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Conrad, Joseph, 1857-1924

"Nostromo, a Tale of the Seaboard"


Sotillo, followed by the soldiers, had left the room. The sentry on the
landing presented arms. Hirsch went on screaming all alone behind the
half-closed jalousies while the sunshine, reflected from the water of
the harbour, made an ever-running ripple of light high up on the wall.
He screamed with uplifted eyebrows and a wide-open mouth--incredibly
wide, black, enormous, full of teeth--comical.
In the still burning air of the windless afternoon he made the waves
of his agony travel as far as the O. S. N. Company's offices. Captain
Mitchell on the balcony, trying to make out what went on generally, had
heard him faintly but distinctly, and the feeble and appalling sound
lingered in his ears after he had retreated indoors with blanched
cheeks. He had been driven off the balcony several times during that
afternoon.
Sotillo, irritable, moody, walked restlessly about, held consultations
with his officers, gave contradictory orders in this shrill clamour
pervading the whole empty edifice. Sometimes there would be long and
awful silences. Several times he had entered the torture-chamber where
his sword, horsewhip, revolver, and field-glass were lying on the table,
to ask with forced calmness, "Will you speak the truth now? No? I can
wait.


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