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Conrad, Joseph, 1857-1924

"A Tale Of The Forecastle"

... We went on and let him take his chances,
simply because we could not help it; for though at that time we hated
him more than ever--more than anything under heaven--we did not want to
lose him. We had so far saved him; and it had become a personal
matter between us and the sea. We meant to stick to him. Had we (by an
incredible hypothesis) undergone similar toil and trouble for an empty
cask, that cask would have become as precious to us as Jimmy was. More
precious, in fact, because we would have had no reason to hate the cask.
And we hated James Wait. We could not get rid of the monstrous suspicion
that this astounding black-man was shamming sick, had been malingering
heartlessly in the face of our toil, of our scorn, of our patience--and
now was malingering in the face of our devotion--in the face of death.
Our vague and imperfect morality rose with disgust at his unmanly lie.
But he stuck to it manfully--amazingly. No! It couldn't be. He was
at all extremity. His cantankerous temper was only the result of the
provoking invincible-ness of that death he felt by his side. Any man may
be angry with such a masterful chum.


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