Page 627 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

strange reluctance within himself. ‘Pull easy,’ he repeated.
*****
From the moment he fired at the thief of his honour,
Giorgio Viola had not stirred from the spot. He stood, his
old gun grounded, his hand grasping the barrel near the
muzzle. After the lancha carrying off Nostromo for ever
from her had left the shore, Linda, coming up, stopped be-
fore him. He did not seem to be aware of her presence, but
when, losing her forced calmness, she cried out—
‘Do you know whom you have killed?’ he answered—
‘Ramirez the vagabond.’
White, and staring insanely at her father, Linda laughed
in his face. After a time he joined her faintly in a deep-toned
and distant echo of her peals. Then she stopped, and the old
man spoke as if startled—
‘He cried out in son Gian’ Battista’s voice.’
The gun fell from his opened hand, but the arm remained
extended for a moment as if still supported. Linda seized it
roughly.
‘You are too old to understand. Come into the house.’
He let her lead him. On the threshold he stumbled heav-
ily, nearly coming to the ground together with his daughter.
His excitement, his activity of the last few days, had been
like the flare of a dying lamp. He caught at the back of his
chair.
‘In son Gian’ Battista’s voice,’ he repeated in a severe tone.
‘I heard him—Ramirez—the miserable——‘
Linda helped him into the chair, and, bending low, hissed
into his ear—

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard