Vladimir Nabokov. La Veneciana : Клуб изучающих испанский языкVladimir Nabokov. La Veneciana
Vladimir Nabokov. LA VENEZIANA
ccur," McGore went on after clearing his throat. "I got an ache in my kidneys after a goblet of strong cider that A plump Rubens bacchante once served me, and I caught such a chill on the foggy, yellow skating rink of one of the Dutchmen that I went on coughing and bringing up phlegm for a whole month. That's the kind of thing that can happen, Mr. Simpson."
McGore's chair creaked as he rose and straightened his waistcoat. "Got carried away," he remarked dryly. "Time for bed. God knows how long they'll go on slapping their cards about. I'm off—good night."
He crossed the dining room and the parlor, nodding to the players as he went, and disappeared i