Ностромо

           Bothhisintelligenceandhispassionwereswallowedupeasilyinthisgreatunbrokensolitudeofwaitingwithoutfaith.Sleeplessnesshadrobbedhiswillofallenergy,forhehadnotsleptsevenhoursinthesevendays.Hissadnesswasthesadnessofascepticalmind.Hebeheldtheuniverseasasuccessionofincomprehensibleimages.Nostromowasdead.Everythinghadfailedignominiously.HenolongerdaredtothinkofAntonia.Shehadnotsurvived.Butifshesurvivedhecouldnotfaceher.Andallexertionseemedsenseless.

           Onthetenthday,afteranightspentwithoutevendozingoffonce(ithadoccurredtohimthatAntoniacouldnotpossiblyhaveeverlovedabeingsoimpalpableashimself),thesolitudeappearedlikeagreatvoid,andthesilenceofthegulflikeatense,thincordtowhichhehungsuspendedbybothhands,withoutfear,withoutsurprise,withoutanysortofemotionwhatever.Onlytowardstheevening,inthecomparativereliefofcoolness,hebegantowishthatthiscordwouldsnap.Heimagineditsnappingwithareportasofapistol—asharp,fullcrack.Andthatwouldbetheendofhim.Hecontemplatedthateventualitywithpleasure,becausehedreadedthesleeplessnightsinwhichthesilence,remainingunbrokenintheshapeofacordtowhichhehungwithbothhands,vibratedwithsenselessphrases,alwaysthesamebututterlyincomprehensible,aboutNostromo,Antonia,Barrios,andproclamationsmingledintoanironicalandsenselessbuzzing.