Chapter 36

           WiththesewordsMarlowhadendedhisnarrative,andhisaudiencehadbrokenupforthwith,underhisabstract,pensivegaze.Mendriftedofftheverandahinpairsoralonewithoutlossoftime,withoutofferingaremark,asifthelastimageofthatincompletestory,itsincompletenessitself,andtheverytoneofthespeaker,hadmadediscussionvainandcommentimpossible.Eachofthemseemedtocarryawayhisownimpression,tocarryitawaywithhimlikeasecret;buttherewasonlyonemanofalltheselistenerswhowasevertohearthelastwordofthestory.Itcametohimathome,morethantwoyearslater,anditcamecontainedinathickpacketaddressedinMarlow’suprightandangularhandwriting.

           Theprivilegedmanopenedthepacket,lookedin,then,layingitdown,wenttothewindow.Hisroomswereinthehighestflatofaloftybuilding,andhisglancecouldtravelafarbeyondtheclearpanesofglass,asthoughhewerelookingoutofthelanternofalighthouse.Theslopesoftheroofsglistened,thedarkbrokenridgessucceededeachotherwithoutendlikesombre,uncrestedwaves,andfromthedepthsofthetownunderhisfeetascendedaconfusedandunceasingmutter.Thespiresofchurches,numerous,scatteredhaphazard,uproselikebeaconsonamazeofshoalswithoutachannel;thedrivingrainmingledwiththefallingduskofawinter’sevening;andtheboomingofabigclockonatower,strikingthehour,rolledpastinvoluminous,austereburstsofsound,withashrillvibratingcryatthecore.Hedrewtheheavycurtains.

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