Ностромо

           Whatcouldhesay?Howcouldheexplain?Ideasofheadlongflightsomewhere,anywhere,passedthroughhismind;eventhecravenandabsurdnotionofhidingunderthetableoccurredtohiscowardice.Itwastoolate;hisofficershadrushedintumultuously,inagreatclatterofscabbards,clamouring,withastonishmentandwonder.Butsincetheydidnotimmediatelyproceedtoplungetheirswordsintohisbreast,thebrazensideofhischaracterasserteditself.Passingthesleeveofhisuniformoverhisfacehepulledhimselftogether,Histruculentglanceturnedslowlyhereandthere,checkedthenoisewhereitfell;andthestiffbodyofthelateSenorHirsch,merchant,afterswayingimperceptibly,madeahalfturn,andcametoarestinthemidstofawedmurmursanduneasyshuffling.

           Avoiceremarkedloudly,“Beholdamanwhowillneverspeakagain.”Andanother,fromthebackrowoffaces,timidandpressing,criedout—

           “Whydidyoukillhim,micolonel?”

           “Becausehehasconfessedeverything,”answeredSotillo,withthehardihoodofdesperation.Hefelthimselfcornered.Hebrazeneditoutonthestrengthofhisreputationwithveryfairsuccess.Hishearersthoughthimverycapableofsuchanact.Theyweredisposedtobelievehisflatteringtale.Thereisnocredulitysoeagerandblindasthecredulityofcovetousness,which,initsuniversalextent,measuresthemoralmiseryandtheintellectualdestitutionofmankind.Ah!hehadconfessedeverything,thisfractiousJew,thisbribon.