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Las aventuras de Sherlock Holmes
A Scandal in Bohemia
Capítulo 1, Página 1
To
Sherlock
Holmes
she
is
always
the
woman.
I
have
seldom
heard
him
mention
her
under
any
other
name.
In
his
eyes
she
eclipses
and
predominates
the
whole
of
her
sex.
It
was
not
that
he
felt
any
emotion
akin
to
love
for
Irene
Adler.
All
emotions,
and
that
one
particularly,
were
abhorrent
to
his
cold,
precise
but
admirably
balanced
mind.
He
was,
I
take
it,
the
most
perfect
reasoning
and
observing
machine
that
the
world
has
seen,
but
as
a
lover
he
would
have
placed
himself
in
a
false
position.
He
never
spoke
of
the
softer
passions,
save
with
a
gibe
and
a
sneer.
They
were
admirable
things
for
the
observer—excellent
for
drawing
the
veil
from
men’s
motives
and
actions.
But
for
the
trained
reasoner
to
admit
such
intrusions
into
his
own
delicate
and
finely
adjusted
temperament
was
to
introduce
a
distracting
factor
which
might
throw
a
doubt
upon
all
his
mental
results.
Grit
in
a
sensitive
instrument,
or
a
crack
in
one
of
his
own
high-power
lenses,
would
not
be
more
disturbing
than
a
strong
emotion
in
a
nature
such
as
his.
And
yet
there
was
but
one
woman
to
him,
and
that
woman
was
the
late
Irene
Adler,
of
dubious
and
questionable
memory.
I
had
seen
little
of
Holmes
lately.
My
marriage
had
drifted
us
away
from
each
other.
My
own
complete
happiness,
and
the
home-centred
interests
which
rise
up
around
the
man
who
first
finds
himself
master
of
his
own
establishment,
were
sufficient
to
absorb
all
my
attention,
while
Holmes,
who
loathed
every
form
of
society
with
his
whole
Bohemian
soul,
remained
in
our
lodgings
in
Baker
Street,
buried
among
his
old
books,
and
alternating
from
week
to
week
between
cocaine
and
ambition,
the
drowsiness
of
the
drug,
and
the
fierce
energy
of
his
own
keen
nature.
He
was
still,
as
ever,
deeply
attracted
by
the
study
of
crime,
and
occupied
his
immense
faculties
and
extraordinary
powers
of
observation
in
following
out
those
clues,
and
clearing
up
those
mysteries
which
had
been
abandoned
as
hopeless
by
the
official
police.
From
time
to
time
I
heard
some
vague
account
of
his
doings:
of
his
summons
to
Odessa
in
the
case
of
the
Trepoff
murder,
of
his
clearing
up
of
the
singular
tragedy
of
the
Atkinson
brothers
at
Trincomalee,
and
finally
of
the
mission
which
he
had
accomplished
so
delicately
and
successfully
for
the
reigning
family
of
Holland.
Beyond
these
signs
of
his
activity,
however,
which
I
merely
shared
with
all
the
readers
of
the
daily
press,
I
knew
little
of
my
former
friend
and
companion.
One
night—it
was
on
the
twentieth
of
March,
1888—I
was
returning
from
a
journey
to
a
patient
(for
I
had
now
returned
to
civil
practice),
when
my
way
led
me
through
Baker
Street.
As
I
passed
the
well-remembered
door,
which
must
always
be
associated
in
my
mind
with
my
wooing,
and
with
the
dark
incidents
of
the
Study
in
Scarlet,
I
was
seized
with
a
keen
desire
to
see
Holmes
again,
and
to
know
how
he
was
employing
his
extraordinary
powers.
His
rooms
were
brilliantly
lit,
and,
even
as
I
looked
up,
I
saw
his
tall,
spare
figure
pass
twice
in
a
dark
silhouette
against
the
blind.
He
was
pacing
the
room
swiftly,
eagerly,
with
his
head
sunk
upon
his
chest
and
his
hands
clasped
behind
him.
To
me,
who
knew
his
every
mood
and
habit,
his
attitude
and
manner
told
their
own
story.
He
was
at
work
again.
He
had
risen
out
of
his
drug-created
dreams
and
was
hot
upon
the
scent
of
some
new
problem.
I
rang
the
bell
and
was
shown
up
to
the
chamber
which
had
formerly
been
in
part
my
own.
His
manner
was
not
effusive.
It
seldom
was;
but
he
was
glad,
I
think,
to
see
me.
With
hardly
a
word
spoken,
but
with
a
kindly
eye,
he
waved
me
to
an
armchair,
threw
across
his
case
of
cigars,
and
indicated
a
spirit
case
and
a
gasogene
in
the
corner.
Then
he
stood
before
the
fire
and
looked
me
over
in
his
singular
introspective
fashion.
“Wedlock
suits
you,”
he
remarked.
“I
think,
Watson,
that
you
have
put
on
seven
and
a
half
pounds
since
I
saw
you.”
“Seven!”
I
answered.
“Indeed,
I
should
have
thought
a
little
more.
Just
a
trifle
more,
I
fancy,
Watson.
And
in
practice
again,
I
observe.
You
did
not
tell
me
that
you
intended
to
go
into
harness.”
“Then,
how
do
you
know?”
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Las aventuras de Sherlock Holmes — C1 Inglés | Cuentana