"You're a good
man and a kind man, but you don't understand us. What can the Germans
do? They can't take the whole of Russia. Russia's a big country.... No,
if the Germans come there'll be more for us to take."
We stood for a moment under a lamp-post. He put his hand on my arm and
looked up at me with his queer ugly face, his sentimental dreary eyes,
his red nose, and his hard, cruel little mouth.
"But no one shall touch you--unless it's myself if I'm very drunk. But
you, knowing me, will understand afterwards that I was at least not
malicious--"
I laughed. "And this mysticism that they tell us about in England. Are
you mystical, Rat? Have you a beautiful soul?"
He sniffed and blew his nose with his hand.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Barin--I suppose you haven't a
rouble or two on you?"
"No, I haven't," I answered. He looked up and down the bridge as though
he were wondering whether an attack on me was worth while. He saw a
policeman and decided that it wasn't.
"Well, good-night, Barin," he said cheerfully. He shuffled off. I looked
at the vast Neva, pale green and dim grey, so silent under the bridges.
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