Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard
revolutionary war, who had planned revolutions, who
had believed in revolutions. For all the uprightness of
his character, he had something of an adventurer's
easy morality, which takes count of personal risk in the ethical appraising of his action. He was prepared,
if need be, to blow up the whole San Tomé mountain
sky-high out of the territory of the republic. This
resolution expressed the tenacity of his character,
the remorse of that subtle conjugal infidelity through
which his wife was no longer the sole mistress of his
thoughts, something of his father's imaginative weakness, and something, too, of the spirit of a buccaneer
throwing a lighted match into the magazine rather
than surrender his ship.
Down below, in the patio, the wounded cargador had breathed his last. The woman cried out once, and her cry, unexpected and shrill, made all the wounded sit up. The practicante scrambled to his feet and, guitar in hand, gazed steadily in her direction with elevated eyebrows. The two girls, sitting now one on each side of their wounded relative, with their knees drawn up and long cigars between their lips, nodded at each other significantly.
Charles Gould, looking down over the balustrade, saw three men dressed ceremoniously in black frock-coats, with white shirts, and wearing European round hats, enter the patio from the street. One of them, head and shoulders taller than the two others, advanced with marked gravity, leading the way. This was Don Juste Lopez, accompanied by two of his friends, members of Assembly, coming to call upon the administrador of the San Tomé mine at this early hour.
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