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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Ностромо
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- Стр. 199/274
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The
sun
had
set
when
he
went
in
once
more
.
A
soldier
carried
in
two
lighted
candles
and
slunk
out
,
shutting
the
door
without
noise
.
"
Speak
,
thou
Jewish
child
of
the
devil
!
The
silver
!
The
silver
,
I
say
!
Where
is
it
?
Where
have
you
foreign
rogues
hidden
it
?
Confess
or
--
"
A
slight
quiver
passed
up
the
taut
rope
from
the
racked
limbs
,
but
the
body
of
Senor
Hirsch
,
enterprising
business
man
from
Esmeralda
,
hung
under
the
heavy
beam
perpendicular
and
silent
,
facing
the
colonel
awfully
.
The
inflow
of
the
night
air
,
cooled
by
the
snows
of
the
Sierra
,
spread
gradually
a
delicious
freshness
through
the
close
heat
of
the
room
.
"
Speak
--
thief
--
scoundrel
--
picaro
--
or
--
"
Sotillo
had
seized
the
riding-whip
,
and
stood
with
his
arm
lifted
up
.
For
a
word
,
for
one
little
word
,
he
felt
he
would
have
knelt
,
cringed
,
grovelled
on
the
floor
before
the
drowsy
,
conscious
stare
of
those
fixed
eyeballs
starting
out
of
the
grimy
,
dishevelled
head
that
drooped
very
still
with
its
mouth
closed
askew
.
The
colonel
ground
his
teeth
with
rage
and
struck
.
The
rope
vibrated
leisurely
to
the
blow
,
like
the
long
string
of
a
pendulum
starting
from
a
rest
.
But
no
swinging
motion
was
imparted
to
the
body
of
Senor
Hirsch
,
the
well-known
hide
merchant
on
the
coast
.
With
a
convulsive
effort
of
the
twisted
arms
it
leaped
up
a
few
inches
,
curling
upon
itself
like
a
fish
on
the
end
of
a
line
.
Senor
Hirsch
's
head
was
flung
back
on
his
straining
throat
;
his
chin
trembled
.
For
a
moment
the
rattle
of
his
chattering
teeth
pervaded
the
vast
,
shadowy
room
,
where
the
candles
made
a
patch
of
light
round
the
two
flames
burning
side
by
side
.
And
as
Sotillo
,
staying
his
raised
hand
,
waited
for
him
to
speak
,
with
the
sudden
flash
of
a
grin
and
a
straining
forward
of
the
wrenched
shoulders
,
he
spat
violently
into
his
face
.
The
uplifted
whip
fell
,
and
the
colonel
sprang
back
with
a
low
cry
of
dismay
,
as
if
aspersed
by
a
jet
of
deadly
venom
.
Quick
as
thought
he
snatched
up
his
revolver
,
and
fired
twice
.
The
report
and
the
concussion
of
the
shots
seemed
to
throw
him
at
once
from
ungovernable
rage
into
idiotic
stupor
.
He
stood
with
drooping
jaw
and
stony
eyes
.
What
had
he
done
,
Sangre
de
Dios
!
What
had
he
done
?
He
was
basely
appalled
at
his
impulsive
act
,
sealing
for
ever
these
lips
from
which
so
much
was
to
be
extorted
.
What
could
he
say
?
How
could
he
explain
?
Ideas
of
headlong
flight
somewhere
,
anywhere
,
passed
through
his
mind
;
even
the
craven
and
absurd
notion
of
hiding
under
the
table
occurred
to
his
cowardice
.
It
was
too
late
;
his
officers
had
rushed
in
tumultuously
,
in
a
great
clatter
of
scabbards
,
clamouring
,
with
astonishment
and
wonder
.
But
since
they
did
not
immediately
proceed
to
plunge
their
swords
into
his
breast
,
the
brazen
side
of
his
character
asserted
itself
.
Passing
the
sleeve
of
his
uniform
over
his
face
he
pulled
himself
together
,
His
truculent
glance
turned
slowly
here
and
there
,
checked
the
noise
where
it
fell
;
and
the
stiff
body
of
the
late
Senor
Hirsch
,
merchant
,
after
swaying
imperceptibly
,
made
a
half
turn
,
and
came
to
a
rest
in
the
midst
of
awed
murmurs
and
uneasy
shuffling
.
A
voice
remarked
loudly
,
"
Behold
a
man
who
will
never
speak
again
.
"
And
another
,
from
the
back
row
of
faces
,
timid
and
pressing
,
cried
out
--
"
Why
did
you
kill
him
,
mi
colonel
?
"
