Queer, this. Look!"
Almayer had risen, holding on to his daughter's arm. He hesitated a
moment, then he let go his hold and lurched half-way across the verandah.
There he pulled himself together, and stood very straight, breathing hard
and glaring round angrily.
"Are the men ready?" asked the lieutenant.
"All ready, sir."
"Now, Mr. Almayer, lead the way," said the lieutenant
Almayer rested his eyes on him as if he saw him for the first time.
"Two men," he said thickly. The effort of speaking seemed to interfere
with his equilibrium. He took a quick step to save himself from a fall,
and remained swaying backwards and forwards. "Two men," he began again,
speaking with difficulty. "Two white men--men in uniform--honourable
men. I want to say--men of honour. Are you?"
"Come! None of that," said the officer impatiently. "Let us have that
friend of yours."
"What do you think I am?" asked Almayer, fiercely.
"You are drunk, but not so drunk as not to know what you are doing.
Enough of this tomfoolery," said the officer sternly, "or I will have you
put under arrest in your own house."
"Arrest!" laughed Almayer, discordantly. "Ha! ha! ha! Arrest! Why, I
have been trying to get out of this infernal place for twenty years, and
I can't.
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