ty of time," said Lingard,
impatiently.

"I wish you would do something," urged Almayer, moodily. "You know, that
woman is a perfect nuisance to me. She and her brat! Yelps all day. And
the children don't get on together. Yesterday the little devil wanted to
fight with my Nina. Scratched her face, too. A perfect savage! Like
his honourable papa. Yes, really. She worries about her husband, and
whimpers from morning to night. When she isn't weeping she is furious
with me. Yesterday she tormented me to tell her when he would be
back and cried because he was engaged in such dangerous work. I said
something about it being all right--no necessity to make a fool of
herself, when she turned upon me like a wild cat. Called me a brute,
selfish, heartless; raved about her beloved Peter risking his life for
my benefit, while I did not care. Said I took advantage of his generous
good-nature to get him to do dangerous work--my work. That he was worth
twenty of the likes of me. That she would tell you--open your eyes as
to the kind of man I was, and so on. That's what I've got to put up with
for your sake. You really might consider me a little. I haven't robbed
anybody," went on Almayer, with an attempt at bitter irony--"or sold
my best friend, but still you ought to have some pity on me. It's like
living in a hot fever. She is out of her wits. You make my house a
refuge for scoundrels and lunatics. It isn't fair. 'Pon my word
it isn't! When she is in her tantrums she is ridiculously ugly and
screeches so--it sets my teeth on edge. Thank God! my wife got a fit of
the sulks and cleared out of the house. Lives in a riverside hut since
that affair--you know. But this Willems' wife by herself is almost more
than I can bear. And I ask myself why should I? You are exacting and no
mistake. This morning I thought she was going to claw me. Only think!
She wanted to go prancing about the settlement. She might have heard
something there, so I told her she mustn't. It wasn't safe outside our
fences, I said. Thereupon she rushes at me with her ten nails up to my
eyes. 'You miserable man,' she yells, 'even this place is not safe, and
you've sent him up this awful river where he may lose his head. If he
dies before forgiving me, Heaven will punish you for your crime . . .'
My crime! I ask myself sometimes whether I am dreaming! It will make me
ill, all this. I've lost my appetite already."

He flung his hat on deck and laid hold of his hair despair