“But what does that prove?” he asked, in a gentle, persuasive voice.
“Ah, what indeed?” I murmured. “What does it prove?”
“Shall I tell you?” he cooed.
“It proves,” he roared, with a sudden blast of fury, “that you are the damnedest imposter in London — a vile, crawling journalist, who has no more science than he has decency in his composition!”
He had sprung to his feet with a mad rage in his eyes.
Excerpt from “The Lost World” by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, with illustration by J.C. Coll, digitally redrawn by Ayal Pinkus