"Well, you explained him to me and I saw him different--not that I've
ever got very much out of him. I don't think that he either likes me or
trusts me, and anyway he thinks me too young and foolish to be of any
importance--which I daresay I am. He told me, by the way, the other day,
that the only Englishman he thought anything of was yourself--"
"Very nice of him," I murmured.
"Yes, but not very flattering to me when I've spent months trying to be
fascinating to him. Anyhow, although I may be said to have failed in one
way, I've got rather keen on the pursuit. If I can't make him like me I
can at least study him and learn something. That's a leaf out of your
book, Durward. You're always studying people, aren't you?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said.
"Yes, of course you are. Well, I'll tell you frankly I've got fond of
the old bird. I don't believe you could live at close quarters with any
Russian, however nasty, and not get a kind of affection for him. They're
so damned childish."
"Oh yes, you could," I said. "Try Semyonov."
"I'm coming to him in a minute," said Bohun. "Well, Markovitch was most
awfully unhappy.
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