Well then.... What I say
is ..."; an officer bundled into him, apologised but quite obviously
cursed him for being in the way.
"Come along," said Trenchard, putting his arm on Andrey
Vassilievitch's sleeve. "We'll find somewhere to sleep. Of course
we're not in despair. Why should we be? You'll feel better to-morrow."
They departed, and as they went I wondered at this new side in
Trenchard's character. He seemed strong, practical, and almost
cheerful. I, knowing his disaster, was puzzled. My lame leg was
hurting me to-night. I found a corner to lie down in, rolled myself in
my greatcoat and passed through a strange succession of fantastic
dreams in which Trenchard, Marie Ivanovna, Nikitin, and Semyonov all
figured. Behind them I seemed to hear some voice crying: "I've got you
all!... I've got you all!... You're caught!... You're caught!...
You're caught!"
On the following day there happened to Trenchard the thing that he had
dreaded. Writing of it now I cannot disentangle it from the
circumstances and surroundings of his account of it to me.
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