Vladimir Nabokov. Batir de alas
"I was so tired last night," Isabel was saying to her neighbor, a young man with a high olive forehead and piercing eyes, "so tired I decided to loll in bed."
"You look stunning today," drawled the young man with exotic courtesy.
She inflated her nostrils derisively.
Looking at her through the hyacinths, Kern said coldly, "I didn't know, Miss Isabel, that you had a dog in your room, as well as a guitar."
Her downy eyes seemed to narrow even more, against a breeze o