Vladimir Nabokov. El dragón
Suddenly a bell pierced the silence of the night and, a few moments later, entered a pale, haggard man with a burdocklike wart on his right cheek. The factory owner knew him: he was the proprietor of a model tavern the Miracle Company had set up on the outskirts.
"It's going on two in the morning, my friend. The only justification I can find for your visit is an event of unheard-of importance."
"That's exactly the ca