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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Secret City"

It was a scene of intense peace, the smoke rising
from the chimneys, Isvostchicks stumbling along on the farther banks of
the Canal, and the people sauntering in their usual lazy fashion up and
down the Nevski. Immediately below our window was a skating-rink that
stretched straight across the Canal. There were some figures, like
little dolls, skating up and down, and they looked rather desolate
beside the deserted band-stands and the empty seats. On the road outside
our door a cart loaded with wood slowly moved along, the high hoop over
the horse's back gleaming with red and blue.
"Yes, it _is_ a view!" I said. "Splendid!--and all as quiet as though
there'd been no disturbances at all. Have you heard any news?"
"No," said Bohun. "To tell the truth I've been so busy that I haven't
had time to ring up the Embassy. And we've had no one in this morning.
Monday morning, you know," he added; "always very few people on Monday
morning"--as though he didn't wish me to think that the office was
always deserted.
I watched the little doll-like men circling placidly round and round
the rink. One bubble cloud rose and slowly swallowed up the sun.


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