Speaking of my university days and The Hound of the Baskervilles, here's something else that comes from that time.
Baskerville
This is my home.
It is natural that I should know
Each sinking bog, each safe foothold,
Among the beauty and the death.
I am no bastard, no outcast,
No second-hand goods,
Title and hall and curse and hound
All mine by right.
This American, who is he
To take what is mine?
And who was the old man
To steal my inheritance?
Perhaps it is Hugo's blood,
Hugo's damnation in me,
Which calls hound
From shadowy existence.
When I see it, jaws dripping
With blood and spit and bone,
I could almost believe
The devil is real.
Am I his agent? Irrelevant.
This is my home and I will reclaim it,
Neither detective nor doctor
Nor American nor hound nor even wife
Able to oppose me here.