Vladimir Nabokov. Un cuento de hadas : Клуб изучающих испанский языкVladimir Nabokov. Un cuento de hadas
ly her and have a look at her face. One might, natu rally, find random words to describe her bearing, the movement of her shoulders, the silhouette of her hat—but what is the use? Something beyond visible outlines, some kind of special atmosphere, an ethereal excitement, lured Erwin on and on. He marched fast and still could not catch up with her; the humid reflections of lights flickered before him; she tripped along steadily, and her black shadow would sweep up, as it entered a streetlamp's aura, glide across a wall, twist around its edge, and vanish.
"Goodness, I've got to see her face," Erwin muttered. "And time is flying."
Presently he forgot about time. That