Vladimir Nabokov. Guía de Berlín
"It's of no interest," my friend affirms with a mournful yawn. "What do trams and tortoises matter? And anyway the whole thing is limply a bore. A boring, foreign city, and expensive to live in, too..."
From our place near the bar one can make out very distinctly the couch, the mirror, and the table in the background beyond the passage. The woman is clearing the table. Propped on his elbows, the child attentively examines an illustrated magazine on its useless handle.
"What do you see down there?" asks my companion and turns slowly, with a sigh, and the chair