Vladimir Nabokov. El reencuentro
Vladimir Nabokov. THE REUNION
They crossed the street.
"What soggy weather," said Serafim. "Well, well.... So we'll never remember? You say there was a k?"
They turned the corner. Streetlamp. Puddle. Dark post office building. Old beggar woman standing as usual by the stamp machine. She extended a hand with two matchboxes. The beam of the streetlamp touched her sunken cheek; a bright drop quivered under her nostril.
"It's really absurd," exclaimed Serafim. "I know it's there in one of my brain cells, but I can't reach it."
"What was the name... what was it?" Lev chimed in.