Ностромо

           TherollingstockusuallykeptonthesidingsinRinconwasbeingrunbacktotheyardsforsafekeeping.Likeamysteriousstirringofthedarknessbehindtheheadlightoftheengine,thetrainpassedinagustofhollowuproar,bytheendofthehouse,whichseemedtovibratealloverinresponse.Andnothingwasclearlyvisiblebut,ontheendofthelastflatcar,anegro,inwhitetrousersandnakedtothewaist,swingingablazingtorchbasketincessantlywithacircularmovementofhisbarearm.Decouddidnotstir.

           Behindhim,onthebackofthechairfromwhichhehadrisen,hunghiselegantParisianovercoat,withapearl-greysilklining.Butwhenheturnedbacktocometothetablethecandlelightfelluponafacethatwasgrimyandscratched.Hisrosylipswereblackenedwithheat,thesmokeofgun-powder.Dirtandrusttarnishedthelustreofhisshortbeard.Hisshirtcollarandcuffswerecrumpled;thebluesilkentiehungdownhisbreastlikearag;agreasysmudgecrossedhiswhitebrow.Hehadnottakenoffhisclothingnorusedwater,excepttosnatchahastydrinkgreedily,forsomefortyhours.Anawfulrestlessnesshadmadehimitsown,hadmarkedhimwithallthesignsofdesperatestrife,andputadry,sleeplessstareintohiseyes.Hemurmuredtohimselfinahoarsevoice,“Iwonderifthere’sanybreadhere,”lookedvaguelyabouthim,thendroppedintothechairandtookthepencilupagain.Hebecameawarehehadnoteatenanythingformanyhours.