Серце темряви

           Heoughttohavebeenclappinghishandsandstampinghisfeetonthebank,insteadofwhichhewashardatwork,athralltostrangewitchcraft,fullofimprovingknowledge.Hewasusefulbecausehehadbeeninstructed;andwhatheknewwasthis—thatshouldthewaterinthattransparentthingdisappear,theevilspiritinsidetheboilerwouldgetangrythroughthegreatnessofhisthirst,andtakeaterriblevengeance.Sohesweatedandfiredupandwatchedtheglassfearfully(withanimpromptucharm,madeofrags,tiedtohisarm,andapieceofpolishedbone,asbigasawatch,stuckflatwaysthroughhislowerlip),whilethewoodedbanksslippedpastusslowly,theshortnoisewasleftbehind,theinterminablemilesofsilence—andwecrepton,towardsKurtz.Butthesnagswerethick,thewaterwastreacherousandshallow,theboilerseemedindeedtohaveasulkydevilinit,andthusneitherthatfiremannorIhadanytimetopeerintoourcreepythoughts.

           "SomefiftymilesbelowtheInnerStationwecameuponahutofreeds,aninclinedandmelancholypole,withtheunrecognizabletattersofwhathadbeenaflagofsomesortflyingfromit,andaneatlystackedwood-pile.Thiswasunexpected.Wecametothebank,andonthestackoffirewoodfoundaflatpieceofboardwithsomefadedpencil-writingonit.Whendeciphereditsaid:‘Woodforyou.Hurryup.Approachcautiously.’Therewasasignature,butitwasillegible—notKurtz—amuchlongerword.‘Hurryup.’Where?Uptheriver?‘Approachcautiously.’Wehadnotdoneso.