Vladimir Nabokov. El reencuentro
Vladimir Nabokov. THE REUNION
Lev stood for a while in the corridor, thinking not so much about the alcohol as about what a relief it was to be alone for a minute and what agony it would be to return to that tense room where a stranger was securely ensconced. What might one discuss with him? That article on Faraday in an old issue of Die Natur? No, that wouldn't do. When he returned Serafim was standing by the bookshelf, examining the tat tered, miserable-looking volumes.
"Stupid situation," said Lev. "I