Ностромо

           ItwasasifastreamofwaterhadbeenpoureduponmyglowingideaofanewState.Therewasahissingsoundinmyears,andtheroomgrewdim,asifsuddenlyfilledwithvapour.

           “Iwalkeduptothetableblindly,asthoughIhadbeendrunk.‘Youaredeliberatinguponsurrender,’Isaid.Theyallsatstill,withtheirnosesoverthesheetofpapereachhadbeforehim,Godonlyknowswhy.OnlyDonJosehidhisfaceinhishands,muttering,‘Never,never!’ButasIlookedathim,itseemedtomethatIcouldhaveblownhimawaywithmybreath,helookedsofrail,soweak,sowornout.Whateverhappens,hewillnotsurvive.Thedeceptionistoogreatforamanofhisage;andhasn’theseenthesheetsof‘FiftyYearsofMisrule,’whichwehavebegunprintingonthepressesofthePorvenir,litteringthePlaza,floatinginthegutters,firedoutaswadsfortrabucosloadedwithhandfulsoftype,blowninthewind,trampledinthemud?Ihaveseenpagesfloatingupontheverywatersoftheharbour.Itwouldbeunreasonabletoexpecthimtosurvive.Itwouldbecruel.

           “‘Doyouknow,’Icried,‘whatsurrendermeanstoyou,toyourwomen,toyourchildren,toyourproperty?’

           “Ideclaimedforfiveminuteswithoutdrawingbreath,itseemstome,harpingonourbestchances,ontheferocityofMontero,whomImadeouttobeasgreatabeastasIhavenodoubthewouldliketobeifhehadintelligenceenoughtoconceiveasystematicreignofterror.