Vladimir Nabokov. Labios contra labios
Vladimir Nabokov. LIPS TO LIPS
Old woman in black. Number 79. Down there. He was in a desper-ate hurry, had already swept his arm back to get into a last coat sleeve, but here Euphratski caught up with him, accompanied by the other, the other— "Meet our editor," said Euphratski, while Galatov, rolling his eyes and trying not to let Ilya Borisovich regain his wits, kept catching the sleeve in a semblance of assistance and talking fast: "Innokentiy Borisovich, how are you? Very glad to make your acquaintance. Pleasant occasion. Allow me to help you."
"For God's sake, leave me alone," muttered Ilya Borisovich, struggling with the coat and with Galatov. "Go away. Disgust