ring vacancy.

Ali was clearing the table. He dropped negligently the tumbler into the
greasy dish, flung there the spoon and fork, then slipped in the plate
with a push amongst the remnants of food. He took up the dish, tucked up
the bottle under his armpit, and went off.

"My hammock!" shouted Almayer after him.

"Ada! I come soon," answered Ali from the doorway in an offended tone,
looking back over his shoulder. . . . How could he clear the table
and hang the hammock at the same time. Ya-wa! Those white men were all
alike. Wanted everything done at once. Like children . . .

The indistinct murmur of his criticism went away, faded and died out
together with the soft footfall of his bare feet in the dark passage.

For some time Almayer did not move. His thoughts were busy at work
shaping a momentous resolution, and in the perfect silence of the house
he believed that he could hear the noise of the operation as if the work
had been done with a hammer. He certainly felt a thumping of strokes,
faint, profound, and startling, somewhere low down in his breast; and
he was aware of a sound of dull knocking, abrupt and rapid, in his ears.
Now and then he held his breath, unconsciously, too long, and had to
relieve himself by a deep expiration that whistled dully through his
pursed lips. The lamp standing on the far side of the table threw a
section of a lighted circle on the floor, where his out-stretched legs
stuck out from under the table with feet rigid and turned up like the
feet of a corpse; and his set face with fixed eyes would have been also
like the face of the dead, but for its vacant yet conscious aspect;
the hard, the stupid, the stony aspect of one not dead, but only buried
under the dust, ashes, and corruption of personal thoughts, of base
fears, of selfish desires.

"I will do it!"

Not till he heard his own voice did he know that he had spoken. It
startled him. He stood up. The knuckles of his hand, somewhat behind
him, were resting on the edge of the table as he remained still with one
foot advanced, his lips a little open, and thought: It would not do to
fool about with Lingard. But I must risk it. It's the only way I can
see. I must tell her. She has some little sense. I wish they were a
thousand miles off already. A hundred thousand miles. I do. And if
it fails. And she blabs out then to Lingard? She seemed a fool. No;
probably they will get away. And if they did, would Lingard believe me?
Yes. I n