Vladimir Nabokov. La Veneciana
Vladimir Nabokov. LA VENEZIANA
"Colonel," McGore said softly, "I think I can explain what's happened."
He glanced at the waiter, who tiptoed out.
"Now then," went on McGore in a bored tone, "your supposition that it was indeed your son who painted in that figure is doubtless right. But, in addition, I gather from a note that was left for me that he departed at daybreak with my wife."
The Colonel was a gentleman and an Englishman. He immediately felt that to vent one's anger in front of a man whose wife had just run off was improper. Therefore, he went over to a window, swallowed hal