Vladimir Nabokov. Batir de alas
"We're going to have a glass of each in succession," said Monfiori in his melancholy, slightly hollow voice, "and when we get to the end we'll start over, choosing only the ones we found to our liking. Perhaps we'll stop at one and keep savoring it for a long time. Then we'll go back to the beginning again."
He gave the waiter a pensive look. "Is that clear?"
The part in the waiter's hair tipped forward.
"This is known as the roaming of Bacchus," Monfiori told Kern with a doleful chuckle. "Some people approach their daily life in the same way."
Kern stifled a tremulous yawn. "You k