There was nothing very especially
Russian about him, however, and when he had taken his coat off and
brushed a place on which to put it and then flung it on the ground and
stamped on it, I felt quite at home with him and ready for anything.
He called up one of the attendants and asked him whether he had ever
played the guitar. I don't know what it was that the attendant answered,
because something else suddenly transfixed my attention--the vision of
Nina's little white-gloved hand resting on Lawrence's broad knee. I saw
at once, as though she had told me, that she had committed herself to a
most desperate venture. I could fancy the resolution that she had
summoned to take the step, the way that now her heart would be furiously
beating, and the excited chatter with which she would try to cover up
her action. Vera and Bohun could not, from where they were sitting, see
what she had done; Lawrence did not move, his back was set like a rock;
he stared steadfastly at the arena. Nina never ceased talking, her
ribbons fluttering and her other hand gesticulating.
I could not take my eyes from that little white hand.
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