Серце темряви

           Itseemedsomehowtothrowakindoflightoneverythingaboutme—andintomythoughts.Itwassombreenough,too—andpitiful—notextraordinaryinanyway—notverycleareither.No,notveryclear.Andyetitseemedtothrowakindoflight.

           "Ihadthen,asyouremember,justreturnedtoLondonafteralotofIndianOcean,Pacific,ChinaSeas—aregulardoseoftheEast—sixyearsorso,andIwasloafingabout,hinderingyoufellowsinyourworkandinvadingyourhomes,justasthoughIhadgotaheavenlymissiontocivilizeyou.Itwasveryfineforatime,butafterabitIdidgettiredofresting.ThenIbegantolookforaship—Ishouldthinkthehardestworkonearth.Buttheshipswouldn’tevenlookatme.AndIgottiredofthatgame,too.

           "NowwhenIwasalittlechapIhadapassionformaps.IwouldlookforhoursatSouthAmerica,orAfrica,orAustralia,andlosemyselfinallthegloriesofexploration.Atthattimethereweremanyblankspacesontheearth,andwhenIsawonethatlookedparticularlyinvitingonamap(buttheyalllookthat)Iwouldputmyfingeronitandsay,‘WhenIgrowupIwillgothere.’TheNorthPolewasoneoftheseplaces,Iremember.Well,Ihaven’tbeenthereyet,andshallnottrynow.Theglamour’soff.Otherplaceswerescatteredaboutthehemispheres.Ihavebeeninsomeofthem,and...well,wewon’ttalkaboutthat.Buttherewasoneyet—thebiggest,themostblank,sotospeak—thatIhadahankeringafter.

           "True,bythistimeitwasnotablankspaceanymore.