He rose, and, approaching the table, leaned both his elbows on it;
Lakamba responsively edged his seat a little closer, while Babalatchi
scrambled to his feet and thrust his inquisitive head between his
master's and Dain's. They interchanged their ideas rapidly, speaking in
whispers into each other's faces, very close now, Dain suggesting,
Lakamba contradicting, Babalatchi conciliating and anxious in his vivid
apprehension of coming difficulties. He spoke most, whispering
earnestly, turning his head slowly from side to side so as to bring his
solitary eye to bear upon each of his interlocutors in turn. Why should
there be strife? said he. Let Tuan Dain, whom he loved only less than
his master, go trustfully into hiding. There were many places for that.
Bulangi's house away in the clearing was best.
Bulangi was a safe man. In the network of crooked channels no white man
could find his way. White men were strong, but very foolish. It was
undesirable to fight them, but deception was easy. They were like silly
women--they did not know the use of reason, and he was a match for any of
them--went on Babalatchi, with all the confidence of deficient
experience. Probably the Dutch would seek Almayer. Maybe they would
take away their countryman if they were suspicious of him.
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