A blinding violet ray dazzled the Professor's eyes, lighting up everything around-a lamp-post, a section of pavement, a yellow wall and the avid faces.
They're photographing you, Professor," the fat man whispered admiringly and hung on the Professor's arm like a ton weight.
Something clicked in the air.
To blazes with them!" cried Persikov wretchedly, pushing his way with the ton weight out of the crowd.
Hey, taxi! Prechistenka Street!" A battered old jalopy, a 'twenty-four model, chugged to a stop, and the Professor climbed in, trying to shake off the fat man.
Let go!" he hissed, shielding his face with his hands to ward off the violet light.
Have you read it? What they're shouting? Professor Persikov and his children've had their throats cut in Malaya Bronnaya!" people were shouting in the crowd.
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