"
In that manner did Almayer move into his new house. He took possession
of the new ruin, and in the undying folly of his heart set himself to
wait in anxiety and pain for that forgetfulness which was so slow to
come. He had done all he could. Every vestige of Nina's existence had
been destroyed; and now with every sunrise he asked himself whether the
longed-for oblivion would come before sunset, whether it would come
before he died? He wanted to live only long enough to be able to forget,
and the tenacity of his memory filled him with dread and horror of death;
for should it come before he could accomplish the purpose of his life he
would have to remember for ever! He also longed for loneliness. He
wanted to be alone. But he was not. In the dim light of the rooms with
their closed shutters, in the bright sunshine of the verandah, wherever
he went, whichever way he turned, he saw the small figure of a little
maiden with pretty olive face, with long black hair, her little pink robe
slipping off her shoulders, her big eyes looking up at him in the tender
trustfulness of a petted child. Ali did not see anything, but he also
was aware of the presence of a child in the house. In his long talks by
the evening fires of the settlement he used to tell his intimate friends
of Almayer's strange doings.
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