Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard
men, don't you know—and to the Mirliflores as well,
a new club—English, French, Italians, all sorts-lively
young fellows mostly, who wanted to pay a compliment to an old resident, sir. But we'll lunch at the
Amarilla. Interest you, I fancy. Real thing of the
country. Men of the first families. The President of
the Occidental Republic himself belongs to it, sir.
Fine old bishop with a broken nose in the patio. Remarkable piece of statuary, I believe. Cavaliere Parrochetti—you know Parrochetti, the famous Italian
sculptor was working here for two years—thought
very highly of our old bishop... There! I am very
much at your service now."
Inflexible, proud of his experience, penetrated by the sense of historical importance of men, events, and buildings, he talked pompously in jerky periods, with slight indicating sweeps of his short, thick arm, letting nothing "escape the attention" of his privileged captive.
"Lots of building going on, as you observe. Before the Separation it was a plain of burned grass smothered in clouds of dust, with an ox-cart track to our jetty. Nothing more. This is the harbor gate. Picturesque, is it not? Formerly the town stopped short there. We enter now the Calle de la Constitucion. Observe the old Spanish houses. Great dignity. Eh? I suppose it's just as it was in the time of the viceroys, except for the pavement. Wood blocks now. Sulaco National Bank there, with the sentry boxes each side of the gate. Casa Avellanos this side, with all the ground-floor windows shuttered. A wonderful woman lives there—Miss Avellanos—the beau-
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