Victory was the last of Conrad's novels to be set in the Malay Archipelago. It tells the story of Axel Heyst who, damaged by his dead father's nihilistic philosophy, has retreated from the world of commerce and colonial exploration to live alone on the island of Samburan. But Heyst's solitaryexistence ends when he rescues an English girl from her rapacious patron and brings her back to the island. She in turn recalls him to love and life, until the world breaks in on them once more with tragic consequences. In this love story Conrad created two of his psychologically most complex andcompelling characters in a narrative of great erotic power.This new edition uses the first edition text and includes a new chronology and bibliography.
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answer appeared arms asked believe better boat bungalow chair Chinaman clear close coming course dark Davidson don't door doubt existence expect expression eyes face fact feeling feet fellow felt gave girl give glance gone governor hand head hear heard Heyst hold island Jones keep knew leave Lena less light lips live looked manner matter mean mind Morrison moved movement murmured nature never night once passed Pedro perhaps raised reason remained Ricardo round Schomberg seemed seen short shoulders side sight silence smile sort sound speak stand steps stopped strange suddenly surprised talk tell There's thing thought told tone took trouble turned understand verandah VICTORY voice waited walked Wang watched whispered woman wonder
Page 66 - The uproar in that small, barn-like structure, built of imported pine boards, and raised clear of the ground, was simply stunning. An instrumental uproar, screaming, grunting, whining, sobbing, scraping, squeaking some kind of lively air; while a grand piano, operated upon by a bony, red-faced woman with bad-tempered nostrils, rained hard notes like hail through the tempest of fiddles.
Page 108 - Schomberg's argument was met by Mr. Jones's statement that one must do something to kill time. Killing time was not forbidden. For the rest, being in a communicative mood, Mr. Jones said languidly and in a voice indifferent, as if issuing from a tomb, that he depended on himself, as if the world were still one great, wild jungle without law.
Page 101 - Latin races; and though his eyes strayed about irresolutely, yet his swollen, angry features awakened in the miserable woman over whom he had been tyrannising for years a fear for his precious carcass, since the poor creature had nothing else but that to hold on to in the world. She knew him well; but she did not know him altogether. The last thing a woman will consent to discover in a man whom she loves, or on whom she simply depends, is want of courage. And, timid in her corner, she ventured to...
Page 122 - I would watch them lifting their elbows at my expense, or splitting their sides at my fun — I can be funny when I like, you bet!" A pause for self-complacent contemplation of his own fun and generosity checked the flow of Ricardo's speech. Schomberg was concerned to keep within bounds the enlargement of his eyes, which he seemed to feel growing bigger in his head. "Yes, yes," he whispered hastily. "I would watch them and think: 'You boys don't know who I am. If you did !' With girls, too. Once...
Page 190 - ... ceased to be masculine. Her eyes moved in his direction, rested on him, then returned to their stare into the deeper gloom at the foot of the straight tree-trunks, whose spreading crowns were slowly withdrawing their shade. The warm air stirred slightly about her motionless head. She would not look at him, from some obscure fear of betraying herself. She felt in her innermost depths an irresistible desire to give herself up to him more completely, by some act of absolute sacrifice.
Page 354 - I, my dear sir? In one way I am — yes, I am the world itself, come to pay you a visit. In another sense I am an outcast — almost an outlaw. If you prefer a less materialistic view, I am a sort of fate — the retribution that waits its time.
Page 110 - But Pedro, at any rate, was just a simple, straightforward brute, if a murderous one. There was no mystery about him, nothing uncanny, no suggestion of a stealthy, deliberate wild-cat turned into a man, or of an insolent spectre on leave from Hades, endowed with skin and bones and a subtle power of terror.
Page 3 - I believe, why some people . allude to coal as "black diamonds." Both these com- V modities represent wealth ; but coal is a much less portable form of property. There is, from that point of view, a deplorable lack of concentration in coal. Now, if a coalmine could be put into one's waistcoat pocket — but it can't ! At the same time, there is a fascination in coal, the supreme commodity of the age in which we are camped like bewildered travellers in a garish, unrestful hotel.