Explore "The Secret City" by Hugh Walpole on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
His greeting was most amiable. He was wearing a rather short fur coat that only reached to a little below his knees, and the fur of the coat was of a deep rich brown, so that his pale square yellow beard contrasted with this so abruptly as to seem false. His body was as ever thick and self-confident, and the round fur cap that he wore was cocked ever so slightly to one side. I did not want to see him, but I was caught. I fancied that he knew very well that I wanted to escape, and that now, for sheer perversity, he would see that I did not. Indeed, he caught my arm and drew me out of the Market. We passed into the dusky streets.
"Now, Ivan Andreievitch," he said, "this is very pleasant... very. You elude me, you know, which is unkind with two so old acquaintances. Of course I know that you dislike me, and I don't suppose that I have the highest opinion of you, but, nevertheless, we should be interested in one another. Our common experience. " He broke off with a little shiver, and pulled his fur coat closer around him.