Vladimir Nabokov. Un cuento de hadas
Down onto the table with a resolute thud went her oversize handbag. She ordered a cup of coffee and a wedge of apple tart. Her deep voice was somewhat hoarse but pleasant.
The vast sky, suffused with dull rose, grew darker. A tram screeched by, inundating the asphalt with the radiant tears of its lights. And short-skirted beauties walked by. Erwin's glance followed them.
I want this one, he thought, noticing his nether lip. And that one, too.
"I think it could be arranged," said his vis-a-vis in the same calm husky tones in which she had addressed the waiter.
Erwin almost fell off his chair. The lady looked intently at him, as