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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Secret City"


I've never loved a woman, nor lusted for one, nor touched one in my
whole life, Durward--and now... and now... I've gone right in. I've
spoken no word to any one; but I couldn't stand my own silence....
Durward, you've got to help me!"
I walked on, seeing the golden light and the curving arc of snow and the
little figures moving like dolls from light to shadow. Lawrence! I had
never thought of him as an urgent lover; even now, although I could
still feel his hand quivering on my arm, I could have laughed at the
ludicrous incongruity of romance, and that stolid thick-set figure. And
at the same time I was afraid. Lawrence in love was no boy on the
threshold of life like Bohun... here was no trivial passion. I realised
even in that first astonished moment the trouble that might be in store
for all of us.
"Look here, Lawrence!" I said at last. "The first thing that you may as
well realise is that it is hopeless. Vera Michailovna has confided in me
a good deal lately, and she is devoted to her husband, thinks of nothing
else. She's simple, naive, with all her sense and wisdom...."
"Hopeless!" he interrupted, and he gave a kind of grim chuckle of
derision.


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