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

eathing no longer. I left him thus, with Antonia kneelingby the side of the bed, just before I came to this Italian’sposada, where the ubiquitous death is also waiting. But Iknow that Don Jose has really died there, in the Casa Gould,with that whisper urging me to attempt what no doubt hissoul, wrapped up in the sanctity of diplomatic treaties andsolemn declarations, must have abhorred. I had exclaimedvery loud, ‘There is never any God in a country where menwill not help themselves.’‘Meanwhile, Don Juste had begun a pondered orationwhose solemn effect was spoiled by the ridiculous disasterto his beard. I did not wait to make it out. He seemed to arguethat Montero’s (he called him The General) intentionswere probably not evil, though, he went on, ‘that distinguishedman’ (only a week ago we used to call him a gran’bestia) ‘was perhaps mistaken as to the true means.’ As youmay imagine, I didn’t stay to hear the rest. I know the intentionsof Montero’s brother, Pedrito, the guerrillero, whomI exposed in Paris, some years ago, in a cafe frequented bySouth American students, where he tried to pass himself offfor a Secretary of Legation. He used to come in and talk forhours, twisting his felt hat in his hairy paws, and his ambitionseemed to become a sort of Duc de Morny to a sort ofNapoleon. Already, then, he used to talk of his brother ininflated terms. He seemed fairly safe from being found out,because the students, all of the Blanco families, did not, asyou may imagine, frequent the Legation. It was only Decoud,a man without faith and principles, as they used tosay, that went in there sometimes for the sake of the fun, as