Серце темряви

           CouldyougivemeafewMartini–Henrycartridges?’Icould,anddid,withpropersecrecy.Hehelpedhimself,withawinkatme,toahandfulofmytobacco.‘Betweensailors—youknow—goodEnglishtobacco.’Atthedoorofthepilot-househeturnedround—‘Isay,haven’tyouapairofshoesyoucouldspare?’Heraisedoneleg.‘Look.’Thesolesweretiedwithknottedstringssandalwiseunderhisbarefeet.Irootedoutanoldpair,atwhichhelookedwithadmirationbeforetuckingitunderhisleftarm.Oneofhispockets(brightred)wasbulgingwithcartridges,fromtheother(darkblue)peeped‘Towson’sInquiry,’etc.,etc.Heseemedtothinkhimselfexcellentlywellequippedforarenewedencounterwiththewilderness.‘Ah!I’llnever,nevermeetsuchamanagain.Yououghttohaveheardhimrecitepoetry—hisown,too,itwas,hetoldme.Poetry!’Herolledhiseyesattherecollectionofthesedelights.‘Oh,heenlargedmymind!’‘Good-bye,’saidI.Heshookhandsandvanishedinthenight.SometimesIaskmyselfwhetherIhadeverreallyseenhim—whetheritwaspossibletomeetsuchaphenomenon!...

           "WhenIwokeupshortlyaftermidnighthiswarningcametomymindwithitshintofdangerthatseemed,inthestarreddarkness,realenoughtomakemegetupforthepurposeofhavingalookround.Onthehillabigfireburned,illuminatingfitfullyacrookedcornerofthestation-house.