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Chapter 7

           “Coulditbethatthereisanotherboatnearusinthegulf?Wecouldnotseeit,youknow.”

           Nostromolaughedalittleattheabsurdityoftheidea.Theydismisseditfromtheirminds.Thesolitudecouldalmostbefelt.Andwhenthebreezeceased,theblacknessseemedtoweighuponDecoudlikeastone.

           “Thisisoverpowering,”hemuttered.“Dowemoveatall,Capataz?”

           “Notsofastasacrawlingbeetletangledinthegrass,”answeredNostromo,andhisvoiceseemeddeadenedbythethickveilofobscuritythatfeltwarmandhopelessallaboutthem.Therewerelongperiodswhenhemadenosound,invisibleandinaudibleasifhehadmysteriouslysteppedoutofthelighter.

           InthefeaturelessnightNostromowasnotevencertainwhichwaythelighterheadedafterthewindhadcompletelydiedout.Hepeeredfortheislands.Therewasnotahintofthemtobeseen,asiftheyhadsunktothebottomofthegulf.HethrewhimselfdownbythesideofDecoudatlast,andwhisperedintohisearthatifdaylightcaughtthemneartheSulacoshorethroughwantofwind,itwouldbepossibletosweepthelighterbehindthecliffatthehighendoftheGreatIsabel,whereshewouldlieconcealed.Decoudwassurprisedatthegrimnessofhisanxiety.Tohimtheremovalofthetreasurewasapoliticalmove.ItwasnecessaryforseveralreasonsthatitshouldnotfallintothehandsofMontero,butherewasamanwhotookanotherviewofthisenterprise.

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