"Somewhere, off in the blackness, someone had fired a gun three times."/ "He lunged for it; a short, hoarse cry came from his lips as he realized he had reached too far and had lost his balance. The cry was pinch short as the blood-warm waters of the Caribbean Sea dosed over his head."
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Pleasure and honor to welcome Mr. Sanger Rainsford, the celebrated hunter, to my home.” Automatically Rainsford shook the man’s hand. “I’ve read your book about hunting snow leopards in Tibet, you see,” explained the man. “I am General Zaroff.”
“But no animal can reason,” objected Rainsford. “My dear fellow,” said the general, “there is one that can.” “But you can’t mean—” gasped Rainsford “And why not?” “I can’t believe you are serious, General Zaroff. This is a grisly joke.”
"The general was playing with him! The general was saving him for another day’s sport! The Cossack was the cat; he was the mouse. Then it was that Rainsford knew the full meaning of terror."
He reached it. It was the shore of the sea. Across a cove he could see the gloomy gray stone of the chateau. Twenty feet below him the sea rumbled and hissed.Rainsford hesitated. He heard the hounds. Then he leaped far out into the sea. . . .
"The general made one of his deepest bows. “I see,” he said. “Splendid! One of us is to furnish a repast for the hounds. The other will sleep in this very excellent bed. On guard, Rainsford.” . . . He had never slept in a better bed, Rainsford decided.