Then gradually he became more
silent--not sulkily--but as if he was forgetting how to speak. He used
also to hide in the darkest rooms of the house, where Ford had to seek
him out guided by the patter of the monkey galloping before him. The
monkey was always there to receive and introduce Ford. The little animal
seemed to have taken complete charge of its master, and whenever it
wished for his presence on the verandah it would tug perseveringly at his
jacket, till Almayer obediently came out into the sunshine, which he
seemed to dislike so much.
One morning Ford found him sitting on the floor of the verandah, his back
against the wall, his legs stretched stiffly out, his arms hanging by his
side. His expressionless face, his eyes open wide with immobile pupils,
and the rigidity of his pose, made him look like an immense man-doll
broken and flung there out of the way. As Ford came up the steps he
turned his head slowly.
"Ford," he murmured from the floor, "I cannot forget."
"Can't you?" said Ford, innocently, with an attempt at joviality: "I wish
I was like you. I am losing my memory--age, I suppose; only the other
day my mate--"
He stopped, for Almayer had got up, stumbled, and steadied himself on his
friend's arm.
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