anda!" I said.

"No, it isn't my propaganda," he answered. "It's a matter of life and
death to get these people to go on with the war, and every little
helps."

"Well, I'll come," I said, shaking my head at the book-seller, who was
anxious that I should buy the latest works of Mrs. Elinor Glyn and Miss
Ethel Dell. I had in fact reflected that a short excursion into other
worlds would be good for me. During these weeks I had been living in the
very heart of the Markovitches, and it would be healthy to escape for a
moment.

But I was not to escape.

I met Bohun at the top of the English Prospect, and we decided to walk.
Rozanov lived in the street behind the Kazan Cathedral. I did not know
very much about him except that he was a very wealthy merchant, who had
made his money by selling cheap sweets to the peasant. He lived, I knew,
an immoral and self-indulgent life, and his hobby was the quite
indiscriminate collection of modern Russian paintings, his walls being
plastered with innumerable works by Benois, Somoff, Dobeijinsky,
Yakofflyeff, and Lanceray. He had also two Serovs, a fine Vrubel, and
several Ryepins. He had also a fine private collection of indecent
drawings.

"I really don't know what on earth we're going to this man for," I said
discontentedly. "I was weak this afternoon."

"No, you weren't," said Bohun. "And I'll tell you frankly that I'm jolly
glad not to be having a meal at home to-night. Do you know, I don't
believe I can stick that flat much longer!"

"Why, are things worse?" I asked.

"It's getting so jolly creepy," Bohun said. "Everything goes on normally
enough outwardly, but I suppose there's been some tremendous row. Of
course I don't knew any-thing about that. After what you told me the
other night though, I seem to see everything twice its natural size."

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

"You know when something queer's going on inside a house you seem to
notice the furniture of the rooms much more than you ordinarily do. 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, a