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Updated: May 25, 2025
There is always some one thing which the ignorant man knows, and that thing is the only thing worth knowing; it fills the ignorant man's universe. Willems knew all about himself.
And they stood exactly opposite each other: one tall, slight and disfigured; the other tall, heavy and severe. Willems went on "If I had wanted to hurt you if I had wanted to destroy you, it was easy. I stood in the doorway long enough to pull a trigger and you know I shoot straight." "You would have missed," said Lingard, with assurance. "There is, under heaven, such a thing as justice."
"Provoke you! Hey! What's there in you to provoke? What do I care?" "It is easy to speak like that when you know that in the whole world in the whole world I have no friend," said Willems. "Whose fault?" said Lingard, sharply.
On the river, Willems, his eyes fixed intently ahead, swept his paddle right and left, unheeding the words that reached him faintly. It was now three months since Lingard had landed Willems in Sambir and had departed hurriedly, leaving him in Almayer's care. The two white men did not get on well together.
Her lips were firm and composed in a graceful curve, but the distended nostrils, the upward poise of the half-averted head, gave to her whole person the expression of a wild and resentful defiance. A shadow passed over Willems' face.
It can't be good for you to stew on board like that, day after day." Lingard did not answer. The image evoked by Almayer; the picture of Willems ranging over the islands and disturbing the harmony of the universe by robbery, treachery, and violence, held him silent, entranced painfully spellbound.
Lingard looked down at him with scornful serenity. After his long and painful gropings amongst the obscure abominations of Willems' conduct, the logical if tortuous evolutions of Babalatchi's diplomatic mind were to him welcome as daylight. There was something at last he could understand the clear effect of a simple cause. He felt indulgent towards the disappointed sage.
"Horrid man," said Mrs. Vinck, calmly. "I have heard he beats his wife." "Oh no, my dear, no," muttered absently Mr. Vinck, with a vague gesture. The aspect of Willems as a wife-beater presented to him no interest. How women do misjudge! If Willems wanted to torture his wife he would have recourse to less primitive methods. Mr.
"My boat will be here directly," said Lingard. "Think of what you are going to do. I sail to-night." "What is there for me to do, except one thing?" said Willems, gloomily. "Look here," said Lingard; "I picked you up as a boy, and consider myself responsible for you in a way. You took your life into your own hands many years ago but still . . ."
The appearance of that man, who seemed to have a claim of some sort upon Lingard, filled him with considerable uneasiness, the more so because the old seaman did not choose to acquaint the husband of his adopted daughter with Willems' history, or to confide to him his intentions as to that individual's future fate.
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