Vladimir Nabokov. La Veneciana
Vladimir Nabokov. LA VENEZIANA
Moving his arm, the man turned over. Then, with a flustered smirk, he got up.
"Simpson, for heaven's sake, what's happened?" asked McGore, peering into his pale countenance.
Simpson gave another laugh.
"I'm awfully sorry.... It's so silly.... I went out for a stroll last night and fell right asleep, here on the grass. Ow, I'm all aches and pains.... I had a monstrous dream.... What time is it?"
Left alone, the gardener gave a disapproving shake of his head as he looked at the matted lawn. Then he bent down and picked up a small dark