Vladimir Nabokov. Lance : Клуб изучающих испанский языкVladimir Nabokov. Lance
Vladimir Nabokov. LANCE
f scenery, and the quilled remains of a dead porcupine in a corner of the old barn. We are here among friends, the Browns and the Bensons, the Whites and the Wilsons, and when somebody goes out for a smoke, he hears the crickets, and a distant farm dog (who waits, between barks, to listen to what we cannot hear). The summer night sky is a mess of stars. Emery Lancelot Boke, at twenty-one, knows immeasurably more about them than I, who am fifty and terrified.
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Lance is tall and lean, with thick tendons and greenish veins on his suntanned forearms and a scar on his brow. When doing nothing— when sitting all at ease as he sits now, leaning forward from the edge of a low armch