December 2018 1 5 Report
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A thick, white fog hung over the moor that night, moving slowly in our direction. The moon shone on it and Holmes sighed impatiently as he watched it. "It's moving towards us, Watson." Is that serious?" I asked. "Very serious, indeed - the one thing that could ruin my plan. Sir Henry can't be very long now. His life depends on his coming out of the house before the fog covers the path." The fog had covered the trees in the garden and was getting closer to the house. "If he isn't outside in a quarter of an hour, the be able to see our hands in front of us." "Shall we move further back to higher ground?" "Yes, I think it would be better." We moved back until we were half a mile from the house, and still that white sea swept onwarda. A sound of quick steps broke the silence. The steps grew louder, and trough the fog, as trough a curtain, Sir Henry appeared. "Look out!" cried Holmes, "It's coming!" There was a strange sound from within the fog. We waited, uncertain what horror would break from its heart. Suddenly, Holme's eyes were wide with amazement. I rushed to my feet, my mind paralysed by the dreadful shape which had sprung out from the shadows of the fog. A hound it was, an enormous coal-black hound - fire burst from its mounth and its eyes glowed like flames.

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