Ностромо

           ”

           Andheloweredhisheadagain.

           “Impossible!”hemuttered,gloomily.

           Thesoundsoffiringdiedout.TheloomofagreatconflagrationinSulacoflashedupredabovethecoast,playedonthecloudsattheheadofthegulf,seemedtotouchwitharuddyandsinisterreflectiontheformsoftheThreeIsabels.Heneversawit,thoughheraisedhishead.

           “But,then,Icannotknow,”hepronounced,distinctly,andremainedsilentandstaringforhours.

           Hecouldnotknow.Nobodywastoknow.Asmighthavebeensupposed,theendofDonMartinDecoudneverbecameasubjectofspeculationforanyoneexceptNostromo.Hadthetruthofthefactsbeenknown,therewouldalwayshaveremainedthequestion.Why?Whereastheversionofhisdeathatthesinkingofthelighterhadnouncertaintyofmotive.TheyoungapostleofSeparationhaddiedstrivingforhisideabyanever-lamentedaccident.Butthetruthwasthathediedfromsolitude,theenemyknownbuttofewonthisearth,andwhomonlythesimplestofusarefittowithstand.ThebrilliantCostaguanerooftheboulevardshaddiedfromsolitudeandwantoffaithinhimselfandothers.

           Forsomegoodandvalidreasonsbeyondmerehumancomprehension,thesea-birdsofthegulfshuntheIsabels.TherockyheadofAzueraistheirhaunt,whosestonylevelsandchasmsresoundwiththeirwildandtumultuousclamourasiftheywereforeverquarrellingoverthelegendarytreasure.