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 out suddenly, tumultuous and deadened as if coming from under the plain. That lame doctor with the eye had got there pretty fast.

Step by step Nostromo approached the Albergo d’Italia Una. which he had never known so lightless, so silent, before. The door, all black in the pale wall. stood open as he had left it twenty-four hours before, when he had nothing to hide from the world. He remained before it, irresolute, like a fugitive, like a man betrayed. Poverty, misery, starvation! Where had he heard these words? The anger of a dying woman prophesied that fate for his folly. It looked as if it would come true very quickly. And the leperos would laugh she had said. Yes, they would laugh if they knew that the capataz de cargadores was at the mercy of the mad doctor whom they could remember. only a few years ago, buying cooked food from a stall on the Plaza for a copper coin like one of themselves.

At that moment the notion of seeking Captain Mitchell passed through his mind. He glanced in the direction of the jetty and saw a small gleam of light in the O.S.N. Company's building. The thought of lighted windows was not attractive. Two lighted windows had decoyed him into the empty custom- house, only to fall into the clutches of that doctor. No! He would not go near lighted windows again on that night. Captain Mitchell was there. And what could he be told? That doctor would worm it all out of him as if he were a child.

On the threshold he called out "Giorgio!" in an undertone. Nobody answered. He stepped in. "Ola!