Vladimir Nabokov. La Veneciana
Vladimir Nabokov. LA VENEZIANA
Frank made a jovial bow. "You're right, Father. Paintings perturb me."
"We'll be right back, Mrs. McGore," said the Colonel as he got up. "Careful, you're going to step on the bottle," he addressed Simpson* who had also risen. "Prepare to be showered with beauty."
The three of them headed for the house across the softly sunlit lawn. Narrowing his eyes, Frank looked after them, looked down at McGore's hat abandoned on the grass by the chair (it exhibite