“But you are speaking of Chita, of course. You had no complaint here, for you had a good Governor.”
Rimsky went to the samovar and took off the little teapot, shook it with a circular motion, filled it with hot water and poured a glass made from the bottom of a bottle full of tea for Peter.
“You talk too much for a stranger,” said Rimsky. “What do you know about our Governor? Is this the first time you have been in Siberia, young man?”
“Of course,” said Peter, taking the tea. “But I have heard about Chita before.”
“You may know more than you want to know about it before you get out,” warned Rimsky. “Are you going to stay long—and buy more of my cigarettes?”
“I’ll be here a few weeks, I suppose. I came to see if I could buy some furs.”
“Oh, but you are a soldier,” said Rimsky. “And you will find no furs that are good. Everybody is hunting men these days,” and he broke out again in his cackling laugh, as he drew himself some tea in a little yellow bowl.
“Did the unfortunates kill the Governor who was here when they got out of the prison and freedom came to the people?”
“Did they?” asked Rimsky. “You tell me.”
“But you were here, and you know. I was not here,” said Peter.