The little man merged again into his rare company of discreet
Benedicts and restrained celibates at the high tables. They ate on
in their mature wisdom long after the undergraduates had fled.
Presently they would withdraw processionally to the combination
room. . . .
There would be much to talk about over the wine.
Benham speculated what account Prothero would give of Moscow. . . .
He laughed abruptly.
And with that laugh Prothero dropped out of Benham's world for a
space of years. There may have been other letters, but if so they
were lost in the heaving troubles of a revolution-strained post-
office. Perhaps to this day they linger sere and yellow in some
forgotten pigeon-hole in Kishinev or Ekaterinoslav. . . .
17
In November, after an adventure in the trader's quarter of Kieff
which had brought him within an inch of death, and because an
emotional wave had swept across him and across his correspondence
with Amanda, Benham went back suddenly to England and her. He
wanted very greatly to see her and also he wanted to make certain
arrangements about his property.
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