You are Gabriel Utterson, and you walk out most Sundays with your kinsman Enfield. Today he stops you before a sinister, blistered door, its windowless gable thrust into the street. Pointing with his cane, he tells you what he saw here: a juggernaut of a man trampling a child with hellish calm. He names the villain — Mr. Hyde — a creature who inspires immediate, unnamable loathing.