eye, nodded knowingly at his burly back. In the course of the morning I
approached him for a moment.

"Well, Mr. Almayer," I addressed him easily, "you haven't started on
your letters yet."

We had brought him his mail and he had held the bundle in his hand ever
since we got up from breakfast. He glanced at it when I spoke and, for a
moment, it looked as if he were on the point of opening his fingers and
letting the whole lot fall overboard. I believe he was tempted to do so.
I shall never forget that man afraid of his letters.

"Have you been long out from Europe?" he asked me.

"Not very. Not quite eight months," I told him. "I left a ship in
Samarang with a hurt back and have been in the hospital in Singapore
some weeks."

He sighed.

"Trade is very bad here."

"Indeed!"

"Hopeless! . . . See these geese?"

With the hand holding the letters he pointed out to me what resembled
a patch of snow creeping and swaying across the distant part of his
compound. It disappeared behind some bushes.