Vladimir Nabokov. Lance
Vladimir Nabokov. LANCE
An hour goes by. At last the visitor picks up his top hat from the carpet and leaves. Lance remains alone with his parents, which only serves to increase the tension. Mr. Boke I see plainly enough. But I cannot visualize Mrs. Boke with any degree of clarity, no matter how deep I sink into my difficult trance. I know that her cheerfulness— small talk, quick beat of eyelashes—is something she keeps up not so much for the sake of her son as for that of her husband, and