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

shores of the gulf of Spezzia.‘You go in at once, Giorgio,’ she directed. ‘One wouldthink you do not wish to have any pity on me—with fourSignori Inglesi staying in the house.’ ‘Va bene, va bene,’Giorgio would mutter. He obeyed. The Signori Inglesi wouldrequire their midday meal presently. He had been one of theimmortal and invincible band of liberators who had madethe mercenaries of tyranny fly like chaff before a hurricane,‘un uragano terribile.’ But that was before he was marriedand had children; and before tyranny had reared its headagain amongst the traitors who had imprisoned Garibaldi,his hero.There were three doors in the front of the house, and eachafternoon the Garibaldino could be seen at one or anotherof them with his big bush of white hair, his arms folded,his legs crossed, leaning back his leonine head against theside, and looking up the wooded slopes of the foothills atthe snowy dome of Higuerota. The front of his house threwoff a black long rectangle of shade, broadening slowly overthe soft ox-cart track. Through the gaps, chopped out in theoleander hedges, the harbour branch railway, laid out temporarilyon the level of the plain, curved away its shiningparallel ribbons on a belt of scorched and withered grasswithin sixty yards of the end of the house. In the eveningthe empty material trains of flat cars circled round the darkgreen grove of Sulaco, and ran, undulating slightly withwhite jets of steam, over the plain towards the Casa Viola,on their way to the railway yards by the harbour. The Italiandrivers saluted him from the foot-plate with raised hand,