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Chapter 8

           Hecouldrememberhimapennilessoutcast,slinkingaboutthestreetsofSulaco,withoutasinglefriendoracquaintance,tillDonCarlosGouldtookhimintotheserviceofthemine.

           “Youmaybeverywise,”hewenton,thoughtfully,staringintotheobscurityoftheroom,pervadedbythegruesomeenigmaofthetorturedandmurderedHirsch.“ButIamnotsuchafoolaswhenIstarted.Ihavelearnedonethingsince,andthatisthatyouareadangerousman.”

           Dr.Monyghamwastoostartledtodomorethanexclaim

           “Whatisityousay?”

           “Ifhecouldspeakhewouldsaythesamething,”pursuedNostromo,withanodofhisshadowyheadsilhouettedagainstthestarlitwindow.

           “Idonotunderstandyou,”saidDr.Monygham,faintly.

           “No?Perhaps,ifyouhadnotconfirmedSotilloinhismadness,hewouldhavebeeninnohastetogivetheestrapadetothatmiserableHirsch.”

           Thedoctorstartedatthesuggestion.Buthisdevotion,absorbingallhissensibilities,hadlefthisheartsteeledagainstremorseandpity.Still,forcompleterelief,hefeltthenecessityofrepellingitloudlyandcontemptuously.

           “Bah!Youdaretotellmethat,withamanlikeSotillo.IconfessIdidnotgiveathoughttoHirsch.IfIhaditwouldhavebeenuseless.Anybodycanseethatthelucklesswretchwasdoomedfromthemomenthecaughtholdoftheanchor

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