He led her past an empty supermarket, down a winding path lined with piles of gray snow like Styrofoam, past block after block of run-down apartment towers that looked like housing projects. This part of the city had none of the beauty of downtown Leningrad — no prerevolutionary mansions, no palaces or churches, no river or canals draped with iron filigree bridges. But Alyosha held her hand for the whole walk from the metro, and suddenly Laura loved Avtovo. They went into one of the high-rise buildings and rode a rickety elevator to the sixth floor. Alyosha kicked aside a wad of greasy paper littering the hallway and unlocked a door: 6A. Laura stepped inside, took a deep breath, and felt immediately at home. The apartment was small, but neat and cozy. The furniture was simple, but Alyosha had warmed the place up with a red rug on the wooden floor and books and art everywhere. In the hall just inside the door, Alyosha helped her off with her coat and winter boots and gave her a pair of slippers to wear.
