Vladimir Nabokov. Lik
Vladimir Nabokov. LIK
She sat down on a bench in the back of the room, busying herself with something, cleaning something... with a knife over a spread newspaper, it seemed—Lik was afraid to look too closely—while the boy, his eyes glistening, moved over to the wall and, maneuvering cautiously, slipped out into the street. There was a multitude of flies in the room, and with maniacal persistence they haunted the table and settled on Lik's forehead.
"All right, let's have a drink," said