He whispered into Almayer's ear a childish prattle of many years ago.
Almayer, his head bent on one side, seemed to listen to his invisible
companion, but his face was like the face of a man that has died struck
from behind--a face from which all feelings and all expression are
suddenly wiped off by the hand of unexpected death.
* * * * *
They slept on the river that night, mooring their canoe under the bushes
and lying down in the bottom side by side, in the absolute exhaustion
that kills hunger, thirst, all feeling and all thought in the
overpowering desire for that deep sleep which is like the temporary
annihilation of the tired body. Next day they started again and fought
doggedly with the current all the morning, till about midday they reached
the settlement and made fast their little craft to the jetty of Lingard
and Co. Almayer walked straight to the house, and Ali followed, paddles
on shoulder, thinking that he would like to eat something. As they
crossed the front courtyard they noticed the abandoned look of the place.
Ali looked in at the different servants' houses: all were empty. In the
back courtyard there was the same absence of sound and life. In the
cooking-shed the fire was out and the black embers were cold.
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