The Nature of a Crime

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Doubleday, Page, 1924 - English fiction - 108 pages

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Page viii - THE MIRROR OF THE SEA THE SECRET AGENT A SET OF SIX UNDER WESTERN EYES A PERSONAL RECORD...
Page 102 - Ramon s great spectacles, the piercing eyes in the mahogany face, while the tap, tap, tap of a cane on the flags went on behind the inner door; the click of the latch; the stream of light. The door, petulantly thrust inwards, struck against some barrels. I remember the rattling of the bolts on that door, and the tall figure that appeared there, snuff-box in hand. In that land of white clothes that precise, ancient, Castilian in black was something to remember.
Page 99 - I suppose our recollections agree. Mine, in their simplest form, are: First Part, yours; Second Part, mainly yours, with a little by me on points of seamanship and suchlike small matters; Third Part, about 60% mine with important touches by you; Fourth Part, mine, with here and there an important sentence by you; Fifth Part practically all yours, including the famous sentence at which we both exclaimed: 'This is Genius...
Page 99 - Conrad's recollections — except for the generosity of his two 'importants' — tally well enough with those of the writer if conception alone is concerned. When it comes however to the writing the truth is that Parts One, Two, Three and Five are a singular mosaic of passages written alternately by one or other of the collaborators.
Page 103 - ... ruffles. The other hand paused in the act of conveying a pinch of snuff to the nostrils of the hooked nose that had, on the skin stretched tight over the bridge, the polish of old ivory; the elbow pressing the black cocked hat against the side; the legs, one bent, the other bowing a little back — this was the attitude of Seraphina's father. Having imperiously thrust the door of the inner room open, he remained immovable, with no intention of entering, and called in a harsh, aged voice: "Senor...
Page 102 - What are these days to me? But that far-off day of my romance when from between the blue and white bales in Don Ramon's darkened store room, at Kingston, I saw the door open before the figure of an old man with the tired, long, white face, that day I am not likely to forget. I remember the chilly smell of the typical West Indian store, the indescribable smell of damp gloom, of locos, of pimento, of olive oil, of new sugar, of...

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