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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Secret City"

"
"One doesn't know now... everything's so different."
"Vera, you _are_ brave. Forgive me what I said just now.... I'll help
you if you want--"
"Hush, Nina dear. Not that now. We've got to think--what's best...."
They kissed very quietly, and then they sat down by the table and
waited. There was simply nothing else to do.
Vera said that, during that pause, she could see the little policeman
everywhere. In every part of the room she found him, with his fat legs
and dirty, streaky face and open collar. The flat was heavy, portentous
with his presence, as though it stood with a self-important finger on
its lips saying, "I've got a secret in here. _Such_ a secret. You don't
know what _I've_ got...."
They discussed in whispers as to who would come in first. Nicholas or
Uncle Ivan or Bohun or Sacha? And supposing one of them came in while
the soldiers were there? Who would be the most dangerous? Sacha? She
would scream and give everything away. Suppose they had seen him enter
and were simply waiting, on the cat-and-mouse plan, to catch him? That
was an intolerable thought.
"I think," said Nina, "I must go and see whether there's any one
outside.


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