How could I know that some of your wretched men were going to be blown up?
Scruples! Pah!" He groped unsteadily amongst the bottles, trying one after another, grumbling to himself the while.
"No more wine," he muttered discontentedly.
"You have had enough, Almayer," said the lieutenant, as he lighted a cigar.

"Is it not time to deliver to us your prisoner?
I take it you have that Dain Maroola stowed away safely somewhere.

Still we had better get that business over, and then we shall have more drink.

Come! don't look at me like this." Almayer was staring with stony eyes, his trembling fingers fumbling about his throat.
"Gold," he said with difficulty.

"Hem! A hand on the windpipe, you know.