I
remember once a fellow's piano making me quite sick whenever I looked at
it. I didn't know why; I don't know why now, but the funny thing is that
another man who knew him once said exactly the same thing to me about
it. He felt it too. Of course we're none of us quite normal just now.
The whole town seems to be turning upside down. I'm always imagining
there are animals in the canals; and don't you notice what lots of queer
fellows there are in the Nevski now, and Chinese and Japs--all sorts of
wild men. And last night I had a dream that all the lumps of ice in the
Nevski turned into griffins and went marching through the Red Square
eating every one up on their way...." Bohun laughed. "That's because
_I'd_ eaten something of course--too much _paskha_ probably.
"But, seriously, I came in this evening at five o'clock, and the first
thing I noticed was that little red lacquer musical box of Semyonov's.
You know it. The one with a sports-man in a top hat and a horse and a
dog on the lid. He brought it with some other little things when he
moved in. It's a jolly thing to look at, but it's got two most
irritating tunes.
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