Vladimir Nabokov. La Veneciana
Vladimir Nabokov. LA VENEZIANA
"We must have a game of singles," remarked the Colonel, slapping his son on the back with gusto as the latter, baring his teeth, pulled on his white, crimson-striped club blazer with a violet emblem on one side.
"Tea!" said Maureen. "I'm dying for some tea."
Everyone moved into the shadow of a giant elm, where the butler and the black-and-white maid had set up a portable table. There was tea dark as Munich beer, sandwiches consisting