“What Capataz?” broke in Nostromo, in a forcible but even voice. “The Capataz is undone, destroyed. There is no Capataz. Oh, no! You will find the Capataz no more.”
“Come, this is childish!” remonstrated the doctor; and the other calmed down suddenly.
“I have been indeed like a little child,” he muttered.
And as his eyes met again the shape of the murdered man suspended in his awful immobility, which seemed the uncomplaining immobility of attention, he asked, wondering gently—
“Why did Sotillo give the estrapade to this pitiful wretch? Do you know? No t*****e could have been worse than his fear. Killing I can understand. His anguish was intolerable to behold. But why should he torment him like this? He could tell no more.”
“No; he could tell nothing more. Any sane man would have seen
