He remembered making the pegs
himself and noticed that they were very good pegs. Where was the key? He
looked round and saw it near the door where he stood. It was red with
rust. He felt very much annoyed at that, and directly afterwards
wondered at his own feeling. What did it matter? There soon would be no
key--no door--nothing! He paused, key in hand, and asked himself whether
he knew well what he was about. He went out again on the verandah and
stood by the table thinking. The monkey jumped down, and, snatching a
banana skin, absorbed itself in picking it to shreds industriously.
"Forget!" muttered Almayer, and that word started before him a sequence
of events, a detailed programme of things to do. He knew perfectly well
what was to be done now. First this, then that, and then forgetfulness
would come easy. Very easy. He had a fixed idea that if he should not
forget before he died he would have to remember to all eternity. Certain
things had to be taken out of his life, stamped out of sight, destroyed,
forgotten. For a long time he stood in deep thought, lost in the
alarming possibilities of unconquerable memory, with the fear of death
and eternity before him. "Eternity!" he said aloud, and the sound of
that word recalled him out of his reverie.
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