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Chapter 8
“Iseemtohaveseenthatfacesomewhere,”hemuttered.“Whoishe?”
Thedoctorturnedhiseyesuponhimagain.“Imayyetcometoenvyinghisfate.Whatdoyouthinkofthat,Capataz,eh?”
ButNostromodidnotevenhearthesewords.Seizingtheremaininglight,hethrustitunderthedroopinghead.Thedoctorsatoblivious,withalostgaze.Thentheheavyironcandlestick,asifstruckoutofNostromo’shand,clatteredonthefloor.
“Hullo!”exclaimedthedoctor,lookingupwithastart.HecouldheartheCapatazstaggeragainstthetableandgasp.Inthesuddenextinctionofthelightwithin,thedeadblacknesssealingthewindow-framesbecamealivewithstarstohissight.
“Ofcourse,ofcourse,”thedoctormutteredtohimselfinEnglish.“Enoughtomakehimjumpoutofhisskin.”
Nostromo’sheartseemedtoforceitselfintohisthroat.Hisheadswam.Hirsch!ThemanwasHirsch!Heheldontighttotheedgeofthetable.
“Buthewashidinginthelighter,”healmostshoutedHisvoicefell.“Inthelighter,and—and—”
“AndSotillobroughthimin,”saidthedoctor.“Heisnomorestartlingtoyouthanyouweretome.WhatIwanttoknowishowheinducedsomecompassionatesoultoshoothim.”
“SoSotilloknows—”beganNostromo,inamoreequablevoice.
“Everything!”interruptedthedoctor.
