...
illumining the painted wax of motionless faces, then expiring with a click—but for a long time yet there would glow, in those elaborate crystals, dying red sunsets—our human shame. The deal was clinched, and our anonymous shadows sent out all over the world.
- Mashenka (1926)/Mary (1970)
When Judy had a sabbatical leave, we sublet to Vladimir Nabokov and his beautiful wife, Vera, and they were delighted to accept Tom Jones as a cherished paying guest during their stay. What a bonanza for a gentleman cat to be taken into such a notable family with kind Vera and Felidae-lover Vladimir! And to hear cat language translated into Russian.My study at Maynard Place was at the top of the house; a small, sunny room, one wall lined with books, and on the windowed side a long trestle table and a straight chair. Nabokov removed this austere object and replaced it with a huge overstuffed armchair where he could write half lying down. Tom Jones soon learned that he was welcome to install himself at the very heart of genius on Nabokov's chest, there to make starfish paws, purr ecstatically, and sometimes —rather painfully for the object of his pleasure —knead.
