Ностромо

           GiselleViola,withherheadrestingagainstthewallofthehouse,hereyeshalfclosed,andherlittlefeet,inwhitestockingsandblackslippers,crossedovereachother,seemedtosurrenderherself,tranquilandfatal,tothegatheringdusk.Thecharmofherbody,thepromisingmysteriousnessofherindolence,wentoutintothenightofthePlacidGulflikeafreshandintoxicatingfragrancespreadingoutintheshadows,impregnatingtheair.TheincorruptibleNostromobreathedherambientseductioninthetumultuousheavingofhisbreast.BeforeleavingtheharbourhehadthrownoffthestoreclothingofCaptainFidanza,forgreatereaseinthelongpullouttotheislands.HestoodbeforeherintheredsashandcheckshirtasheusedtoappearontheCompany’swharf—aMediterraneansailorcomeashoretotryhisluckinCostaguana.Theduskofpurpleandredenvelopedhim,too—close,soft,profound,asnomorethanfiftyyardsfromthatspotithadgatheredeveningaftereveningabouttheself-destructivepassionofDonMartinDecoud’sutterscepticism,flaminguptodeathinsolitude.

           “Youhavegottohear,”hebeganatlast,withperfectself-control.“Ishallsaynowordoflovetoyoursister,towhomIambetrothedfromthisevening,becauseitisyouthatIlove.Itisyou!”...

           Thedusklethimseeyetthetenderandvoluptuoussmilethatcameinstinctivelyuponherlipsshapedforloveandkisses,freezehardinthedrawn,haggardlinesofterror.