Nabokov

In Montreal we found a shop "overflowing with paper ephemera and found treasures" and bought a few yellowed paperbacks. In retrospect the blend of literary classics and out-and-out pulp may have been less random than it appeared but I was pleased to find a copy of Nabokov's autobiography, Speak, Memory. A 1967 edition, it has had at least two owners before me, "Alison Smith" (in pencil) and "Evelyn (1976)". Although aged, slightly musty, it is otherwise in good condition and shows few signs of its previous owners. In the whole book just a single sentence has been underlined, in pencil: "Sitting as stiffly as if he were stuffed, he was driven in our car to the university, remained there till dusk, came back in a sleigh, in a heap, in a snowstorm, and in silent despair went up to his room."