Nostromo - A Tale of the Seaboard.pdf - Planet eBook

The carriage rolled noiselessly on the soft track, the shadowsfell long on the dusty little plain interspersed with darkbushes, mounds of turned-up earth, low wooden buildingswith iron roofs of the Railway Company; the sparse row oftelegraph poles strode obliquely clear of the town, bearing asingle, almost invisible wire far into the great campo—likea slender, vibrating feeler of that progress waiting outsidefor a moment of peace to enter and twine itself about theweary heart of the land.The cafe window of the Albergo d’ltalia Una was full ofsunburnt, whiskered faces of railway men. But at the otherend of the house, the end of the Signori Inglesi, old Giorgio,at the door with one of his girls on each side, bared hisbushy head, as white as the snows of Higuerota. Mrs. Gouldstopped the carriage. She seldom failed to speak to her protege;moreover, the excitement, the heat, and the dust hadmade her thirsty. She asked for a glass of water. Giorgio sentthe children indoors for it, and approached with pleasureexpressed in his whole rugged countenance. It was not oftenthat he had occasion to see his benefactress, who wasalso an Englishwoman—another title to his regard. He offeredsome excuses for his wife. It was a bad day with her;her oppressions—he tapped his own broad chest. She couldnot move from her chair that day.Decoud, ensconced in the corner of his seat, observedgloomily Mrs. Gould’s old revolutionist, then, offhand—‘Well, and what do you think of it all, Garibaldino?’Old Giorgio, looking at him with some curiosity, saidcivilly that the troops had marched very well. One-eyed