Vladimir Nabokov. El timbre
"Please don't examine my room like that!" said his mother. "You look like a regular detective! It's a horrid hole. I would gladly move-elsewhere, but I sold the villa that Kind left me." Abruptly she gave.1 small gasp: "Wait a minute—what was that? Did you make that noise?"
"Yes," answered Nikolay. "I'm knocking the ashes out of my pipe. But tell me: you do still have enough money? You're not having any trouble mak