 is what went before - and
what comes after that -«
    He did not quite finish what he meant to say, breaking off short, as though
his thought had butted against a solid obstacle. The doctor's mind pursued its
own schemes with Machiavellian subtlety. He said as sympathetically as he was
able -
    »It is unfortunate, Capataz. But no one would think of blaming you. Very
unfortunate. To begin with, the treasure ought never to have left the mountain.
But it was Decoud who - however, he is dead. There is no need to talk of him.«
    »No,« assented Nostromo, as the doctor paused, »there is no need to talk of
dead men. But I am not dead yet.«
    »You are all right. Only a man of your intrepidity could have saved
himself.«
    In this Dr. Monygham was sincere. He esteemed highly the intrepidity of that
man, whom he valued but little, being disillusioned as to mankind in general,
because of the particular instance in which his own manhood had failed. Having
had to encounter single-handed during his period of eclipse many physical
dangers, he was well aware of the most dangerous element common to them all: of
the crushing, paralyzing sense of human littleness, which is what really defeats
a man struggling with natural forces, alone, far from the eyes of his fellows.
He was eminently fit to appreciate the mental image he made for himself of the
Capataz, after hours of tension and anxiety, precipitated suddenly into an abyss
of waters and darkness, without earth or sky, and confronting it not only with
an undismayed mind, but with sensible success. Of course, the man was an
incomparable swimmer, that was known, but the doctor judged that this instance
testified to a still greater intrepidity of spirit. It was pleasing to him; he
augured well from it for the success of the arduous mission with which he meant
to entrust the Capataz so marvellously restored to usefulness. And in a tone
vaguely gratified, he observed -
    »It must have been terribly dark!«
    »It was the worst darkness of the Golfo,« the Capataz assented, briefly. He
was mollified by what seemed a sign of some faint interest in such things as had
befallen him, and dropped a few descriptive phrases with an affected and curt
nonchalance. At that moment he felt communicative. He expected the continuance
of that interest which, whether accepted or rejected, would have restored to him
his personality - the only thing lost in that desperate affair. But the doctor,
engrossed by a
