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           Whatwerewewhohadstrayedinhere?Couldwehandlethatdumbthing,orwouldithandleus?Ifelthowbig,howconfoundedlybig,wasthatthingthatcouldn’ttalk,andperhapswasdeafaswell.Whatwasinthere?Icouldseealittleivorycomingoutfromthere,andIhadheardMr.Kurtzwasinthere.Ihadheardenoughaboutit,too—Godknows!Yetsomehowitdidn’tbringanyimagewithit—nomorethanifIhadbeentoldanangelorafiendwasinthere.IbelieveditinthesamewayoneofyoumightbelievethereareinhabitantsintheplanetMars.IknewonceaScotchsailmakerwhowascertain,deadsure,therewerepeopleinMars.Ifyouaskedhimforsomeideahowtheylookedandbehaved,hewouldgetshyandmuttersomethingabout‘walkingonall-fours.’Ifyouasmuchassmiled,hewould—thoughamanofsixty—offertofightyou.IwouldnothavegonesofarastofightforKurtz,butIwentforhimnearenoughtoalie.YouknowIhate,detest,andcan’tbearalie,notbecauseIamstraighterthantherestofus,butsimplybecauseitappallsme.Thereisataintofdeath,aflavourofmortalityinlies—whichisexactlywhatIhateanddetestintheworld—whatIwanttoforget.Itmakesmemiserableandsick,likebitingsomethingrottenwoulddo.Temperament,Isuppose.Well,IwentnearenoughtoitbylettingtheyoungfooltherebelieveanythinghelikedtoimagineastomyinfluenceinEurope.Ibecameinaninstantasmuchofapretenceastherestofthebewitchedpilgrims.