Vladimir Nabokov. Navidad
"Please take it away," repeated Sleptsov, and bent over the case he had brought. In it he had gathered his son's belongings—the folding butterfly net, the biscuit tin with the pear-shaped cocoon, the spreading board, the pins in their lacquered box, the blue notebook. Half of the first page had been torn out, and its remaining fragment contained part of a French dictation. There followed daily entries, names of captured butterflies, and other notes:
"Walked across the bog as far as Borovichi,..."
"Raining today. Played checkers with Father, then read Goncharov}s Frigate, a deadly bore."
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