 Brilliant's Audio presents the unabridged recording of Mary, by Vladimir Nabokov, performed by Christopher Lane, to Vera, having recalled intrigues of former years, having recalled a former love. Pushkin 1. Lev Glevovich. A name like that's enough to twist your tongue off, my dear fellow. Yes, it is. Ganyan agreed somewhat coldly, trying to make out the face of his interlocutor in the unexpected darkness. He was annoyed by the absurd situation in which they both found themselves, and by this enforced conversation with a stranger. I didn't ask for your name and patronymic just out of idle curiosity, you know? The voice went on undismayed. I think every name—let me press the button again. Ganyan interrupted him. Do press it? I'm afraid it won't do any good. As I was saying, every name has its responsibilities. Lev and Glev—now, that's a rare combination and very demanding. And you've got to be terse, firm and rather eccentric. My name is a more modest one, and my wife's name is just plain Mary. By the way, let me introduce myself. Alexei Ivanovich Alfiorov. Sorry, I think I trod on your foot. How do you do? said Ganyan, feeling in the dark for the hand that poked at his cuff. Do you think we're going to be stuck here for long? It's time somebody did something. Hell. Let's just sit down on the seat and wait. The tiresome cheerful voice rang out again just above his ear. Yesterday, when I arrived, we bumped into each other in the passage. Then, in the evening, through the wall, I heard you clearing your throat, and I knew at once from the sound of your cough that you were a fellow countryman. Tell me, have you been boarding here for long? Ages. Got a match? No, I don't smoke. Grubby place, this panseon, even though it is Russian. I'm a very lucky man, you know. My wife's coming from Russia. Four years. That's no joke. Yes, sir, not long now. It's Sunday today. Damn darkness. Mudded Ganyan and cracked his fingers. I wonder what time it is. Alfiorov, sighed noisily, giving off... Sample complete. Ready to continue?