Not a whisper, not a rustle, rose now from the dark figure (ни шепота, ни шороха не исходило теперь от темной фигуры) over which we stooped (над которой мы склонились). Holmes laid his hand upon him (Холмс положил на него руку), and held it up again (и поднял ее снова), with an exclamation of horror (в ужасе вскрикнув). The gleam of the match which he struck (слабый свет спички, которой он чиркнул; to strike — ударять; высекать, зажигать /об огне — с помощью кремня или спички/) shone upon his clotted fingers and upon the ghastly pool (осветил его пальцы в сгустках крови и жуткую лужу; to shine; to clot — образовывать сгустки; свертываться, запекаться /о крови/) which widened slowly from the crushed skull of the victim (которая медленно растекалась: «расширялась» из-под треснутого черепа жертвы). And it shone upon something else (и она осветила еще кое-что) which turned our hearts sick and faint within us (что заставило наши сердца /сжаться/ от боли; sick — больной; faint — слабый, ослабевший) — the body of Sir Henry Baskerville (тело сэра Генри Баскервиля)!
There was no chance of either of us forgetting (мы не могли: «не имели возможности» забыть) that peculiar ruddy tweed suit (тот необычный красноватого цвета твидовый костюм) — the very one which he had worn on the first morning (тот самый, который он носил = который был на нем в /то/ первое утро; to wear) that we had seen him in Baker Street (когда мы увидели его на Бейкер-стрит). We caught the one clear glimpse of it (мы на мгновение отчетливо увидели его; to catch a glimpse of — увидеть мельком), and then the match flickered and went out (а потом спичка вспыхнула и погасла; to go out — догореть, погаснуть /об огне, свете/), even as the hope had gone out of our souls (так же, как и надежда погасла в наших сердцах: «душах»). Holmes groaned, and his face glimmered white through the darkness (Холмс застонал, и его лицо мерцало в темноте белым /пятном/).
rustle [rVsl], ghastly ['gA:stlI], either ['aID@]
Not a whisper, not a rustle, rose now from the dark figure over which we stooped. Holmes laid his hand upon him, and held it up again, with an exclamation of horror. The gleam of the match which he struck shone upon his clotted fingers and upon the ghastly pool which widened slowly from the crushed skull of the victim. And it shone upon something else which turned our hearts sick and faint within us — the body of Sir Henry Baskerville!
There was no chance of either of us forgetting that peculiar ruddy tweed suit — the very one which he had worn on the first morning that we had seen him in Baker Street. We caught the one clear glimpse of it, and then the match flickered and went out, even as the hope had gone out of our souls. Holmes groaned, and his face glimmered white through the darkness.
"The brute! the brute!" I cried, with clenched hands (животное, — закричал я, сжав кулаки). "Oh, Holmes, I shall never forgive myself (о, Холмс, я никогда не прощу себе) for having left him to his fate (что бросил: «оставил» его /на произвол/ судьбы)."