His mind travelled back
to his own first arrival in Petrograd, that first sleep at the "France"
with the dripping water and the crawling rats, the plunge into the Kazan
Cathedral, and everything that followed.
He did not see, of course, his own progress since that day, or the many
things that Russia had already done for him, but he did feel that such
situations as the one he was now sharing were, to-day, much more in the
natural order of things than they would have been four months before....
He dozed off and then was awakened, sharply, abruptly, by the sound of
Markovitch's padded feet. There could be no mistaking them; very softly
they went past Bohun's door, down the passage towards the dining-room.
He sat up in bed, and all the other sounds of the night seemed suddenly
to be accentuated--the dripping of the tap, the blowing of the wind, and
even the heavy breathing of old Sacha, who always slept in a sort of
cupboard near the kitchen, with her legs hanging out into the passage.
Suddenly no sound! The house was still, and, with that, the sense of
danger and peril was redoubled, as though the house were holding its
breath as it watched.
Pages:
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541