said　after　a　moment　of　silence　was：
  〃Read　the　page　aloud。〃
  Luckily　the　page　lying　before　me　was　not　overblotted　with
  erasures　and　corrections；　and　my　father's　handwriting　was
  otherwise　extremely　legible。　When　I　got　to　the　end　he　nodded　and
  I　flew　out　of　doors　thinking　myself　lucky　to　have　escaped　reproof
  for　that　piece　of　impulsive　audacity。　　I　have　tried　to　discover
  since　the　reason　of　this　mildness；　and　I　imagine　that　all　unknown
  to　myself　I　had　earned；　in　my　father's　mind；　the　right　to　some
  latitude　in　my　relations　with　his　writing…table。　　It　was　only　a
  month　before；　or　perhaps　it　was　only　a　week　before；　that　I　had
  read　to　him　aloud　from　beginning　to　end；　and　to　his　perfect
  satisfaction；　as　he　lay　on　his　bed；　not　being　very　well　at　the
  time；　the　proofs　of　his　translation　of　Victor　Hugo's　〃Toilers　of
  the　Sea。〃　　Such　was　my　title　to　consideration；　I　believe；　and
  also　my　first　introduction　to　the　sea　in　literature。　　If　I　do　not
  remember　where；　how　and　when　I　learned　to　read；　I　am　not　likely
  to　forget　the　process　of　being　trained　in　the　art　of　reading
  aloud。　　My　poor　father；　an　admirable　reader　himself；　was　the　most
  exacting　of　masters。　　I　reflect　proudly　that　I　must　have　read
  that　page　of　〃Two　Gentlemen　of　Verona〃　tolerably　well　at　the　age
  of　eight。　　The　next　time　I　met　them　was　in　a　5s。　one…volume
  edition　of　the　dramatic　works　of　William　Shakespeare；　read　in
  Falmouth；　at　odd　moments　of　the　day；　to　the　noisy　accompaniment
  of　caulkers'　mallets　driving　oakum　into　the　deck…seams　of　a　ship
  in　dry　dock。　We　had　run　in；　in　a　sinking　condition　and　with　the
  crew　refusing　duty　after　a　month　of　weary　battling　with　the　gales
  of　the　North　Atlantic。　　Books　are　an　integral　part　of　one's　life
  and　my　Shakespearean　associations　are　with　that　first　year　of　our
  bereavement；　the　last　I　spent　with　my　father　in　exile　（he　sent　me
  away　to　Poland　to　my　mother's　brother　directly　he　could　brace
  himself　up　for　the　separation）；　and　with　the　year　of　hard　gales；
  the　year　in　which　I　came　nearest　to　death　at　sea；　first　by　water
  and　then　by　fire。
  Those　things　I　remember；　but　what　I　was　reading　the　day　before　my
  writing　life　began　I　have　forgotten。　　I　have　only　a　vague　notion
  that　it　might　have　been　one　of　Trollope's　political　novels。　　And
  I　remember；　too；　the　character　of　the　day。　　It　was　an　autumn　day
  with　an　opaline　atmosphere；　a　veiled；　semi…opaque；　lustrous　day；
  with　fiery　points　and　flashes　of　red　sunlight　on　the　roofs　and
  windows　opposite；　while　the　trees　of　the　square　with　all　their
  leaves　gone　were　like　tracings　of　indian　ink　on　a　sheet　of　tissue
  paper。　　It　was　one　of　those　London　days　that　have　the　charm　of
  mysterious　amenity；　of　fascinating　softness。　　The　effect　of
  opaline　mist　was　often　repeated　at　Bessborough　Gardens　on　account
  of　the　nearness　to　the　river。
  There　is　no　reason　why　I　should　remember　that　effect　more　on　that
  day　than　on　any　other　day；　except　that　I　stood　for　a　long　time
  looking　out　of　the　window　after　the　landlady's　daughter　was　gone
  with　her　spoil　of　cups　and　saucers。　　I　heard　her　put　the　tray
  down　in　the　passage　and　finally　shut　the　door；　and　still　I
  remained　smoking　with　my　back　to　the　room。　　It　is　very　clear　that
  I　was　in　no　haste　to　take　the　plunge　into　my　writing　life；　if　as
  plunge　this　first　attempt　may　be　described。　　My　whole　being　was
  steeped　deep　in　the　indolence　of　a　sailor　away　from　the　sea；　the
  scene　of　never…ending　labour　and　of　unceasing　duty。　　For　utter
  surrender　to　indolence　you　cannot　beat　a　sailor　ashore　when　that
  mood　is　on　him；　the　mood　of　absolute　irresponsibility　tasted　to
  the　full。　　It　seems　to　me　that　I　thought　of　nothing　whatever；　but
  this　is　an　impression　which　is　hardly　to　be　believed　at　this
  distance　of　years。　　What　I　am　certain　of　is；　that　I　was　very　far
  from　thinking　of　writing　a　story；　though　it　is　possible　and　even
  likely　that　I　was　thinking　of　the　man　Almayer。
  I　had　seen　him　for　the　first　time　some　four　years　before　from　the
  bridge　of　a　steamer　moored　to　a　rickety　little　wharf　forty　miles
  up；　more　or　less；　a　Bornean　river。　　It　was　very　early　morning　and
  a　slight　mist；　an　opaline　mist　as　in　Bessborough　Gardens　only
  without　the　fiery　flicks　on　roof　and　chimney…pot　from　the　rays　of
  the　red　London　sun；　promised　to　turn　presently　into　a　woolly　fog。
  Barring　a　small　dug…out　canoe　on　the　river　there　was　nothing
  moving　within　sight。　　I　had　just　come　up　yawning　from　my　cabin。
  The　serang　and　the　Malay　crew　were　overhauling　the　cargo　chains
  and　trying　the　winches；　their　voices　sounded　subdued　on　the　deck
  below　and　their　movements　were　languid。　　That　tropical　daybreak
  was　chilly。　　The　Malay　quartermaster；　coming　up　to　get　something
  from　the　lockers　on　the　bridge；　shivered　visibly。　　The　forests
  above　and　below　and　on　the　opposite　bank　looked　black　and　dank；
  wet　dripped　from　the　rigging　upon　the　tightly　stretched　deck
  awnings；　and　it　was　in　the　middle　of　a　shuddering　yawn　that　I
  caught　sight　of　Almayer。　　He　was　moving　across　a　patch　of　burnt
  grass；　a　blurred　shadowy　shape　with　the　blurred　bulk　of　a　house
  behind　him；　a　low　house　of　mats；　bamboos　and　palm…leaves　with　a
  high…pitched　roof　of　grass。
  He　stepped　upon　the　jetty。　　He　was　clad　simply　in　flapping
  pyjamas　of　cretonne　pattern　（enormous　flowers　with　yellow　petals
  on　a　disagreeable　blue　ground）　and　a　thin　cotton　singlet　with
  short　sleeves。　　His　arms；　bare　to　the　elbow；　were　crossed　on　his
  chest。　　His　black　hair　looked　as　if　it　had　not　been　cut　for　a
  very　long　time　and　a　curly　wisp　of　it　strayed　across　his
  forehead。　　I　had　heard　of　him　at　Singapore；　I　had　heard　of　him　on
  board；　I　had　heard　of　him　early　in　the　morning　and　late　at　night；
  I　had　heard　of　him　at　tiffin　and　at　dinner；　I　had　heard　of　him　in
  a　place　called　Pulo　Laut　from　a　half…caste　gentleman　there；　who
  described　himself　as　the　manager　of　a　coal…mine；　which　sounded
  civilised　and　progressive　till　you　heard　that　the　mine　could　not
  be　worked　at　present　because　it　was　haunted　by　some　particulary
  atrocious　ghosts。　　I　had　heard　of　him　in　a　place　called　Dongola；
  in　the　Island　of　Celebes；　when　the　Rajah　of　that　little…known
  seaport　（you　can　get　no　anchorage　there　in　less　than　fifteen
  fathom；　which　is　extremely　inconvenient）　came　on　board　in　a
  friendly　way　with　only　two　attendants；　and　drank　bottle　after
  bottle　of　soda…water　on　the　after…skylight　with　my　good　friend
  and　commander；　Captain　C。　　At　least　I　heard　his　name　distinctly
  pronounced　several　times　in　a　lot　of　talk　in　Malay　language。　　Oh
  yes；　I　heard　it　quite　distinctlyAlmayer；　Almayerand　saw
  Captain　C　smile　while　the　fat　dingy　Rajah　laughed　audibly。　　To
  hear　a　Malay　Rajah　laugh　outright　is　a　rare　experience　I　can
  assure　you。　　And　I　overhead　more　of　Almayer's　name　amongst　our
  deck　passengers　（mostly　wandering　traders　of　good　repute）　as　they
  sat　all　over　the　shipeach　man　fenced　round　with　bundles　and
  boxeson　mats；　on　pillows；　on　quilts；　on　billets　of　wood；
  conversing　of　Island　affairs。　　Upon　my　word；　I　heard　the　mutter
  of　Almayer's　name　faintly　at　midnight；　while　making　my　way　aft
  from　the　bridge　to　look　at　the　patent　taffrail…log　tinkling　its
  quarter…miles　in　the　great　silence　of　the　sea。　　I　don't　mean　to
  say　that　our　passengers　dreamed　aloud　of　Almayer；　but　it　is
  indubitable　that　two　of　them　at　least；　who　could　not　sleep
  apparently　and　were　trying　to　charm　away　the　trouble　of　insomnia
  by　a　little　whispered　talk　at　that　ghostly　hour；　were　referring
  in　some　way　or　other　to　Almayer。　　It　was　really　impossible　on
  board　that　ship　to　get　away　definitely　from　Almayer；　and　a　very
  small　pony　tied　up　forward　and　whisking　its　tail　inside　the
  galley；　to　the　great　embarrassment　of　our　Chinaman　cook；　was
  destined　for　Almayer。　　What　he　wanted　with　a　pony　goodness　only
  knows；　since　I　am　perfectly　certain　he　could　not　ride　it；　but
  here　you　have　the　man；　ambitious；　aiming　at　the　grandiose；
  importing　a　pony；　whereas　in　the　whole　settlement　at　which　he
  used　to　shake　daily　his　impotent　fist；　there　was　only　one　path
  that　was　practicable　for　a　pony：　　a　quarter　of　a　mile　at　most；
  hedged　in　by　hundreds　of　square　leagues　of　virgin　forest。　　But
  who　knows？　　The　importation　of　that　Bali　Pony　might　have　been
  part　of　some　deep　scheme；　of　some　diplomatic　plan；　of　some
  hopeful　intrigue。　　With　Almayer　one　could　never　tell。　　He
  governed　his　conduct　by　considerations　removed　from　the　obvious；
  by　incredible　assumptions；　which　rendered