Almayer ceased his mumbling and opened his eyes. He caught hold of his
daughter's hand and pressed it to his face, while Nina with the other
hand smoothed his rumpled grey hair, looking defiantly over her father's
head at the officer, who had now regained his composure and returned her
look with a cool, steady stare. Below, in front of the verandah, they
could hear the tramp of seamen mustering there according to orders. The
sub-lieutenant came up the steps, while Babalatchi stood up uneasily and,
with finger on lip, tried to catch Nina's eye.
"You are a good girl," whispered Almayer, absently, dropping his
daughter's hand.
"Father! father!" she cried, bending over him with passionate entreaty.
"See those two men looking at us. Send them away. I cannot bear it any
more. Send them away. Do what they want and let them go."
She caught sight of Babalatchi and ceased speaking suddenly, but her foot
tapped the floor with rapid beats in a paroxysm of nervous restlessness.
The two officers stood close together looking on curiously.
"What has happened? What is the matter?" whispered the younger man.
"Don't know," answered the other, under his breath. "One is furious, and
the other is drunk. Not so drunk, either.
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