Vladimir Nabokov. La Veneciana
Vladimir Nabokov. LA VENEZIANA
"I guess you liked that old rake del Piombo's Venetian lass," said McGore, releasing a rosy puff of smoke into the dark.
"Very much," replied Simpson, and added, "Of course, I don't know anything about pictures—"
"All the same, you liked it," nodded McGore. "Splendid. That's the first step toward understanding. I, for one, have dedicated my whole life to this."
"She looks absolutely real," Simpson said pensively. "It's enough to make one believe mysterious tales about portraits coming to life. I read somewhere that some king descended from a canvas, and, as soon as—"
McGore disso