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

Perhaps he had just dismounted on his return from themine; he was English enough to disregard the hottest hoursof the day. Basilio, in a livery of white linen and a red sash,had squatted for a moment behind his heels to unstrap theheavy, blunt spurs in the patio; and then the Senor Administratorwould go up the staircase into the gallery. Rows ofplants in pots, ranged on the balustrade between the pilastersof the arches, screened the corredor with their leavesand flowers from the quadrangle below, whose paved spaceis the true hearthstone of a South American house, wherethe quiet hours of domestic life are marked by the shiftingof light and shadow on the flagstones.Senor Avellanos was in the habit of crossing the patio atfive o’clock almost every day. Don Jose chose to come overat tea-time because the English rite at Dona Emilia’s housereminded him of the time he lived in London as MinisterPlenipotentiary to the Court of St. James. He did not liketea; and, usually, rocking his American chair, his neat littleshiny boots crossed on the foot-rest, he would talk on andon with a sort of complacent virtuosity wonderful in a manof his age, while he held the cup in his hands for a long time.His close-cropped head was perfectly white; his eyes coalblack.On seeing Charles Gould step into the sala he would nodprovisionally and go on to the end of the oratorial period.Only then he would say—‘Carlos, my friend, you have ridden from San Tome inthe heat of the day. Always the true English activity. No?What?’