Page 67 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

He drank up all the tea at once in one draught. This per-
formance was invariably followed by a slight shudder and
a low, involuntary ‘br-r-r-r,’ which was not covered by the
hasty exclamation, ‘Excellent!’
Then giving up the empty cup into his young friend’s
hand, extended with a smile, he continued to expatiate upon
the patriotic nature of the San Tome mine for the simple
pleasure of talking fluently, it seemed, while his reclining
body jerked backwards and forwards in a rocking-chair of
the sort exported from the United States. The ceiling of the
largest drawing-room of the Casa Gould extended its white
level far above his head. The loftiness dwarfed the mixture of
heavy, straight-backed Spanish chairs of brown wood with
leathern seats, and European furniture, low, and cushioned
all over, like squat little monsters gorged to bursting with
steel springs and horsehair. There were knick-knacks on lit-
tle tables, mirrors let into the wall above marble consoles,
square spaces of carpet under the two groups of armchairs,
each presided over by a deep sofa; smaller rugs scattered all
over the floor of red tiles; three windows from the ceiling
down to the ground, opening on a balcony, and flanked by
the perpendicular folds of the dark hangings. The stateli-
ness of ancient days lingered between the four high, smooth
walls, tinted a delicate primrose-colour; and Mrs. Gould,
with her little head and shining coils of hair, sitting in a
cloud of muslin and lace before a slender mahogany table,
resembled a fairy posed lightly before dainty philtres dis-
pensed out of vessels of silver and porcelain.
Mrs. Gould knew the history of the San Tome mine.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard