The observer was Martin Ricardo. To him life was not a matter of passive renunciation, but of a particularly active warfare². He was not mistrustful of it, he was not disgusted with it, still less was he inclined to be suspicious of its disenchantments; but he was vividly³ aware that it held many possibilities of failure. Though very far from being a pessimist⁴, he was not a man of foolish illusions. He did not like failure, not only because of its unpleasant and dangerous consequences, but also because of its damaging effect upon his own appreciation⁵ of Martin Ricardo. And this was a special job, of his own contriving⁶, and of considerable novelty. It was not, so to speak, in his usual line of business — except, perhaps, from a moral standpoint, about which he was not likely to trouble his head. For these reasons Martin Ricardo was unable to sleep.

Mr Jones, after repeated shivering fits, and after drinking much hot tea, had apparently⁷ fallen into deep slumber⁸. He had very peremptorily⁹ discouraged attempts at conversation on the part of his faithful follower¹⁰. Ricardo listened to his regular breathing. It was all very well for the governor. He looked upon it as a sort of sport. A gentleman naturally would. But this ticklish¹¹ and important job had to be pulled off at all costs, both for honour and for safety. Ricardo rose quietly, and made his way on the veranda¹². He could not lie still. He wanted to go out for air, and he had a feeling that by the force of his eagerness even the darkness and the silence could be made to yield something to his eyes and ears.

分享到：