Лорд Джим

Chapter 7

           “No,really—doyouthinkI’vebeendonetothatextent?”heinquired,veryearnestanddeliberate.Thebandmovedaway,droppingintochairsastheywent;matchesflared,illuminatingforasecondfaceswithouttheghostofanexpressionandtheflatglazeofwhiteshirt-fronts;thehumofmanyconversationsanimatedwiththeardouroffeastingsoundedtomeabsurdandinfinitelyremote.

           ‘“Someofthecrewweresleepingonthenumberonehatchwithinreachofmyarm,”beganJimagain.

           ‘YoumustknowtheykeptKalasheewatchinthatship,allhandssleepingthroughthenight,andonlythereliefsofquartermastersandlook-outmenbeingcalled.Hewastemptedtogripandshaketheshoulderofthenearestlascar,buthedidn’t.Somethingheldhisarmsdownalonghissides.Hewasnotafraid—ohno!onlyhejustcouldn’t—that’sall.Hewasnotafraidofdeathperhaps,butI’lltellyouwhat,hewasafraidoftheemergency.Hisconfoundedimaginationhadevokedforhimallthehorrorsofpanic,thetramplingrush,thepitifulscreams,boatsswamped—alltheappallingincidentsofadisasteratseahehadeverheardof.Hemighthavebeenresignedtodie,butIsuspecthewantedtodiewithoutaddedterrors,quietly,inasortofpeacefultrance

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