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Show i314 'l‘lllC [MICK FUIIlfS'l‘ THE LOVERS "\Vherever l go there‘s that man." he said once to me. "Why doesn't he go bael< to his own (‘ollllii‘y f" "l suppose." l would answer hotly. "he has other things to do than to consider your individual wishes, Alexei Petroviteh." Then he would laugh: "Well. well, Ivan Andreievitch, you sentiuientalists all hang: together." "Why can‘t you leave him alone 6" I remember that I continued. of my most unfortunate weaknesses. I had no opinion of Trenehard's intellect at all, and in that I was quite wrong. "Because he doesn‘t leave me alone," he answered shortly. it was, of course. Marie lvanowna who brought them to- gether. She could not see, or rather she would not see, that friendship between two such men was an impossibility. For herself she liked rl‘renehard better than she had ever done. She had now no responsibility towards him; we were all fond of him, pleased ourselves by saying that "he was more l‘lus'sian than English." The Sisters mended his clothes, cared for his stomach. and listened with pleased gravity to his innocent chatter. Marie Ivanovna was now really proud of him. There were great stories of the courage and enterprise he had shown during the night when he had been with Xikitin. Nikitin, in his loftv romantic fashion. Spolie of him as though he had been the hero of the Russian army. Trenchard was, of course, quite unspoiled by this 13111130 and pepularity. He remained for me at least very much the same. innocent, clumsy, pathetic, and frequently irritating figure that he had been at the beginning. I will honestly confess that l was often heartily tired of his Glebeslnre stories, tired too of a certain childish obstinaey \Vitlrwhich he clung to his generally crude and half-baked opinions. 1 I mt then I do not care to be contradicted by people of J v. tom, mtelleetually, l have a low estimation; it is 0119 215 Semyonov at this time flung,r Nikitin, Andrey Vassilieviteh, Trenchard and myself into one basket. We were all "crazy romantics" and there came an occasion, which I have rea« son most clearly to remember, when he told us what he thought of us. We were together. Semyonov, Nikitin, Trenehard and I, after breakfast, smelting cigarettes, enjoying half an hour's idleness before setting about our various business. It was a blazing hot morning" and the air quivercd, like a silver curtain before our eyes, separating beyond the river, the us from the dim blue forest of S Nestor itself, the deep green slopes of our own hill. \Ve had been silent, then Trenehard said a foolish thine: "War brings all the best out of people, l think," he said. God knows what private line of thought he had been pursuing, Some sentimental reflections, I suppose. that were. in him perfectly honest and sincere. llut he did not look his best that morning, sitting back in his chair with his mouth open, his forehead (lamp with the beat. his tunie up about his Ilt‘t‘li and a rather dirty blue pocket-handkerehief in his hand. I saw Seniyonov's lip eurl. "Yes. That‘s very interesting. .\lr.," he said. "l'ni glad at any rate that we‘ve, had the honour of seeingr the best. of you. That's very pleasant to know." "\Vhat l inean~-" said 'l‘renehard, blushingr and stain merino. "\Vhat . . . that. isi-l' "I agree with Min," suddenly said Nikitin, who had been dreamily watehingr the blue forest. "War (lows bring out the best in the human character? -always." Semyonov turned smilingly to him. "Yes, Vladimir Stepanoviteh, we know your illusions. Forgive me for |