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Updated: May 26, 2025
Litvinov made haste to drink off his glass of milk, paid for it, and, putting his hat on, was just making off past the party of generals... "Grigory Mihalovitch," he heard a woman's voice, "don't you recognise me?" He stopped involuntarily. That voice... that voice had too often set his heart beating in the past... He turned round and saw Irina.
"Grigory Mihalovitch," she cried, as soon as he had closed the door behind him, "here we are alone at last, and I can tell you how glad I am at our meeting, because it... gives me a chance... of asking your forgiveness." Litvinov started involuntarily at this unexpected reference to old times. "Forgiveness... for what?" he muttered. "For what?
Prostitutes have disappeared from sight, the economic reasons for their career having ceased to exist. Family life has been absolutely unchanged by the revolution. I have never heard more genuinely mirthful laughter than when I told Lenin, Tchitcherin, and Litvinov that much of the world believed that women had been "nationalized."
They should be free people. "Let us be free," she said. "The day is ours. A lifetime is ours." Litvinov spent the next twenty-four hours in making all arrangements for their flight together. He raised as much money as he could, even stooping to try his luck at roulette to increase his hoard. The appointed moment of their departure approached.
One of the young generals, Ratmirov by name, almost the most elegant of all, got up from his seat at the introduction, and bowed with a dandified air. Litvinov would have escaped, but Irina insisted on his sitting down. For a time he had to listen to the empty, meaningless talk of the company, hardly able to say a word to Irina. At last his clean plebeian pride revolted.
Pettit out to Helsingfors after I had had a discussion with Tchitcherin and with Litvinov with a telegram, in which I said I had reached Petrograd and had perfected arrangements to cross the boundary at will, and to communicate with the mission via the consul at Helsingfors; that the journey had been easy, and that the reports of frightful conditions in Petrograd had been ridiculously exaggerated.
Then everything was transformed in one day. Worn out by this cold torture, Litvinov was one night about to depart in despair. Without saying good-bye, he began to look for his hat. "Stay," sounded suddenly in a soft whisper. With throbbing heart he looked round, hardly believing his ears. Before him he saw Irina, transformed. "Stay," she repeated; "don't go. I want to be with you."
I told him I knew nothing whatever about it; Litvinov and Karakhan, whom I had seen quite recently, had never mentioned it, and guessing that this must be the secret at which Bucharin had hinted, I supposed that they had purposely kept silence. I therefore rang up Litvinov, and asked if they had had any reason against my going. He said that he had thought it would not interest me. So I went.
"But, Irina, you love me, dear?" "I love you," she answered, with almost solemn gravity, and she clasped his hand firmly like a man. She went to the ball in a simple white dress, wearing a bunch of heliotrope, the gift of her lover. When he called the following day, Litvinov heard from the prince of the impression Irina had created; how all the great noblemen from St.
The girl was paler than usual, and, replying to her aunt, she said she had a little headache. "It's the journey," suggested Litvinov, and he positively blushed with shame. "Yes, the journey," repeated Tatyana, letting her eyes dwell for a moment on his face.
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