You hear, man! I can't, and never shall! Never!"
He ended his words with a sob, and walked unsteadily down the stairs.
When in the courtyard the lieutenant approached him, and took him by the
arm. The sub-lieutenant and Babalatchi followed close.
"That's better, Almayer," said the officer encouragingly. "Where are you
going to? There are only planks there. Here," he went on, shaking him
slightly, "do we want the boats?"
"No," answered Almayer, viciously. "You want a grave."
"What? Wild again! Try to talk sense."
"Grave!" roared Almayer, struggling to get himself free. "A hole in the
ground. Don't you understand? You must be drunk. Let me go! Let go, I
tell you!"
He tore away from the officer's grasp, and reeled towards the planks
where the body lay under its white cover; then he turned round quickly,
and faced the semicircle of interested faces. The sun was sinking
rapidly, throwing long shadows of house and trees over the courtyard, but
the light lingered yet on the river, where the logs went drifting past in
midstream, looking very distinct and black in the pale red glow. The
trunks of the trees in the forest on the east bank were lost in gloom
while their highest branches swayed gently in the departing sunlight.
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