We moved up the dark stairs. As we went I heard Vera's clear, calm
voice:
"Will you see us home, Mr. Lawrence?... I think it's quite safe to go
now."
We stopped on the first floor under the electric light. There were two
easy-chairs there, with a dusty palm behind them. We sat down.
"You haven't really got anything to say to me," he began.
"Oh yes, I have," I said.
"No... You simply suggested conversation because Vera asked you to do
so."
"I suggested a conversation," I answered, "because I had something of
some seriousness to tell you."
"Well, she needn't have been afraid," he went on. "I wasn't going home
with them. I want to stop and watch these ridiculous people a little
longer.... What had you got to say, my philosophical, optimistic
friend?"
He looked quite his old self, sitting stockily in the chair, his strong
thighs pressing against the cane as though they'd burst it, his thick
square beard more wiry than ever, and his lips red and shining. He
seemed to have regained his old self-possession and confidence.
"What I wanted to say," I began, "is that I'm going to tell you once
more to leave Markovitch alone.
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