"You want a grave." "What?
Wild again! Try to talk sense." "Grave!" roared Almayer, struggling to get himself free.

"A hole in the ground.

Don't you understand?
You must be drunk.

Let me go! Let go, I tell you!" He tore away from the officer's grasp, and reeled towards the planks where the body lay under its white cover; then he turned round quickly, and faced the semicircle of interested faces.

The sun was sinking rapidly, throwing long shadows of house and trees over the courtyard, but the light lingered yet on the river, where the logs went drifting past in midstream, looking very distinct and black in the pale red glow.