209.Chapter Eighteen（10）

thewhipwashangingonanailbythedoor，readytohandagainstthearrivalofreporters。***inafrenzythesavageranbacktothehouse，seizedit，whirledit。theknottedcordsbitintohisflesh。

“strumpet！strumpet！”heshoutedateveryblowasthoughitwerelenina（andhowfrantically，withoutknowingit，hewisheditwere），white，warm，scented，infamousleninathathewasdoggingthus。“strumpet！”andthen，inavoiceofdespair，“oh，linda，forgiveme。forgiveme，god。i’mbad。i’mwicked。i’m…no，no，youstrumpet，youstrumpet！”

fromhiscarefullyconstructedhideinthewoodthreehundredmetresaway，darwinbonaparte，thefeelycorporation’smostexpertbiggamephotographerhadwatchedthewholeproceedings。patienceandskillhadbeenrewarded。hehadspentthreedayssittinginsidetheboleofanartificialoaktree，threenightscrawlingonhisbellythroughtheheather，hidingmicrophonesingorsebushes，buryingwiresinthesoftgreysand。seventy-twohoursofprofounddiscomfort。butnowthegreatmomenthadcome–thegreatest，darwinbonapartehadtimetoreflect，ashemovedamonghisinstruments，thegreatestsincehistakingofthefamousall-howlingstereoscopicfeelyofthegorillas’wedding。“splendid，”hesaidtohimself，asthesavagestartedhisastonishingperformance。“splendid！”hekepthistelescopiccamerascarefullyaimed–gluedtotheirmovingobjective；clappedonahigherpowertogetaclose-upofthefranticanddistortedface（admirable！）；switchedover，forhalfaminute，toslowmotion（anexquisitelycomicaleffect，hepromisedhimself）；listenedin，meanwhile，totheblows，thegroans，thewildandravingwordsthatwerebeingrecordedonthesound-trackattheedgeofhisfilm，triedtheeffectofalittleamplification（yes，thatwasdecidedlybetter）；wasdelightedtohear，inamomentarylull，theshrillsingingofalark；wishedthesavagewouldturnroundsothathecouldgetagoodclose-upofthebloodonhisback–andalmostinstantly（whatastonishingluck！）theaccommodatingfellowdidturnround，andhewasabletotakeaperfectclose-up。