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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Secret City"


Suddenly I heard a sharp crack like the breaking of a twig. "What's
that?" I said, stepping forward on to the balcony. "It sounded like a
shot."
"I didn't hear anything," said Bohun. "You get funny echoes up here
sometimes." We stepped back into Bohun's room and, if I had had any
anxieties, they would at once, I think, have been reassured by the
unemotional figure of Bohun's typist, a gay young woman with peroxide
hair, who was typing away as though for her very life.
"Look here, Bohun, can I talk to you alone for a minute?" I asked.
The peroxide lady left us.
"It's just about Markovitch I wanted to ask you," I went on. "I'm
infernally worried, and I want your help. It may seem ridiculous of me
to interfere in another family like this, with people with whom I have,
after all, nothing to do. But there are two reasons why it isn't
ridiculous. One is the deep affection I have for Nina and Vera. I
promised them my friendship, and now I've got to back that promise. And
the other is that you and I are really responsible for bringing Lawrence
into the family. They never would have known him if it hadn't been for
us.


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