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his half-ironic devotion. Many of Nostromo’s speeches I have heard first in Dominic’s voice. His hand on the tiller and his fearless eyes roaming the horizon from within the monkish hood shadowing his face, have been something in me wortdw111hy to command that man’s half-bitter fidelity, after all, he would utter the usual exordium of his remorseless wisdom: dw111“Vous autres gentilhommes!” in a caustic tone that hangs on my ear yet. Like Nostr,think that in my very young days thedw111re must,