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Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard like a fallen column far over the trickle of water running among the loose stones.

A couple of years before, Nostromo had spent a whole Sunday, all alone, exploring the island. He explained this to Decoud after their task was done and they sat, weary in every limb, with their legs hanging down the low bank and their backs against the tree, like a pair of blind men aware of each other and their surroundings by some indefinable sixth sense.

"Yes," Nostromo repeated, "I never forget a place I have carefully looked at once." He spoke slowly, almost lazily, as if there had been a whole leisurely life before him instead of the scanty two hours before day- light. The existence of the treasure, barely concealed in this improbable spot, laid a burden of secrecy upon every contemplated step, upon every intention and plan of future conduct. He felt the partial failure of this desperate affair, intrusted to the great reputation he had known how to make for himself. However, it was also a partial success. His vanity was half appeased. His nervous irritation had subsided.

"You never know what may be of use," he pursued, with his usual quietness of tone and manner. "I spent a whole miserable Sunday in exploring this crumb of land."

"A misanthropic sort of occupation," muttered Decoud, viciously. "You had no money, I suppose, to gamble with and to fling about among the girls in your usual haunts, capataz?"

"E vero!" exclaimed the capataz, surprised into the use of his native tongue by so much perspicacity. "I had not. Therefore I did not want to go among those