She fled back to her dark room and lay, for
the rest of that night, trembling and quivering with her head beneath
the bed-clothes.
From that moment she feared her uncle as much as she hated him. Long
afterwards came his influence over Nicholas. No one had so much
influence over Nicholas as he. Nicholas himself admitted it. He was
alternately charmed and frightened, beguiled and disgusted, attracted
and repulsed. Before the war Semyonov had, for a time, seen a good deal
of them, and Nicholas steadily degenerated. Then Semyonov was bored with
it all and went off after other game more worthy of his doughty spear.
Then came the war, and Vera devoutedly hoped that her dear uncle would
meet his death at the hands of some patriotic Austrian. He did indeed
for a time disappear from their lives, and it seemed that he might never
come back again. Then on that fateful Christmas Day he did return, and
Vera's worst fears were realised. She hated him all the more because of
her impotence. She could do nothing against him at all. She was never
very subtle in her dealings with people, and her own natural honesty
made her often stupid about men's motives.
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