Vladimir Nabokov. Una cuestión de suerte
The train stopped with a clang of bumpers, and a long, sibilant sigh of brakes.
The porter installed Princess Ukhtomski in a second-class compartment of a Schnellzug car—a smoking compartment as she requested. In one corner, by the window, a man in a beige suit with an insolent face and an olive complexion was already trimming a cigar.
The old Princess settled across from him. She checked, with a slow, deliberate look, whether all her things had