But there won't be no revolution. Take my word."
It was at that moment that I saw Boris Grogoff come in. He stood in the
doorway looking about him, and he had the strangest air of a man walking
in his sleep, so bewildered, so rapt, so removed was he. He stared about
him, looked straight at me, but did not recognise me; finally, when a
waiter showed him a table, he sat down still gazing in front of him. The
waiter had to speak to him twice before he ordered his meal, and then he
spoke so strangely that the fellow looked at him in astonishment. "Guess
that chap's seen the Millennium," remarked my American. "Or he's drunk,
maybe."
This appearance had the oddest effect on me. It was as though I had been
given a sudden conviction that after all there was something behind this
disturbance. I saw, during the whole of the rest of that day, Grogoff's
strange face with the exalted, bewildered eyes, the excited mouth, the
body tense and strained as though waiting for a blow. And now, always
when I look back I see Boris Grogoff standing in the doorway of the
"Cave de la Grave" like a ghost from another world warning me.
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