Vladimir Nabokov. Batir de alas
Monfiori gave him an opaque, attentive look, covering his glass with his palm. He was silent for a time.
"Just as I thought," he began with unexpected gentleness. "Tonight, as you were watching the people dancing, and before that, when you got up from the table... There was something about your face... The crease between the brows... That special one... I understood right away..." He fell silent, caressing the table's edge.
"Listen to what I'm going to tell you," he continued, lowering his heavy, purplish eyelids with their wartlike lashes. "I search everywhere for the likes of you—in expensive hotels, on trains, in seaside resorts, at night on