Vladimir Nabokov. La Veneciana
Vladimir Nabokov. LA VENEZIANA
Frank flung the twisted racquet into the bushes like a boomerang, smiled, and said, "This is all poppycock, Father. I read in a book on the Afghanistan war about what you did there and what you were decorated for. It was absolutely foolish, featherbrained, suicidal, but it was an exploit. That is what counts. While your disquisitions are poppy-cock. Good day."
And the Colonel remained standing alone in the middle of the lane, frozen in wonderment and wrath.
5
The distinctive feature of everything extant is its monotony. We par-take of f