酷兔英语
    当前位置:
  1. 首页
  2. 文章
  3. 娱乐英语
  4. 原版小说
  5. 正文

The Arrow of Gold-Part18_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

0 收藏 0 分享 0 赞

章节正文
文章总共2页


than she would approve of, I fancy, if she ever gave a moment's

thought to us out here. Now, for instance, in the next half hour,



we may come any moment on three carabineers who would let off their

pieces without asking questions. Even your way of flinging money



about cannot make safety for men set on defying a whole big country

for the sake of - what is it exactly? - the blue eyes, or the white



arms of the Senora."

He kept his voice equably low. It was a lonely spot and but for a



vague shape of a dwarf tree here and there we had only the flying

clouds for company. Very far off a tiny light twinkled a little



way up the seaward shoulder of an invisible mountain. Dominic

moved on.



"Fancy yourself lying here, on this wild spot, with a leg smashed

by a shot or perhaps with a bullet in your side. It might happen.



A star might fall. I have watched stars falling in scores on clear

nights in the Atlantic. And it was nothing. The flash of a pinch



of gunpowder in your face may be a bigger matter. Yet somehow it's

pleasant as we stumble in the dark to think of our Senora in that



long room with a shiny floor and all that lot of glass at the end,

sitting on that divan, you call it, covered with carpets as if



expecting a king indeed. And very still . . ."

He remembered her - whose image could not be dismissed.



I laid my hand on his shoulder.

"That light on the mountain side flickers exceedingly, Dominic.



Are we in the path?"

He addressed me then in French, which was between us the language



of more formal moments.

"Prenez mon bras, monsieur. Take a firm hold, or I will have you



stumbling again and falling into one of those beastly holes, with a

good chance to crack your head. And there is no need to take



offence. For, speaking with all respect, why should you, and I

with you, be here on this lonely spot, barking our shins in the



dark on the way to a confounded flickering light where there will

be no other supper but a piece of a stale sausage and a draught of



leathery wine out of a stinking skin. Pah!"

I had good hold of his arm. Suddenly he dropped the formal French



and pronounced in his inflexible voice:

"For a pair of white arms, Senor. Bueno."



He could understand.

CHAPTER III



On our return from that expedition we came gliding into the old

harbour so late that Dominic and I, making for the cafe kept by



Madame Leonore, found it empty of customers, except for two rather

sinister fellows playing cards together at a corner table near the



door. The first thing done by Madame Leonore was to put her hands

on Dominic's shoulders and look at arm's length into the eyes of



that man of audacious deeds and wild stratagems who smiled straight

at her from under his heavy and, at that time, uncurled moustaches.



Indeed we didn't present a neat appearance, our faces unshaven,

with the traces of dried salt sprays on our smarting skins and the



sleeplessness of full forty hours filming our eyes. At least it

was so with me who saw as through a mist Madame Leonore moving with



her mature nonchalant grace, setting before us wine and glasses

with a faint swish of her ample black skirt. Under the elaborate



structure of black hair her jet-black eyes sparkled like good-

humoured stars and even I could see that she was tremendously



excited at having this lawlesswanderer Dominic within her reach

and as it were in her power. Presently she sat down by us, touched



lightly Dominic's curly head silvered on the temples (she couldn't

really help it), gazed at me for a while with a quizzical smile,



observed that I looked very tired, and asked Dominic whether for

all that I was likely to sleep soundly to-night.



"I don't know," said Dominic, "He's young. And there is always the

chance of dreams."



"What do you men dream of in those little barques of yours tossing

for months on the water?"



"Mostly of nothing," said Dominic. "But it has happened to me to

dream of furious fights."



"And of furious loves, too, no doubt," she caught him up in a

mocking voice.



"No, that's for the waking hours," Dominic drawled, basking

sleepily with his head between his hands in her ardent gaze. "The



waking hours are longer."

"They must be, at sea," she said, never taking her eyes off him.



"But I suppose you do talk of your loves sometimes."




文章总共2页
文章标签:名著  

章节正文
Copyright © 2023 Qeto All rights reserved.
商务合作 | 联系我们 | 关于我们 | 版权声明 | 隐私条款 | 如果智培

京ICP备05059198号-1 京公网安备 11011202003401号