Серце темряви

           Isteamedpastprudently,thenstoppedtheenginesandletherdriftdown.Themanontheshorebegantoshout,urgingustoland.‘Wehavebeenattacked,’screamedthemanager.‘Iknow—Iknow.It’sallright,’yelledbacktheother,ascheerfulasyouplease.‘Comealong.It’sallright.Iamglad.’

           "HisaspectremindedmeofsomethingIhadseen—somethingfunnyIhadseensomewhere.AsImanoeuvredtogetalongside,Iwasaskingmyself,‘Whatdoesthisfellowlooklike?’SuddenlyIgotit.Helookedlikeaharlequin.Hisclotheshadbeenmadeofsomestuffthatwasbrownhollandprobably,butitwascoveredwithpatchesallover,withbrightpatches,blue,red,andyellow—patchesontheback,patchesonthefront,patchesonelbows,onknees;colouredbindingaroundhisjacket,scarletedgingatthebottomofhistrousers;andthesunshinemadehimlookextremelygayandwonderfullyneatwithal,becauseyoucouldseehowbeautifullyallthispatchinghadbeendone.Abeardless,boyishface,veryfair,nofeaturestospeakof,nosepeeling,littleblueeyes,smilesandfrownschasingeachotheroverthatopencountenancelikesunshineandshadowonawind-sweptplain.‘Lookout,captain!’hecried;‘there’sasnaglodgedinherelastnight.’What!Anothersnag?IconfessIsworeshamefully.Ihadnearlyholedmycripple,tofinishoffthatcharmingtrip.Theharlequinonthebankturnedhislittlepug-noseuptome.‘YouEnglish?’heasked,allsmiles.‘Areyou?’Ishoutedfromthewheel.