"It's his looks," Almayer muttered, for all apology.
The sun had eaten up the fog. From where we sat under the after-awning
we could see in the distance the pony tied up, in front of Almayer's
house, to a post of the veranda. We were silent for a long time. All at
once Almayer, alluding evidently to the subject of his conversation in
the captain's cabin, exclaimed anxiously across the table:
"I really don't know what I can do now!"
Captain C---- only raised his eyebrows at him, and got up from his
chair. We dispersed to our duties, but Almayer, half dressed as he was
in his cretonne pajamas and the thin cotton singlet, remained on board,
lingering near the gangway, as though he could not make up his mind
whether to go home or stay with us for good.
Our Chinamen boys gave him side glances as they went to and fro; and
Ah Sing, our chief steward, the handsomest and most sympathetic of
Chinamen, catching my eye, nodded knowingly at his burly back. In the
course of the morning I approached him for a moment.
"Well, Mr. Almayer," I addressed him, easily, "you haven't started on
your letters yet."
We had brought him his mail, and he had held the bundle in his hand ever
since we got up from breakfast.
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