Ностромо

           DoctorMonygham,goingtothedoorofViola’skitchen,observedthisretreatmarkingtheendoftheforeigninterference,thiswithdrawalofthearmyofmaterialprogressfromthefieldofCostaguanarevolutions.

           Algarrobetorchescarriedontheoutskirtsofthemovingbodysenttheirpenetratingaromaintohisnostrils.Theirlight,sweepingalongthefrontofthehouse,madethelettersoftheinscription,“Albergod’ltaliaUna,”leapoutblackfromendtoendofthelongwall.Hiseyesblinkedintheclearblaze.Severalyoungmen,mostlyfairandtall,shepherdingthismobofdarkbronzedheads,surmountedbytheglintofslantingriflebarrels,noddedtohimfamiliarlyastheywentby.Thedoctorwasawell-knowncharacter.Someofthemwonderedwhathewasdoingthere.Then,ontheflankoftheirworkmentheytrampedon,followingthelineofrails.

           “Withdrawingyourpeoplefromtheharbour?”saidthedoctor,addressinghimselftothechiefengineeroftherailway,whohadaccompaniedCharlesGouldsofaronhiswaytothetown,walkingbythesideofthehorse,withhishandonthesaddle-bow.Theyhadstoppedjustoutsidetheopendoortolettheworkmencrosstheroad.

           “AsquickasIcan.Wearenotapoliticalfaction,”answeredtheengineer,meaningly.“Andwearenotgoingtogiveournewrulersahandleagainsttherailway.