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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Secret City"

Markovitch stood back near the window,
looking at Bohun suspiciously. They must have been a curious couple for
such a position. There was an awkward pause, and then Bohun, trying to
speak easily, said:
"Well, it seems that Durward isn't coming. He's out dining somewhere I
expect."
"Probably," said Markovitch drily.
There was another pause, then Markovitch broke out with: "I suppose you
think I've been here trying to steal something."
"Oh no--oh no--no--" stammered Bohun.
"But I have," said Markovitch. "You can look round and see. There it is
on every side of you. I've been trying to find a letter."
"Oh yes," said Bohun nervously.
"Well, that seems to you terrible," went on Markovitch, growing ever
fiercer. "Of course it seems to you perfect Englishmen a dreadful thing.
But why heed it?... You all do things just as bad, only you are
hypocrites."
"Oh yes, certainly," said Bohun.
"And now," said Markovitch with a snarl. "I'm sure you will not think me
a proper person for you to lodge with any longer--and you will be right.
I am not a proper person. I have no sense of decency, thank God, and no
Russian has any sense of decency, and that is why we are beaten and
despised by the whole world, and yet are finer than them all--so you'd
better not lodge with us any more.


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