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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Secret City"

But the fire leapt up behind him giving him
a legendary splendour, and the whole picture was romantic and unreal
like a gaudy painting on a coloured screen.
We hurried through into the Nevski, and this we found nearly deserted.
The trams of course had stopped, a few figures hurried along, and once
an Isvostchick went racing down towards the river.
"Well, now, we seem to be out of it," said Bohun, with a sigh of relief.
"I must say I'm not sorry. I don't mind France, where you can tell which
is the front and which the back, but this kind of thing does get on
one's nerves. I daresay it's only local. We shall find them all as easy
as anything at the Astoria, and wondering what we're making a fuss
about."
At that moment we were joined by an English merchant whom we both knew,
a stout elderly man who had lived all his life in Russia. I was
surprised to find him in a state of extreme terror. I had always known
him as a calm, conceited, stupid fellow, with a great liking for Russian
ladies. This pastime he was able as a bachelor to enjoy to the full.
Now, however, instead of the ruddy, coarse, self-confident merchant
there was a pallid, trembling jelly-fish.


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