Anybody can see that the luckless wretch was doomed from the moment he
caught hold of the anchor. He was doomed, I tell you! Just as I myself
am doomed--most probably."
This is what Dr. Monygham said in answer to Nostromo's remark, which was
plausible enough to prick his conscience. He was not a callous man. But
the necessity, the magnitude, the importance of the task he had taken
upon himself dwarfed all merely humane considerations. He had undertaken
it in a fanatical spirit. He did not like it. To lie, to deceive, to
circumvent even the basest of mankind was odious to him. It was odious
to him by training, instinct, and tradition. To do these things in the
character of a traitor was abhorrent to his nature and terrible to his
feelings. He had made that sacrifice in a spirit of abasement. He had
said to himself bitterly, "I am the only one fit for that dirty work."
And he believed this. He was not subtle. His simplicity was such that,
though he had no sort of heroic idea of seeking death, the risk, deadly
enough, to which he exposed himself, had a sustaining and comforting
effect.
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