to visit the Great
Isabel in secret, between his voyages along the coast, which were the ostensible
source of his fortune. The crew of his own schooner were to be feared as if they
had been spies upon their dreaded captain. He did not dare stay too long in
port. When his coaster was unloaded, he hurried away on another trip, for he
feared arousing suspicion even by a day's delay. Sometimes during a week's stay,
or more, he could only manage one visit to the treasure. And that was all. A
couple of ingots. He suffered through his fears as much as through his prudence.
To do things by stealth humiliated him. And he suffered most from the
concentration of his thought upon the treasure.
    A transgression, a crime, entering a man's existence, eats it up like a
malignant growth, consumes it like a fever. Nostromo had lost his peace; the
genuineness of all his qualities was destroyed. He felt it himself, and often
cursed the silver of San Tomé. His courage, his magnificence, his leisure, his
work, everything was as before, only everything was a sham. But the treasure was
real. He clung to it with a more tenacious, mental grip. But he hated the feel
of the ingots. Sometimes, after putting away a couple of them in his cabin - the
fruit of a secret night expedition to the Great Isabel - he would look fixedly
at his fingers, as if surprised they had left no stain on his skin.
    He had found means of disposing of the silver bars in distant ports. The
necessity to go far afield made his coasting voyages long, and caused his visits
to the Viola household to be rare and far between. He was fated to have his wife
from there. He had said so once to Giorgio himself. But the Garibaldino had put
the subject aside with a majestic wave of his hand, clutching a smouldering
black briar-root pipe. There was plenty of time; he was not the man to force his
girls upon anybody.
    As time went on, Nostromo discovered his preference for the younger of the
two. They had some profound similarities of nature, which must exist for
complete confidence and understanding, no matter what outward differences of
temperament there may be to exercise their own fascination of contrast. His wife
would have to know his secret or else life would be impossible. He was attracted
by Giselle, with her candid gaze and white throat, pliable, silent, fond of
excitement under her quiet indolence; whereas Linda, with her intense,
passionately