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

times he had entered the torture-chamber where his sword,horsewhip, revolver, and field-glass were lying on the table,to ask with forced calmness, ‘Will you speak the truthnow? No? I can wait.’ But he could not afford to wait muchlonger. That was just it. Every time he went in and cameout with a slam of the door, the sentry on the landing presentedarms, and got in return a black, venomous, unsteadyglance, which, in reality, saw nothing at all, being merelythe reflection of the soul within—a soul of gloomy hatred,irresolution, avarice, and fury.The sun had set when he went in once more. A soldiercarried in two lighted candles and slunk out, shutting thedoor without noise.‘Speak, thou Jewish child of the devil! The silver! Thesilver, I say! Where is it? Where have you foreign rogueshidden it? Confess or—‘A slight quiver passed up the taut rope from the rackedlimbs, but the body of Senor Hirsch, enterprising businessman from Esmeralda, hung under the heavy beam perpendicularand silent, facing the colonel awfully. The inflowof the night air, cooled by the snows of the Sierra, spreadgradually a delicious freshness through the close heat of theroom.‘Speak—thief—scoundrel—picaro—or—‘Sotillo had seized the riding-whip, and stood with hisarm lifted up. For a word, for one little word, he felt hewould have knelt, cringed, grovelled on the floor before thedrowsy, conscious stare of those fixed eyeballs starting outof the grimy, dishevelled head that drooped very still with