Серце темряви

           ‘Mydearsir,’saidthefellow,‘Idon’twanttobemisunderstood,andespeciallybyyou,whowillseeMr.KurtzlongbeforeIcanhavethatpleasure.Iwouldn’tlikehimtogetafalseideaofmydisposition...’

           "Ilethimrunon,thispapier-macheMephistopheles,anditseemedtomethatifItriedIcouldpokemyforefingerthroughhim,andwouldfindnothinginsidebutalittleloosedirt,maybe.He,don’tyousee,hadbeenplanningtobeassistant-managerbyandbyunderthepresentman,andIcouldseethatthecomingofthatKurtzhadupsetthembothnotalittle.Hetalkedprecipitately,andIdidnottrytostophim.Ihadmyshouldersagainstthewreckofmysteamer,hauledupontheslopelikeacarcassofsomebigriveranimal.Thesmellofmud,ofprimevalmud,byJove!wasinmynostrils,thehighstillnessofprimevalforestwasbeforemyeyes;therewereshinypatchesontheblackcreek.Themoonhadspreadovereverythingathinlayerofsilver—overtherankgrass,overthemud,uponthewallofmattedvegetationstandinghigherthanthewallofatemple,overthegreatriverIcouldseethroughasombregapglittering,glittering,asitflowedbroadlybywithoutamurmur.Allthiswasgreat,expectant,mute,whilethemanjabberedabouthimself.Iwonderedwhetherthestillnessonthefaceoftheimmensitylookingatustwoweremeantasanappealorasamenace.