Nostromo had listened with profound attention. "You have made up your
mind, then, to a speedy death," he muttered through his clenched teeth.
"Perhaps, my illustrious Capataz," the doctor said, testily. "You are
not the only one here who can look an ugly death in the face."
"No doubt," mumbled Nostromo, loud enough to be overheard. "There may be
even more than two fools in this place. Who knows?"
"And that is my affair," said the doctor, curtly.
"As taking out the accursed silver to sea was my affair," retorted
Nostromo. "I see. Bueno! Each of us has his reasons. But you were the
last man I conversed with before I started, and you talked to me as if I
were a fool."
Nostromo had a great distaste for the doctor's sardonic treatment of his
great reputation. Decoud's faintly ironic recognition used to make him
uneasy; but the familiarity of a man like Don Martin was flattering,
whereas the doctor was a nobody. He could remember him a penniless
outcast, slinking about the streets of Sulaco, without a single friend
or acquaintance, till Don Carlos Gould took him into the service of the
mine.
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