faculty can be. I felt how big, how confoundedly big, was that thing that couldn't talk, and perhaps was deaf as well. Her flat cloth slippers were propped up on a foot-warmer, and a cat reposed on her lap. However, through this glorious affair I got my appointment, before I had fairly begun to hope for it. I would look for hours at South America, or Africa, or Australia, and lose myself in all the glories of exploration. He has to live in the midst of the incomprehensible, which is also detestable. "Black shapes crouched, lay, sat between the trees leaning against the trunks, clinging to the earth, half coming out, half effaced within the dim light, in all the attitudes of pain, abandonment, and despair. This simply because I had a notion it somehow would be of help to that Kurtz whom at the time I did not see--you understand. He was a Swede, too.' I wished him a good evening. That, and the repairs when I brought the pieces to the station, took some months. Heart of Darkness examines the horrors of Western colonialism, depicting it as a phenomenon that tarnishes not only the lands and peoples it exploits but also those in the West who advance it.
How do you English say, eh? The dreams of men, the seed of commonwealths, the germs of empires. .

He lapped out of his hand, then sat up in the sunlight, crossing his shins in front of him, and after a time let his woolly head fall on his breastbone. Then in a low voice, 'You . Oh, it didn't surprise me in the least to hear this, and at the same time to be told that Fresleven was the gentlest, quietest creature that ever walked on two legs. He would rave about pigeons.

In the street--I don't know why--a queer feeling came to me that I was an imposter. The slim one got up and walked straight at me--still knitting with downcast eyes--and only just as I began to think of getting out of her way, as you would for a somnambulist, stood still, and looked up. By heavens! Then I began to look for a ship--I should think the hardest work on earth. He was a common trader, from his youth up employed in these parts--nothing more. "It was upward of thirty days before I saw the mouth of the big river. The swift and indifferent placidity of that look troubled me. 'Some even write that; and so _he_ comes here, a special being, as you ought to know.' The water shone pacifically; the sky, without a speck, was a benign immensity of unstained light; the very mist on the Essex marsh was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the wooded rises inland, and draping the low shores in diaphanous folds. 'Do you read the Company's confidential correspondence?'

I was not used to get things that way, you know. Marlow’s journey is full of encounters with things that are “unspeakable,” with words that are uninterpretable, and with a world that is eminently “inscrutable.” In this way, language fails time and time again to do what it is meant to do—to communicate. And it has a fascination, too, that goes to work upon him.

Only here the dwellings were gone, too. Pitiless, pitiless.
I had a white companion, too, not a bad chap, but rather too fleshy and with the exasperating habit of fainting on the hot hillsides, miles away from the least bit of shade and water. 'Good, good for there,' he mumbled, and then with a certain eagerness asked me whether I would let him measure my head. .

"He turned to his work. Heart of Darkness e-text contains the full text of Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. . . _Adieu_.