“The notebook lies before him on a slanted board of a table-desk; the table is placed over a quilt, and its legs are fitted with two arcs, like the legs of a toy horse. On the right side of the table hangs an inkstand from a copper chain; as it swings, it casts a small and dark shadow on the quilt, like a mouse. Above the bed, on a high stand, a lamp burns; an even light warmly spills over the pillows behind the old man, over his yellow bare scalp and large ears not covered by the narrow band of gray hair. When the old man lifts his head, a dark round spot falls on the pages of the notebook; he smooths it with the puffy palm of an swollen hand, and squints with narrowed eyes at the white tiles of the stove at the foot of the bed and at the big, spanning-the-whole-wall wardrobe tightly packed with black books…”