Vladimir Nabokov. Lance
Vladimir Nabokov. LANCE
A ripe silence. Then Lance: "It was wonderful. Perfectly wonderful. I am going back in November."
Pause.
"I think," says Mr. Boke, "that Chilla is with child."
Quick smile, little bow of pleased acknowledgment. Then, in a narrative voice: " Je vais dire ca en francais. Nous venions d'arriver—"
"Show them the President's letter," says Mrs. Coover.
"We had just got there," Lance continues, "and Denny was still a