Ностромо
Chapter 7
ThelightoftheflamestouchedthefoliageofthefirsttreesontheAlameda,andplayedontheendofasidestreetnearby,blockedupbyajumbleofox-cartsanddeadbullocks.Sittingononeofthecarcasses,alepero,muffledup,smokedacigarette.Itwasatruce,youunderstand.TheonlyotherlivingbeingonthePlazabesidesourselveswasaCargadorwalkingtoandfro,withalong,bareknifeinhishand,likeasentrybeforetheArcades,wherehisfriendsweresleeping.Andtheonlyotherspotoflightinthedarktownwerethelightedwindowsoftheclub,atthecorneroftheCalle.”
Afterhavingwrittensofar,DonMartinDecoud,theexoticdandyoftheParisianboulevard,gotupandwalkedacrossthesandedfloorofthecafeatoneendoftheAlbergoofUnitedItaly,keptbyGiorgioViola,theoldcompanionofGaribaldi.ThehighlycolouredlithographoftheFaithfulHeroseemedtolookdimly,inthelightofonecandle,atthemanwithnofaithinanythingexceptthetruthofhisownsensations.Lookingoutofthewindow,Decoudwasmetbyadarknesssoimpenetrablethathecouldseeneitherthemountainsnorthetown,noryetthebuildingsneartheharbour;andtherewasnotasound,asifthetremendousobscurityofthePlacidGulf,spreadingfromthewatersovertheland,hadmadeitdumbaswellasblind.PresentlyDecoudfeltalighttremorofthefloorandadistantclankofiron.Abrightwhitelightappeared,deepinthedarkness,growingbiggerwithathunderingnoise.
