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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Ностромо
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- Стр. 259/274
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"
I
shall
go
grey
,
I
fear
,
before
the
ring
is
on
my
finger
,
"
she
said
,
slowly
,
keeping
her
gaze
fastened
upon
him
.
She
waited
for
what
he
would
say
,
rolling
down
her
turned-up
sleeves
.
"
No
fear
of
that
,
"
he
said
,
absently
.
She
turned
away
as
if
it
had
been
something
final
,
and
busied
herself
with
household
cares
while
Nostromo
talked
with
her
father
.
Conversation
with
the
old
Garibaldino
was
not
easy
.
Age
had
left
his
faculties
unimpaired
,
only
they
seemed
to
have
withdrawn
somewhere
deep
within
him
.
His
answers
were
slow
in
coming
,
with
an
effect
of
august
gravity
.
But
that
day
he
was
more
animated
,
quicker
;
there
seemed
to
be
more
life
in
the
old
lion
.
He
was
uneasy
for
the
integrity
of
his
honour
.
He
believed
Sidoni
's
warning
as
to
Ramirez
's
designs
upon
his
younger
daughter
.
And
he
did
not
trust
her
.
She
was
flighty
.
He
said
nothing
of
his
cares
to
"
Son
Gian
'
Battista
.
"
It
was
a
touch
of
senile
vanity
.
He
wanted
to
show
that
he
was
equal
yet
to
the
task
of
guarding
alone
the
honour
of
his
house
.
Nostromo
went
away
early
.
As
soon
as
he
had
disappeared
,
walking
towards
the
beach
,
Linda
stepped
over
the
threshold
and
,
with
a
haggard
smile
,
sat
down
by
the
side
of
her
father
.
Ever
since
that
Sunday
,
when
the
infatuated
and
desperate
Ramirez
had
waited
for
her
on
the
wharf
,
she
had
no
doubts
whatever
.
The
jealous
ravings
of
that
man
were
no
revelation
.
They
had
only
fixed
with
precision
,
as
with
a
nail
driven
into
her
heart
,
that
sense
of
unreality
and
deception
which
,
instead
of
bliss
and
security
,
she
had
found
in
her
intercourse
with
her
promised
husband
.
She
had
passed
on
,
pouring
indignation
and
scorn
upon
Ramirez
;
but
,
that
Sunday
,
she
nearly
died
of
wretchedness
and
shame
,
lying
on
the
carved
and
lettered
stone
of
Teresa
's
grave
,
subscribed
for
by
the
engine-drivers
and
the
fitters
of
the
railway
workshops
,
in
sign
of
their
respect
for
the
hero
of
Italian
Unity
.
Old
Viola
had
not
been
able
to
carry
out
his
desire
of
burying
his
wife
in
the
sea
;
and
Linda
wept
upon
the
stone
.
The
gratuitous
outrage
appalled
her
.
If
he
wished
to
break
her
heart
--
well
and
good
.
Everything
was
permitted
to
Gian
'
Battista
.
But
why
trample
upon
the
pieces
;
why
seek
to
humiliate
her
spirit
?
Aha
!
He
could
not
break
that
.
She
dried
her
tears
.
And
Giselle
!
Giselle
!
The
little
one
that
,
ever
since
she
could
toddle
,
had
always
clung
to
her
skirt
for
protection
.
What
duplicity
!
But
she
could
not
help
it
probably
.
When
there
was
a
man
in
the
case
the
poor
featherheaded
wretch
could
not
help
herself
.
Linda
had
a
good
share
of
the
Viola
stoicism
.
She
resolved
to
say
nothing
.
But
woman-like
she
put
passion
into
her
stoicism
.
Giselle
's
short
answers
,
prompted
by
fearful
caution
,
drove
her
beside
herself
by
their
curtness
that
resembled
disdain
.
One
day
she
flung
herself
upon
the
chair
in
which
her
indolent
sister
was
lying
and
impressed
the
mark
of
her
teeth
at
the
base
of
the
whitest
neck
in
Sulaco
.
Giselle
cried
out
.
But
she
had
her
share
of
the
Viola
heroism
.
Ready
to
faint
with
terror
,
she
only
said
,
in
a
lazy
voice
,
"
Madre
de
Dios
!
Are
you
going
to
eat
me
alive
,
Linda
?
"
And
this
outburst
passed
off
leaving
no
trace
upon
the
situation
.
"
She
knows
nothing
.
She
can
not
know
any
thing
,
"
reflected
Giselle
.
"
Perhaps
it
is
not
true
.
It
can
not
be
true
,
"
Linda
tried
to
persuade
herself
.
