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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Secret City"

Listen! Those are
fiddles for certain!"
"How still, how still it is!"
We stood and listened whilst the white mist gathered and grew over the
cobbles. Certainly there was a strain of music, very faint and dim,
threading through the air.
"Well, I must go on," said Bohun. "You go up to the left, don't you?
Good-night." I watched Bohun's figure cross the Square. The light was
wonderful, like fold on fold of gauze, but opaque, so that buildings
showed with sharp outline behind it. The moon was full and quite red. I
turned to go home and ran straight into Lawrence.
"Good heavens!" I cried. "Are you a ghost too?"
He didn't seem to feel any surprise at meeting me. He was plainly in a
state of tremendous excitement. He spoke breathlessly.
"You're exactly the man. You must come back with me. My diggings now are
only a yard away from here."
"It's very late," I began, "and--"
"Things are desperate," he said. "I don't know--" he broke off. "Oh!
come and help me, Durward, for God's sake!"
I went with him, and we did not exchange another word until we were in
his rooms.
He began hurriedly taking off his clothes.


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