Сердце тьмы

           "IleftinaFrenchsteamer,andshecalledineveryblamedporttheyhaveoutthere,for,asfarasIcouldsee,thesolepurposeoflandingsoldiersandcustom-houseofficers.Iwatchedthecoast.Watchingacoastasitslipsbytheshipislikethinkingaboutanenigma.Thereitisbeforeyou—smiling,frowning,inviting,grand,mean,insipid,orsavage,andalwaysmutewithanairofwhispering,‘Comeandfindout.’Thisonewasalmostfeatureless,asifstillinthemaking,withanaspectofmonotonousgrimness.Theedgeofacolossaljungle,sodark-greenastobealmostblack,fringedwithwhitesurf,ranstraight,likearuledline,far,farawayalongablueseawhoseglitterwasblurredbyacreepingmist.Thesunwasfierce,thelandseemedtoglistenanddripwithsteam.Hereandtheregreyish-whitishspecksshowedupclusteredinsidethewhitesurf,withaflagflyingabovethemperhaps.Settlementssomecenturiesold,andstillnobiggerthanpinheadsontheuntouchedexpanseoftheirbackground.Wepoundedalong,stopped,landedsoldiers;wenton,landedcustom-houseclerkstolevytollinwhatlookedlikeaGod-forsakenwilderness,withatinshedandaflag-polelostinit;landedmoresoldiers—totakecareofthecustom-houseclerks,presumably.Some,Iheard,gotdrownedinthesurf;butwhethertheydidornot,nobodyseemedparticularlytocare.Theywerejustflungoutthere,andonwewent.