Ностромо

           CharlesGould,withonefootonalowwoodenstool,wasalreadystrappinghisspurs.Hewantedtohurrybacktothemine.Mrs.Gould,withoutcomingin,glancedabouttheroom.Onetall,broadbookcase,withglassdoors,wasfullofbooks;butintheother,withoutshelves,andlinedwithredbaize,werearrangedfirearms:Winchestercarbines,revolvers,acoupleofshot-guns,andeventwopairsofdouble-barrelledholsterpistols.Betweenthem,byitself,uponastripofscarletvelvet,hunganoldcavalrysabre,oncethepropertyofDonEnriqueGould,theherooftheOccidentalProvince,presentedbyDonJoseAvellanos,thehereditaryfriendofthefamily.

           Otherwise,theplasteredwhitewallswerecompletelybare,exceptforawater-coloursketchoftheSanTomemountain—theworkofDonaEmiliaherself.Inthemiddleofthered-tiledfloorstoodtwolongtableslitteredwithplansandpapers,afewchairs,andaglassshow-casecontainingspecimensoforefromthemine.Mrs.Gould,lookingatallthesethingsinturn,wonderedaloudwhythetalkofthesewealthyandenterprisingmendiscussingtheprospects,theworking,andthesafetyoftheminerenderedhersoimpatientanduneasy,whereasshecouldtalkoftheminebythehourwithherhusbandwithunweariedinterestandsatisfaction.Anddroppinghereyelidsexpressively,sheadded—

           “Whatdoyoufeelaboutit,Charley?”

           Then,surprisedatherhusband’ssilence,sheraisedhereyes,openedwide,asprettyaspaleflowers.