Page 292 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

the stairs backwards, with the usual sense of having been
somehow baffled by this woman’s disparagement of this
reputation he had obtained and desired to keep.
Downstairs in the big kitchen a candle was burning, sur-
rounded by the shadows of the walls, of the ceiling, but no
ruddy glare filled the open square of the outer door. The
carriage with Mrs. Gould and Don Martin, preceded by
the horseman bearing the torch, had gone on to the jetty.
Dr. Monygham, who had remained, sat on the corner of a
hard wood table near the candlestick, his seamed, shaven
face inclined sideways, his arms crossed on his breast, his
lips pursed up, and his prominent eyes glaring stonily upon
the floor of black earth. Near the overhanging mantel of the
fireplace, where the pot of water was still boiling violently,
old Giorgio held his chin in his hand, one foot advanced, as
if arrested by a sudden thought.
‘Adios, viejo,’ said Nostromo, feeling the handle of his
revolver in the belt and loosening his knife in its sheath.
He picked up a blue poncho lined with red from the table,
and put it over his head. ‘Adios, look after the things in my
sleeping-room, and if you hear from me no more, give up
the box to Paquita. There is not much of value there, except
my new serape from Mexico, and a few silver buttons on
my best jacket. No matter! The things will look well enough
on the next lover she gets, and the man need not be afraid I
shall linger on earth after I am dead, like those Gringos that
haunt the Azuera.’
Dr. Monygham twisted his lips into a bitter smile. After
old Giorgio, with an almost imperceptible nod and without

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