在农场工作。3. 在某些搭配中，三者的区别与英国英语和美国英语有关：in the street (英) / on the street (美) 在街上in the road (英) / on the road (美) 在路上in the team (英) / on the team (美) 在这个队at the weekend (英) / on the weekend (美) 在周末at weekends (英) / on weekends (美) 在周末4. 有时三者的差别与搭配习惯和用法有关：in bed / on the bed 在床上in the tree (多指树外之物) / on the tree (多指树本身之物) 在树上
介词besides,but,except的用法区别：&1. 三者都可表示“除外”，但 besides 表示一种累加关系，意指“除了什么之外，还有……”；而 except 或 but 则表示一种排除关系，意指“除了什么之外，不再有……”。如：Besides his wife，his daughter also went to see him. 除他妻子外，他女儿也去看过他(即妻子女儿都去看过他)。Nobody went to see him except [but] his wife. 除他妻子外，没有一个人看过他(即只有他妻子去看过他)。注：在否定句中，besides 也表示“除……之外不再有…… ”，与but, except 同义。如：No one passed the exam besides [except] Jim. 除吉姆外，没一个人通过考试。2. 关于 but 与 except：(1) 两者都可表示“除……外不再有……”，但含义上略有差别：but侧重指意义的几乎完整性，而 except 则侧重指后面除去的部分。比较：All are here but one. 除一个人都到了。All are here except one. 还有一个人没到。(2) 在现代英语中，but 的介词用法十分有限，一般说来，它只能用在下列词语之后：① no, no one, nobody, nothing, nowhere 等② any, anyone, anybody, anything, anywhere 等③ every, everyone, everybody, everything, everywhere 等④ all, none 等⑤ who, what, where 等Everyone knows it but you. 除你之外大家都知道。I haven’t told anybody but you. 除你之外，我没告诉任何人。No one but he [him] showed much interest in it. 除他之外没有一个人对此有很大兴趣。一般说来，若没有出现上述词汇，就不宜使用介词 but，否则可能造成错句。但是 except 却没有以上限制。比较：正：The window is never opened except in summer. 除夏天外，这扇窗户从不打开。误：The window is never opened but in summer.(3) but 一定不能用于句首，except 通常不用于句首：除我之外每个人都累了。正：Everyone is tired but (except) me.正：Everyone but (except) me is tired.误：But (Except) me, everyone is tired.注：except for 可用于句首，表示 except 的意思：正：Except for me, everyone is tired.3. 关于 except 与 except for：except 主要用来谈论同类的东西，而 except for 则主要用来谈论不同类的东西，有时含有惋惜之意。如：All compositions are well written except yours. 除了你的作文外，其他的作文都写得很好。His composition is good except for a few spelling mistakes. 他的作文写得不错，只是有几处拼写错误。注：若用于句首，则 except for 与 except 同义(但 except 通常不用于句首)。4. 关于 except for 与 but for：except for 主要表示排除，but for 主要表示一种虚拟条件(与虚拟语气连用)。如：Except for me, everyone passed the exam. 除了我之外，大家都通过了考试。But for my help, she would not have passed the exam. 若不是我的帮助，她就不会通过考试。But for the atmosphere plants would die. 如果没有大气，植物就会死亡。5. besides 除用作介词外，还用作副词，其意为“此外”、“而且”，可用于分句句首(通常用逗号隔开)或句尾。如：I don’ besides, I’m too tired. 我不想去，而且我也太累了。This car belongs to Smith, and he has two others besides. 这部车是史密斯的，此外他还有两部。介词的用法口诀：
早、午、晚要用in，at黎明、午夜、点与分。
年、月、年月、季节、周，阳光、灯、影、衣、冒in。
将来时态in。。。以后，小处at大处in。
有形with无形by，语言、单位、材料in。
特征、方面与方式，心情成语惯用in。
介词at和to表方向，攻击、位置、恶、善分。
日子、日期、年月日，星期加上早、午、晚，
收音、农场、值日on，关于、基础、靠、着论。
着、罢、出售、偷、公、假，故意、支付、相反，准。
特定时日和“一……就”，on后常接动名词。
年、月、日加早、午、晚，of之前on代in。
步行、驴、马、玩笑on，cab，carriage则用in。
at山脚、门口、在当前，速、温、日落、价、核心。
工具、和、同随with，具有、独立、就、原因。
就……来说宾译主，对、有、方状、表细分。
海、陆、空、车、偶、被by，单数、人类knowtoman。
this、that、tomorrow，yesterday，next、last、one。
接年、月、季、星期、周，介词省略已习惯。
over、under正上下，above、below则不然，
若与数量词连用，混合使用亦无关。‘
beyond超出、无、不能，against靠着，对与反。
besides，except分内外，among之内along沿。
同类比较except，加for异类记心间。
原状becauseof，、owingto、dueto表语形容词
under后接修、建中，of、from物、化分。
before、after表一点，ago、later表一段。
before能接完成时，ago过去极有限。
since以来during间，since时态多变换。
与之相比beside，除了lastbutone。
复不定for、找、价、原，对、给、段、去、为、作、赞。
快到、对、向towards，工、学、军、城、北、上、南。
butfor否定用虚拟，复合介词待后言。
ing型由于鉴，除了除外与包合。
之后、关于、在。。。。。。方面，有关介词须记全。
in内to外表位置，山、水、国界to在前。
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307826231413262420122382303553282863The Man of Stone by H. P. Lovecraft and Hazel Heald
The Man of Stone
by H. P. Lovecraft and Hazel Heald
Written 1932
Published October 1932 in Wonder Stories, Volume 4, Number 5, pages 440-45, 470.
Ben Hayden was always a stubborn chap, and once he had heard about those strange statues in the upper Adirondacks, nothing could keep him from going to see them. I had been his closest acquaintance for years, and our Damon and Pythias friendship made us inseparable at all times. So when Ben finally decided to go - well, I had to trot along too, like a faithful collie.
"Jack," he said, "you know Henry Jackson, who was up in a shack beyond Lake Placid for that beastly spot in his lung? Well, he came back the other day nearly cured, but had a lot to say about some devilish queer conditions up there. He ran into the business all of a sudden and can't be sure yet that it's anything more than a case
but just the same his uneasy impression sticks.
"It seems he was out hunting one day, and came across a cave with what looked like a dog in front of it. Just as he was expecting the dog to bark he looked again, and saw the thing wasn't alive at all. It was a stone dog - such a perfect image, down to the smallest whisker, that he couldn't decide whether it was a supernaturally clever statue or a petrified animal. He was almost afraid to touch it, but when he did he realized it was surely made of stone.
"After a while he nerved himself up to go into the cave - and there he got a still bigger jolt. Only a little way in there was another stone figure - or what looked like it - but this time it was a man's. It lay on the floor, on its side, wore clothes, and had a peculiar smile on its face. This time Henry didn't stop to do any touching, but beat it straight to the village, Mountain Top, you know. Of course he asked questions - but they did not get him very far. He found he was on a ticklish subject, for the natives only shook their heads, crossed their fingers, and muttered something about a 'Mad Dan' - whoever he was.
"It was too much for Jackson, so he came home weeks ahead of his planned time. He told me all about it because he knows how fond I am of strange things - and oddly enough, I was able to fish up a recollection that dovetailed pretty neatly with his yarn. Do you remember Arthur Wheeler, the sculptor who was such a realist that people began calling him nothing but a solid photographer? I think you knew him slightly. Well, as a matter of fact, he ended up in that part of the Adirondacks himself. Spent a lot of time there, and then dropped out of sight. Never heard from again. Now if stone statues that look like men and dogs are turning up around there, it looks to me as if they might be his work - no matter what the rustics say, or refuse to say, about them. Of course a fellow with Jackson's nerves might easily get flighty and disturbed o but I'd have done a lot of examining before running away.
"In fact, Jack, I'm going up there now to look things over - and you're coming along with me. It would mean a lot to find Wheeler - or any of his work. Anyhow, the mountain air will brace us both up."
So less then a week later, after a long train ride and a jolting bus trip through breathlessly exquisite scenery, we arrived at Mountain Top in the late, golden sunlight of a June evening. The village comprised only a few small houses, a hotel, and the general store at w but we knew that the latter would probably prove a focus for such information. Surely enough, the usual group of idlers was gathe and when we represented ourselves as health-seekers in search of lodgings they had many recommendations to offer.
Though we had not planned to do any investigating till the next day, Ben could not resist venturing some vague, cautious questions when he noticed the senile garrulousness of one of the ill-clad loafers. He felt, from Jackson's previous experience, that it would be useless to begin with references
but decided to mention Wheeler as one whom we had known, and in whose fate we consequently had a right to be interested.
The crowd seemed uneasy when Sam stopped his whittling and started talking, but they had slight occasion for alarm. Even this barefoot old mountain decadent tightened up when he heard Wheeler's name, and only with difficulty could Ben get anything coherent out of him.
"Wheeler?" he had finally wheezed. "Oh, yeh - that feller as was all the time blastin' rocks and cuttin' 'em up into statues. So yew knowed him, hey? Wal, they ain't much we kin tell ye, and mebbe that's too much. He stayed out to Mad Dan's cabin in the hills - but not so very long. Got so he wa'nt wanted around no more...by Dan, that is. Kinder soft-spoken and got around Dan's wife till the old devil took notice. Pretty sweet on her, I guess. But he took the trail sudden, and nobody's seen hide nor hair of him since. Dan must a told him sumthin' pretty plain - bad feller to get agin ye, Dan is! Better keep away from thar, boys, for they ain't no good in that part of the hills. Dan's ben workin' up a worse and worse mood, and ain't seen about no more. Nor his wife, neither. Guess he's penned her up so's nobody else kin make eyes at her!"
As Sam resumed his whittling after a few more observations, Ben and I exchanged glances. Here, surely, was a new lead which deserved intensive following up. Deciding to lodge at the hotel, we settled ourselves as planning for a plunge into the wild hilly country on the next day.
At sunrise we made our start, each bearing a knapsack laden with provisions and such tools as we thought we might need. The day before us had an almost stimulating air of invitation - through which only a faint undercurrent of the sinister ran. Our rough mountain road quickly became steep and winding, so that before long our feet ached considerably.
After about two miles we left the road - crossing a stone wall on our right near a great elm and striking off diagonally toward a steeper slope according to the chart and directions which Jackson had prepared for us. It was rough and briery travelling, but we knew that the cave could not be far off. In the end we came upon the aperture quite suddenly - a black, bush-grown crevice where the ground shot abruptly upward, and beside it, near a shallow rock pool, a small, still figure stood rigid - as if rivalling its own uncanny petrification.
It was a grey dog - or a dog's statue - and as our simultaneous gasp died away we scarcely knew what to think. Jackson had exaggerated nothing, and we could not believe that any sculptor's hand had succeeded in producing such perfection. Every hair of the animal's magnificent coat seemed distinct, and those on the back were bristled up as if some unknown thing had taken his unaware. Ben, at last half-kindly touching the delicate stony fur, gave vent to an exclamation.
"Good God, Jack, but this can't be any statue! Look at it - all the little details, and the way the hair lies! None of Wheeler's technique here! This is a real dog - though heaven only knows how he ever got in this state. Just like stone - feel for yourself. Do you suppose there's any strange gas that sometimes comes out of the cave and does this to animal life? We ought to have looked more into the local legends. And if this is a real dog - or was a real dog - then that man inside must be the real thing too."
It was with a good deal of genuine solemnity - almost dread - that we finally crawled on hands and knees through the cave-mouth, Ben leading. The narrowness looked hardly three feet, after which the grotto expanded in every direction to form a damp, twilight chamber floored with rubble and detritus. For a time we could make out very little, but as we rose to our feet and strained our eyes we began slowly to descry a recumbent figure amidst the greater darkness ahead. Ben fumbled with his flashlight, but hesitated for a moment before turning it on the prostate figure. We had little doubt that the stony thing was what had once been a man, and something in the thought unnerved us both.
When Ben at last sent forth the electric beam we saw that the object lay on its side, back toward us. It was clearly of the same material as the dog outside, but was dressed in the mouldering and unpetrified remains of rough sport clothing. Braced as we were for a shock, we approached quite calmly
Ben going around to the other side to glimpse the averted face. Neither could possibly have been prepared for what Ben saw when he flashed the light on those stony features. His cry was wholly excusable, and I could not help echoing it as I leaped to his side and shared the sight. Yet it was nothing hideous or intrinsically terrifying. It was merely a matter of recognition, for beyond the least shadow of a doubt this chilly rock figure with its half-frightened, half-bitter expression had at one time been our old acquaintance, Arthur Wheeler.
Some instinct sent us staggering and crawling out of the cave, and down the tangled slope to a point whence we could not see the ominous stone dog. We hardly knew what to think, for our brains were churning with conjectures and apprehensions. Ben, who had known Wheeler well,
and seemed to be piecing together some threads I had overlooked.
Again and again as we passed on the green slope he repeated "Poor Arthur, poor Arthur!" but not till he muttered the name "Mad Dan" did I recall the trouble into which, just before his disappearance. Mad Dan, Ben implied, would doubtless be glad to see what had happened. For a moment it flashed over both of us that the jealous host might have been responsible for the sculptor's presence in this evil cave, but the thought went as quickly as it came.
The thing that puzzled us most was to account for the phenomenon itself. What gaseous emanation or mineral vapour could have wrought this change in so relatively short a time was utterly beyond us. Normal petrification, we know, is a slow chemical replacement process requiring vast yet here were two stone images which had been living things - or at least Wheeler had - only a few weeks before. Conjecture was useless. Clearly, nothing remained but to notify the authorities and let them g and yet at the back of Ben's head that notion about Mad Dan still persisted. Anyhow, we clawed our way back to the road, but Ben did not turn toward the village, but looked along upward toward where old Sam had said Dan's cabin lay. It was the second house from the village, the ancient loafer had wheezed, and lay on the left far back from the road in a thick copse of scrub oaks. Before I knew it Ben was dragging me up the sandy highway past a dingy farmstead and into a region of increasing wildness.
It did not occur to me to protest, but I felt a certain sense of mounting menace as the familiar marks of agriculture and civilization grew fewer and fewer. At last the beginning of a narrow, neglected path opened up on our left, while the peaked roof of a squalid, unpainted building shewed itself beyond a sickly growth of half-dead trees. This, I knew, must be Mad Dan' and I wondered that wheeler had ever chosen so unprepossessing a place for his headquarters. I dreaded to walk up that weedy, uninviting path, but could not lag behind, when Ben strode determinedly along and began a vigorous rapping at the rickety, musty-smelling door.
There was no response to the knock, and something in its echoes sent a series of shivers through one. Ben, however, w and at once began to circle the house in quest of unlocked windows. The third that he tried - in the rear of the dismal cabin - proved capable of opening, and after a boost and a vigorous spring he was safely inside and helping me after him.
The room in which we landed was full of limestone and granite blocks, chiselling tools and clay models, and we realised at once that it was Wheeler's erstwhile studio. So far we had not met with any sign of life, but over everything hovered a damnably ominous dusty odour. On our left was an open door evidently leading to a kitchen on the chimney side of the house, and through this Ben started, intent on finding anything he could concerning his friend's last habitat. He was considerably ahead of me when he crossed the threshold, so that I could not see at first what brought him up short and wrung a low cry of horror from his lips.
In another moment, though, I did see - and repeated his cry as instinctively as I had done in the cave. For here in this cabin - far from any subterranean depths which could breed strange gases and work strange mutations - were two stony figures which I knew at once were no products of Arthur Wheeler's chisel. In a rude armchair before the fireplace, bound in position by the lash of a long rawhide whip, was the form of a man - unkempt, elderly, and with a look of fathomless horror on its evil, petrified face.
On the floor beside it lay a woman' graceful, and with a face betokening considerable youth and beauty. Its expression seemed to be one of sardonic satisfaction, and near its outflung right hand was a large tin pail, somewhat stained on the inside, as with a darkish sediment.
We made no move to approach those inexplicably petrified bodies, nor did we exchange any but the simplest conjectures. That this stony couple hand been Mad Dan and his wife we could not well doubt, but how to account for their present condition was another matter. As we looked horrifiedly around we saw the suddenness with which the final development must have come - for everything about us seemed, despite a heavy coating of dust, to have been left in the midst of commonplace household activities.
The only exception to this rule of casualness was
in whose cleared centre, as if to attract attention, lay a thin, battered, blank-book weighed down by a sizeable tin funnel. Crossing to read the thing, Ben saw that it was a kind of diary or set of dated entries, written in a somewhat cramped and none too practiced hand. The very first words riveted my attention, and before ten seconds had elapsed he was breathlessly devouring the halting text - I avidly following as I peered over his shoulder. As we read on - moving as we did so into the less loathsome atmosphere of the adjoining room - many obscure things became terribly clear to us, and we trembled with a mixture of complex emotions.
This is what we read - and what the coroner read later on. The public has seen a highly twisted and sensationalised version in the cheap newspapers, but not even that has more than a fraction of the genuine terror which the original held for us as we puzzled it out alone in that musty cabin among the wild hills, with two monstrous stone abnormalities lurking in the death-like silence of the next room. When we had finished Ben pocketed the book with a gesture half of repulsion, and his first words were "Let's get out of here."
Silently and nervously we stumbled to the front of the house, unlocked the door, and began the long tramp back to the village. There were many statements to make and questions to answer in the days that followed, and I do not think that either Ben or I can ever shake off the effects of the whole harrowing experience. Neither can some of the local authorities and city reporters who flocked around - even though they burned a certain book and many papers found in attic boxes, and destroyed considerable apparatus in the deepest part of that sinister hillside cave. But here is the text itself:
"Nov. 5 - My name is Daniel Morris. Around here they call me 'Mad Dan' because I believe in powers that nobody else believes in nowadays. When I go up on Thunder Hill to keep the Feast of the Foxes they think I am crazy - all except the back country folks that are afraid of me. They try to stop me from sacrificing the Black Goat at Hallow Eve, and always prevent my doing the Great Rite that would open the gate. They ought to know better, for they know that I am a Van Kauran on my mother's side, and anybody this side of the Hudson can tell what the Van Kaurans have handed down. We come from Nicholas Van Kauran, the wizard, who was hanged in Wijtgaart in 1587, and everybody knows he had made the bargain with the Black Man.
"The soldiers never got his Book of Eibon when they burned his house, and his grandson, William Van Kauran, brought it over when he came to Rensselaerwyck and later crossed the river to Esopus. Ask anybody in Kingston or Hurley about what the William Van Kauran line could do to people that got in their way. Also, ask them if my Uncle Hendrik didn't manage to keep hold of the Book of Eibon when they ran him out of town and he went up the river to this place with his family.
"I am writing this - and am going to keep writing this - because I want people to know the truth after I am gone. Also, I am afraid I shall really go mad if I don't set things down in plain black and white. Everything is going against me, and if it keeps up I shall have to use the secrets in the Book and call in certain Powers. Three months ago that sculptor Arthur Wheeler came to Mountain Top, and they sent him up to me because I am the only man in the place who knows anything except farming, hunting, and fleecing summer boarders. The fellow seemed to be interested in what I had to say, and made a deal to stop in here for $13.00 a week with meals. I gave him the back room beside the kitchen for his lumps of stone and his chiselling, and arranged with Nate Williams to tend to his rock blasting and haul his big pieces with a drag and yoke of oxen.
"That was three months ago. Now I know why that cursed son of hell took so quick to the place. It wasn't my talk at all, but the looks of my wife Rose, that is Osborne Chandler's oldest girl. She is sixteen years younger than I am, and is always casting sheep's eyes at the fellows in town. But we always managed to get along fine enough till this dirty rat shewed up, even if she did balk at helping me with the Rites on Roodmas and Hallowmass. I can see now that Wheeler is working on her feelings and getting her so fond of him that she hardly looks at me, and I suppose he'll try to elope with her sooner or later.
"But he works slow like all sly, polished dogs, and I've got plenty of time to think up what to do about it. They don't either of them know I suspect anything, but before long they'll both realise it doesn't pay to break up a Van Kauran's home. I promise them plenty of novelty in what I'll do.
"Nov. 25 - Thanksgiving Day! That's a pretty good joke! But at that I'll have something to be thankful for when I finish what I've started. No question but that Wheeler is trying to steal my wife. For the time being, though, I'll let him keep on being a star boarder. Got the Book of Eibon down from Uncle Hendrik's old trunk in the attic last week, and am looking up something good which won't require sacrifices that I can't make around here. I want something that'll finish these two sneaking traitors, and at the same time get me into no trouble. If it has a twist of drama in it, so much the better. I've thought of calling in the emanation of Yoth, but that needs a child's blood and I must be careful about the neighbours. The Green Decay looks promising, but that would be a bit unpleasant for me as well as for them. I don't like certain sights and smells.
"Dec. 10 - Eureka! I've got the very thing at last! Revenge is sweet - and this is the perfect climax! Wheeler, the sculptor - this is too good! Yes, indeed, that damned sneak is going to produce a statue that will sell quicker than any of the things he's been carving these past weeks! A realist, eh? Well - the new statuary won't lack any realism! I found the formula in a manuscript insert opposite page 679 of the Book. From the handwriting I judge it was put there by my great-grandfather Bareut Picterse Van Kauran - the one who disappeared from New Paltz in 1839. I?! Shub-Niggurath! The Goat with a Thousand Young!
"To be plain, I've found a way to turn those wretched rats into stone statues. It's absurdly simple, and really depends more on plain chemistry than on the Outer Powers. If I can get hold of the right stuff I can brew a drink that'll pass for home-made wine, and one swig ought to finish any ordinary being short of an elephant. What it amounts to is a kind of petrification infinitely speeded up. Shoots the whole system full of calcium and barium salts and replaces living cells with mineral matter so fast that nothing can stop it. It must have been one of those things great-grandfather got at the Great Sabbat on Sugar-Loaf in the Catskills. Queer things used to go on there. Seems to me I heard of a man in New Paltz - Squire Hasbruck - turned to stone or something like that in 1834. He was an enemy of the Van Kaurans. First thing I must do is order the five chemicals I need from Albany and Montreal. Plenty of time later to experiment. When everything is over I'll round up all the statues and sell them as Wheeler's work to pay for his overdue board bill! He always was a realist and an egoist - wouldn't it be natural for him to make a self-portrait in stone, and to use my wife for another model - as indeed he's really been doing for the past fortnight? Trust the dull public not to ask what quarry the queer stone came from!
"Dec. 25 - Christmas. Peace on earth, and so forth! These two swine are goggling at each other as if I didn't exist. They must think I'm deaf, dumb, and blind! Well, the barium sulphate and calcium chloride came from Albany last Thursday, and the acids, catalytics, and instruments are due from Montreal any day now. The mills of the gods - and all that! I'll do the work in Allen's Cave near the lower wood lot, and at the same time will be openly making some wine in the cellar here. There ought to be some excuse for offering a new drink - though it won't take much planning to fool those two moonstruck nincompoops. The trouble will be to make Rose take wine, for she pretends not to like it. Any experiments that I make on animals will be down at the cave, and nobody ever thinks of going there in winter. I'll do some wood-cutting to account for my time away. A small load or two brought in will keep him off the track.
"Jan. 20 - It's harder work than I thought. a lot depends on the exact proportions. The stuff came from Montreal, but I had to send again for some better scales and an acetylene lamp. They're getting curious down at the village. Wish the express office weren't in Steenwyck's store. Am trying various mixtures on the sparrows that drink and bathe in the pool in front of the cave - when it's melted. Sometimes it kills them, but sometimes they fly away. Clearly, I've missed some important reaction. I suppose Rose and that upstart are making the most of my absence - but I can afford to let them. there can be no doubt of my success in the end.
"Feb. 11 - Have got it at last! Put a fresh lot in the little pond - which is well melted today - and the first bird that drank toppled over as if he were shot. I picked him up a second later, and he was a perfect piece of stone, down to the smallest claws and feather. Not a muscle changed since he was poised for drinking, so he must have died the instant any of the stuff got to his stomach. I didn't expect the petrification to come so soon. But a sparrow isn't a fair test of the way the thing would act with a large animal. I must get something bigger to try it on, for it must be the right strength when I give it to those swine. I guess Rose's dog Rex will do. I'll take him along the next time and say a timber wolf got him. she thinks a lot of him, and I shan't be sorry to give her something to sniffle over before the big reckoning. I must be careful where I keep this book. Rose sometimes pries around in the queerest places.
"Feb. 15 - Getting warm! Tried it on Rex and it worked like a charm with only double the strength. I fixed the rock pool and got him to drink. He seemed to know something queer had hit him, for he bristled and growled, but he was a piece of stone before he could turn his head. the solution ought to have been stronger, and for a human being ought to be very much stronger. I think I'm getting the hang of it now, and am about ready for that cur Wheeler. The stuff seems to be tasteless, but to make sure I'll flavour it with the new wine I'm making up at the house. Wish I were surer about the tastelessness, so I could give it to Rose in water without trying to urge wine on her. I'll get the two separately - Wheeler out here and Rose at home. Have just fixed a strong solution and cleared away all strange objects in front of the cave. Rose whimpered like a puppy when I told her a wolf had got Rex, and Wheeler gurgled a lot of sympathy.
"March 1 - I? R'lyeh! Praise the Lord Tsathoggua! I've got the son of hell at last! Told him I'd found a new ledge of friable limestone down this way, and he trotted after me like the yellow cur he is! I had the wine-flavoured stuff in a bottle on my hip, and he was glad of a swig when we got here. Gulped it down without a wink - and dropped in his tracks before you could count three. But he knows I've had my vengeance, for I made a face at him that he couldn't miss. I saw the look of understanding come into his face as he keeled over. In two minutes he was solid stone.
"I dragged him into the cave and put Rex's figure outside again. that bristling dog shape will help to scare people off. It's getting time for the spring hunters, and besides, there's a damned 'lunger' named Jackson in a cabin over the hill who does a lot of snooping around in the snow. I wouldn't want my laboratory and storeroom to be found just yet! when I got home I told Rose that Wheeler had found a telegram at the village summoning him suddenly home. I don't know whether she believed me or not but I doesn't matter. For form's sake, I packed Wheeler's things and took them down the hill, telling her I was going to ship them after him. I put them in the dry well at the abandoned Rapelye place. Now for Rose!
"March 3 - Can't get Rose to drink any wine. I hope that stuff is tasteless enough to go unnoticed in water. I tried it in tea and coffee, but it forms a precipitate and can't be used that way. If I use it in water I'll have to cut down the dose and trust to a more gradual action. Mr. and Mrs. Hoog dropped in this noon, and I had hard work keeping the conversation away from Wheeler's departure. It mustn't get around that we say he was called back to New York when everybody at the village knows that no telegram came, and that he didn't leave on the bus. Rose is acting damned queer about the whole thing. I'll have to pick a quarrel with her and keep her locked in the attic. The best way is to try to make her drink that doctored wine - and if she does give in, so much better.
"March 7 - Have started in on Rose. She wouldn't drink the wine so I took a whip to her and drove her up to the attic. She'll never come down alive. I pass her a platter of salty bread and salt meat, and a pail of slightly doctored water, twice a day. The salt food ought to make her drink a lot, and it can't be long before the action sets in. I don't like the way she shouts about Wheeler when I'm at the door. The rest of the time she is absolutely silent.
"March 9 - It's damned peculiar how slow that stuff is in getting hold of Rose. I'll have to make it stronger - probably she'll never taste it with all the salt I've been feeding her. well, if it doesn't get there are plenty of other ways to fall back on. but I would like to carry this neat statue plan through! Went to the cave this morning and all is well there. I sometimes hear Rose's footsteps on the ceiling overhead, and I think they're getting more and more dragging. The stuff is certainly working, but it's too slow. Not strong enough. From now on I'll rapidly stiffen up the dose.
"March 11 - It is very queer. She is still alive and moving. Tuesday night I heard her piggling with a window, so went up and gave her a rawhiding. She acts more sullen than frightened, and her eyes look swollen. But she could never drop to the ground from that height and there's nowhere she could climb down. I have had dreams at night, for her slow, dragging pacing on the floor above gets on my nerves. Sometimes I think she works at the lock on the door.
"March 15 - Still alive, despite all the strengthening of the dose. There's something queer about it. she crawls now, and doesn't pace very often. But the sound of her crawling is horrible. She rattles the windows, too, and fumbles with the door. I shall have to finish her off with the rawhide if this keeps up. I'm getting very sleepy. Wonder if Rose has got on her guard somehow. But she must be drinking the stuff. This sleepiness is abnormal - I think the strain is telling on me. I'm sleepy..."
(Here the cramped handwriting trails out in a vague scrawl, giving place to a note in a firmer, evidently feminine handwriting, indicative of great emotional tension.)
"March 16 - 4 a.m. - This is added by Rose C. Morris, about to die. Please notify my father, Osborne E. Chandler, Route 2, Mountain Top, N.Y. I have just read what the beast has written. I felt sure he had killed Arthur Wheeler, but did not know till I read this terrible notebook. Now I know what I escaped. I noticed the water tasted queer, so took none of it after the first sip. I threw it all out of the window. That one sip has half paralysed me, but I can still get about. The thirst was terrible, but I ate as little as possible of the salty food and was able to get a little water up here under places where the roof leaked.
"There were two great rains. I thought he was trying to poison me, though I didn't know what the poison was like. What he has written about himself and me is a lie. We were never happy together and I think I married him only under one of those spells that he was able to lay on people. I guess he hypnotised both my father and me, for he was always hated and feared and suspected of dark dealings with the devil. My father once called him The Devil's Kin, and he was right.
"No one will ever know what I went through as his wife. It was not simply common cruelty - though God knows he was cruel enough, and beat me often with a leather whip. It was more - more than anyone in this age can ever understand. He was a monstrous creature, and practiced all sorts of hellish ceremonies handed down by his mother's people. He tried to make me help in the rites - and I don't dare even hint what they were. I would not, so he beat me. It would be blasphemy to tell what he tried to make me do. I can say he was a murderer even then, for I know what he sacrificed one night on Thunder Hill. He was surely the Devil's Kin. I tried four times to run away, but he always caught and beat me. Also, he had a sort of hold over my mind, and even over my father's mind.
"About Arthur Wheeler I have nothing to be ashamed of. We did come to love each other, but only in an honorable way. He gave me the first kind treatment I had ever had since leaving my father's, and meant to help me get out of the clutches of that fiend. He had several talks with my father, and was going to help me get out west. After my divorce we would have been married.
"Ever since that brute locked me in the attic I have planned to get out and finish him. I always kept the poison overnight in case I could escape and find him asleep and give it to him somehow. At first he waked easily when I worked on the lock of the door and tested the conditions at the windows, but later he began to get more tired and sleep sounder. I could always tell by his snoring when he asleep.
"Tonight he was so fast asleep I forced the lock without waking him. it was hard work getting downstairs with my partial paralysis, but I did. I found him here with the lamp burning - asleep at the table, where he had been writing in this book. In the corner was the long rawhide whip he had so often beaten me with. I used it to tie him to the chair so he could not move a muscle. I lashed his neck so that I could pour anything down his throat without his resisting.
"He waked up just as I was finishing and I guess he saw right off that he was done for. he shouted frightful things and tried to chant mystical formulas, but I choked him off a dish towel from the sink. Then I saw this book he had been writing in, and stopped to read it. the shock was terrible, and I almost fainted four or five time. My mind was not ready for such things. After that I talked to that fiend for two or three hours steady. I told everything I had wanted to tell him through all the years I had been his slave, and lot of other things that had to with what I read in this awful book.
"He looked almost purple when I was through, and I think he was half delirious. Then I got a funnel from the cupboard and jammed it into his mouth after taking out the gag. He knew what I was going to do, but was helpless. I had brought down the pail of poisoned water, and without a qualm, I poured a good half of it into the funnel.
"It must have been a very strong dose, for almost at once I saw that brute begin to stiffen and turn a dull stony grey. In ten minutes I knew he was solid stone. I could bear to touch him, but the tin funnel clinked horribly when I pulled it out of his mouth. I wish I could have given that Kin of the Devil a more painful, lingering death, but surely this was the most appropriate he could have had.
"There is not much more to say. I am half-paralysed, and with Arthur murdered I have nothing to live for. I shall make things complete by drinking the rest of the poison after placing this book where it will be found. In a quarter of an hour I shall be a stone statue. My only wish is to be buried beside the statue that was Arthur - when it is found in that cave where the fiend left it. Poor trusting Rex ought to lie at our feet. I do not care what becomes of the stone devil tied in the chair...."
The Lovecraft Library wishes to extend its gratitude to Chilek al-Hassad for transcribing this text.