Ностромо
Chapter 9
Ha!ha!ha!ha!ItwasPedritoMonterowhowouldgettheinformation.Ha!ha!ha!ha!—andthesilver.Ha!
Allatonce,inthemidstofthelaugh,hebecamemotionlessandsilentasifturnedintostone.Hetoo,hadaprisoner.Aprisonerwhomust,mustknowtherealtruth.Hewouldhavetobemadetospeak.AndSotillo,whoallthattimehadnotquiteforgottenHirsch,feltaninexplicablereluctanceatthenotionofproceedingtoextremities.
Hefeltareluctance—partofthatunfathomabledreadthatcreptonallsidesuponhim.Herememberedreluctantly,too,thedilatedeyesofthehidemerchant,hiscontortions,hisloudsobsandprotestations.Itwasnotcompassionorevenmerenervoussensibility.ThefactwasthatthoughSotillodidneverforamomentbelievehisstory—hecouldnotbelieveit;nobodycouldbelievesuchnonsense—yetthoseaccentsofdespairingtruthimpressedhimdisagreeably.Theymadehimfeelsick.Andhesuspectedalsothatthemanmighthavegonemadwithfear.Alunaticisahopelesssubject.Bah!Apretence.Nothingbutapretence.Hewouldknowhowtodealwiththat.
Hewasworkinghimselfuptotherightpitchofferocity.Hisfineeyessquintedslightly;heclappedhishands;abare-footedorderlyappearednoiselessly,acorporal,withhisbayonethangingonhisthighandastickinhishand.
