Mr. Razumov left his key, and in the course of some words which passed
between them had remarked that he was going out because he needed air.
From behind the bare counter he went on smiling at us, his head held
between his hands. Air. Air. But whether that meant a long or a short
absence it was difficult to say. The night was very close, certainly.
After a pause, his ingratiating eyes turned to the door, he added--
"The storm shall drive him in."
"There's going to be a storm?" I asked.
"Why, yes!"
As if to confirm his words we heard a very distant, deep rumbling noise.
Consulting Miss Haldin by a glance, I saw her so reluctant to give up
her quest that I asked the shopkeeper, in case Mr. Razumov came home
within half an hour, to beg him to remain downstairs in the shop. We
would look in again presently.
For all answer he moved his head imperceptibly. The approval of Miss
Haldin was expressed by her silence. We walked slowly down the street,
away from the town; the low garden walls of the modest villas doomed to
demolition were overhung by the boughs of trees and masses of foliage,
lighted from below by gas lamps. The violent and monotonous noise of the
icy waters of the Arve falling over a low dam swept towards us with a
chilly draught of air across a great open space, where a double line of
lamp-lights outlined a street as yet without houses.
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