Gleb walked down Leningradsky Prospect to Pravda Street, where the cellist he valued so highly lived. When he’d been given her address, it had felt a little strange that Anna’s life was now passing on a street with such an unexpected name, but he’d grown used to it back before he left for Moscow. He thought not about the newspaper Pravda but about truth as such, of which each person has his own: Anna, her parents, he himself. … His pravda, his truth, now was that he no longer wanted anything from Anna but sympathy and warmth
