“Dear me! Won’t the truth do, then? I hoped you could have told them something consoling. I am thinking of the poor mother now. Your Russia is a cruel country.”
He moved a little in his chair.
“Yes,” I repeated. “I thought you would have had something authentic to tell.”
The twitching of his lips before he spoke was curious.
“What if it is not worth telling?”
“Not worth—from what point of view? I don’t understand.”
“From every point of view.”
I spoke with some asperity.
“I should think that anything which could explain the circumstances of that midnight arrest....”
“Reported by a journalist for the amusement of the civilized Europe,” he broke in scornfully.