PART THIRD: THE LIGHTHOUSE
8. CHAPTER EIGHT
 (continued)
It was a sort of intoxication which made him utterly indifferent
 
to Decoud's fate, but left his wits perfectly clear for the
 
appreciation of Decoud's political idea.  It was a good idea--and
 
Barrios was the only instrument of its realization. The doctor's
 
soul, withered and shrunk by the shame of a moral disgrace,
 
became implacable in the expansion of its tenderness. Nostromo's
 
return was providential. He did not think of him humanely, as of
 
a fellow-creature just escaped from the jaws of death. The
 
Capataz for him was the only possible messenger to Cayta. The
 
very man. The doctor's misanthropic mistrust of mankind (the
 
bitterer because based on personal failure) did not lift him
 
sufficiently above common weaknesses. He was under the spell of
 
an established reputation. Trumpeted by Captain Mitchell, grown
 
in repetition, and fixed in general assent, Nostromo's
 
faithfulness had never been questioned by Dr. Monygham as a fact.
 
It was not likely to be questioned now he stood in desperate need
 
of it himself. Dr. Monygham was human; he accepted the popular
 
conception of the Capataz's incorruptibility simply because no
 
word or fact had ever contradicted a mere affirmation. It seemed
 
to be a part of the man, like his whiskers or his teeth. It was
 
impossible to conceive him otherwise. The question was whether he
 
would consent to go on such a dangerous and desperate errand. The
 
doctor was observant enough to have become aware from the first
 
of something peculiar in the man's temper. He was no doubt sore
 
about the loss of the silver. 
 
"It will be necessary to take him into my fullest confidence," he
 
said to himself, with a certain acuteness of insight into the
 
nature he had to deal with. 
 
On Nostromo's side the silence had been full of black
 
irresolution, anger, and mistrust. He was the first to break it,
 
however. 
 
"The swimming was no great matter," he said. "It 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-- 
 
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