The late Senor Hirsch, erect and shadowy against the stars,
seemed to be waiting attentive, in impartial silence.
But Dr. Monygham had no mind to quarrel with Nostromo. At this supremely
critical point of Sulaco's fortunes it was borne upon him at last that
this man was really indispensable, more indispensable than ever the
infatuation of Captain Mitchell, his proud discoverer, could conceive;
far beyond what Decoud's best dry raillery about "my illustrious friend,
the unique Capataz de Cargadores," had ever intended. The fellow was
unique. He was not "one in a thousand." He was absolutely the only
one. The doctor surrendered. There was something in the genius of that
Genoese seaman which dominated the destinies of great enterprises and
of many people, the fortunes of Charles Gould, the fate of an admirable
woman. At this last thought the doctor had to clear his throat before he
could speak.
In a completely changed tone he pointed out to the Capataz that, to
begin with, he personally ran no great risk. As far as everybody knew he
was dead. It was an enormous advantage.
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