But Markovitch I saw all the time, sweating with heat and terror, his
clothes torn, his eyes inflamed, his breath coming in desperate pants,
turning once and again as though he would stop and offer defiance, then
hasting on, his face and hands scratched and bleeding. I wanted to offer
him help and assistance, but something prevented me; I could not get to
him. Finally he vanished from my sight and I was left alone in the
painted forest....
All the next morning I sat and wondered what I had better do, and at
last I decided that I would go and see Henry Bohun.
I had not seen Bohun for several weeks. I myself had been, of late, less
to the flat in the English Prospect, but I knew that he had taken my
advice that he should be kind to Nicholas Markovitch with due British
seriousness, and that he had been trying to bring some kind of
relationship about. He had even asked Markovitch to dine alone with him,
and Markovitch, although he declined the invitation was, I believe,
greatly touched.
So, about half-past one, I started off for Bohun's office on the
Fontanka. I've said somewhere before, I think, that Bohun's work was in
connection with the noble but uphill task of enlightening the Russian
public as to the righteousness of the war, the British character, and
the Anglo-Russian alliance.
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