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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Secret City"

Like lambs, I tell you. But now they will have their revenge.
On all the Bourgeoisie of the world. The Bourgeoisie of the world!..."
He suddenly broke off, flinging himself down on the dirty sofa. "Pheugh.
Talking makes one hot!... Have a drink, Ivan Andreievitch.... Nina,
fetch a drink."
Through all this my eyes had never left her for a moment. I had hoped
that this empty tub-thumping to which we had been listening would have
affected her. But she had not moved nor stirred.
"Nina!" I said softly. "Nina. Come with me!"
But she only shook her head. Grogoff, quite silent now, lolled on the
sofa, watching us. I went up to her and put my hand on her sleeve.
"Dear Nina," I said, "come back to us."
I saw her lip tremble. There was unshed tears in her eyes. But again she
shook her head.
"What have they done," I asked, "to make you take this step?"
"Something has happened...." she said slowly. "I can't tell you."
"Just come and talk to Vera."
"No, it's hopeless... I can't see her again. But, Durdles... tell her
it's not her fault."
At the sound of my pet name I took courage again.


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