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Chapter 3
Monyghamslippedoffthewindow-sill,and,thrustinghishandsintothepocketsofthelong,greydustcoathewaswearing,madeafewstepsintotheroom.
Sotillogotup,too,and,puttinghimselfintheway,examinedhimfromheadtofoot.
“Soyourcountrymendonotconfideinyouverymuch,senordoctor.Theydonotloveyou,eh?Whyisthat,Iwonder?”
Thedoctor,liftinghishead,answeredbyalong,lifelessstareandthewords,“PerhapsbecauseIhavelivedtoolonginCostaguana.”
Sotillohadagleamofwhiteteethundertheblackmoustache.
“Aha!Butyouloveyourself,”hesaid,encouragingly.
“Ifyouleavethemalone,”thedoctorsaid,lookingwiththesamelifelessstareatSotillo’shandsomeface,“theywillbetraythemselvesverysoon.Meantime,ImaytrytomakeDonCarlosspeak?”
“Ah!senordoctor,”saidSotillo,wagginghishead,“youareamanofquickintelligence.Weweremadetounderstandeachother.”Heturnedaway.Hecouldbearnolongerthatexpressionlessandmotionlessstare,whichseemedtohaveasortofimpenetrableemptinessliketheblackdepthofanabyss.
Eveninamanutterlydevoidofmoralsensethereremainsanappreciationofrascalitywhich,beingconventional,isperfectlyclear.SotillothoughtthatDr.Monygham,sodifferentfromallEuropeans,wasreadytosellhiscountrymenandCharlesGould,hisemployer,forsomeshareoftheSanTomesilver.