In front of them was a motley crowd of Russian officers all talking and
gesticulating together. I came nearer to Vera and at once I said to
myself, "Lawrence is here somewhere." She was standing, her head up,
watching the doors, her eyes glowed with anticipation, her lips were a
little parted. She never moved at all, but was so vital that the rest of
the people seemed dolls beside her. As we came towards them Nina turned
round and spoke to some one, and I saw that it was Semyonov who stood at
the bottom of the staircase, his thick legs apart, stroking his beard
with his hand.
We came forward and Nina began at once--
"Durdles--tell us! What's happened?"
"I don't know," I answered. The lights after the dark and the snow
bewildered me, and the noise and excitement of the Russian officers were
deafening.
Nina went on, her face lit. "Can't you tell us anything? We haven't
heard a word. We came just in an ordinary way about four o'clock. There
wasn't a sound, and then, just as we were sitting down to tea, they all
came bursting in, saying that all the officers were being murdered, and
that Protopopoff was killed, and that--"
"That's true anyway," said a young Russian officer, turning round to us
excitedly.
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