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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Secret City"

I was awake for hours thinking of it. Every man has
such hours.... At the same time Alexei can be very kind."
"How do you mean--kind?" I asked.
"For instance he has some very good wine--fifty bottles at least--he has
given it all to us. Then he insists on paying us for his food. He is a
generous-spirited man. Money is nothing to us--"
"Don't you drink his wine," I said.
Nicholas was instantly offended.
"What do you mean, Ivan Andreievitch? Not drink his wine? Am I an
infant? Can I not look after myself?--_Blagadaryoo Vas_.... I am more
than ten years old." He took his hand away from my arm.
"No, I didn't mean that at all," I assured him. "Of course not--only you
told me not long ago that you had given up wine altogether. That's why I
said what I did."
"So I have! So I have!" he eagerly assured me. "But Easter's a time for
rejoicing... Rejoicing!"--his voice rose suddenly shrill and
scornful--"rejoicing with the world in the state that it is. Truly, Ivan
Andreievitch, I don't wonder at Alexei's cynicism. I don't indeed. The
world is a sad spectacle for an observant man." He suddenly put his hand
through my arm, so close to me now that I could feel his beating heart.


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