Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard
termined not to lose whatever advantage chance put into its way. He ran with headlong, tottering swiftness, his arms going like a windmill in his effort to keep his balance on his crippled feet. He lost his hat; the tails of his open gaberdine flew behind him. He had no mind to lose sight of the indispensable man. But it was a long time, and a long way from the custom-house, before he managed to seize his arm from behind, roughly, out of breath.
"Stop! Are you mad?"
Already Nostromo was walking slowly, his head drooping, as if checked in his pace by the weariness of irresolution.
"What is that to you? Ah! I forgot you want me for something. Always. Siempre, Nostromo."
"What do you mean by talking of strangling me?" panted the doctor.
"What do I mean? I mean that the king of the devils himself has sent you out of this town of cowards and talkers to meet me to-night of all the nights of my life."
Under the starry sky the Albergo d'Italia Una emerged, black and low, breaking the dark level of the plain. Nostromo stopped altogether.
"The priests say he is a tempter, do they not?" he added, through his clinched teeth.
"My good man, you rave. The devil has nothing to do with this. Neither has the town, which you may call by what name you please. But Don Carlos Gould is neither a coward nor an empty talker. You will admit that?" He waited. "Well?"
"Could I see Don Carlos?"
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