Ностромо
Chapter 7
Sheneverlookedathim.Aself-confident,mirthlesssmilepassedquicklyfromhislips,andthenhebackedaway.Hisdisregardedfiguresankdownbeyondthedoorway.Hedescendedthestairsbackwards,withtheusualsenseofhavingbeensomehowbaffledbythiswoman’sdisparagementofthisreputationhehadobtainedanddesiredtokeep.
Downstairsinthebigkitchenacandlewasburning,surroundedbytheshadowsofthewalls,oftheceiling,butnoruddyglarefilledtheopensquareoftheouterdoor.ThecarriagewithMrs.GouldandDonMartin,precededbythehorsemanbearingthetorch,hadgoneontothejetty.Dr.Monygham,whohadremained,satonthecornerofahardwoodtablenearthecandlestick,hisseamed,shavenfaceinclinedsideways,hisarmscrossedonhisbreast,hislipspursedup,andhisprominenteyesglaringstonilyuponthefloorofblackearth.Neartheoverhangingmantelofthefireplace,wherethepotofwaterwasstillboilingviolently,oldGiorgioheldhischininhishand,onefootadvanced,asifarrestedbyasuddenthought.
“Adios,viejo,”saidNostromo,feelingthehandleofhisrevolverinthebeltandlooseninghisknifeinitssheath.Hepickedupablueponcholinedwithredfromthetable,andputitoverhishead.“Adios,lookafterthethingsinmysleeping-room,andifyouhearfrommenomore,giveuptheboxtoPaquita.Thereisnotmuchofvaluethere,exceptmynewserapefromMexico,andafewsilverbuttonsonmybestjacket.
