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Conrad, Joseph, 1857-1924

"Nostromo, a Tale of the Seaboard"

Quick as thought he
snatched up his revolver, and fired twice. The report and the concussion
of the shots seemed to throw him at once from ungovernable rage into
idiotic stupor. He stood with drooping jaw and stony eyes. What had he
done, Sangre de Dios! What had he done? He was basely appalled at his
impulsive act, sealing for ever these lips from which so much was to
be extorted. What could he say? How could he explain? Ideas of headlong
flight somewhere, anywhere, passed through his mind; even the craven and
absurd notion of hiding under the table occurred to his cowardice.
It was too late; his officers had rushed in tumultuously, in a great
clatter of scabbards, clamouring, with astonishment and wonder. But
since they did not immediately proceed to plunge their swords into his
breast, the brazen side of his character asserted itself. Passing the
sleeve of his uniform over his face he pulled himself together, His
truculent glance turned slowly here and there, checked the noise where
it fell; and the stiff body of the late Senor Hirsch, merchant, after
swaying imperceptibly, made a half turn, and came to a rest in the midst
of awed murmurs and uneasy shuffling.


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