Vladimir Nabokov. Terror : Клуб изучающих испанский языкVladimir Nabokov. Terror
head bent low; one ear, translucently pink, is half concealed by a strand of fair hair, and the small pearls around her neck gleam touchingly, and her tender cheek appears sunken because of the assiduous pout of her lips. All at once, for no reason at all, I become terrified of her presence. This is far more terrifying than the fact that somehow, for a split second, my mind did not register her identity in the dusty sun of the station. I am terrified by there being another person in the room with me; I am terrified by the very notion of another person. No wonder lunatics don't recognize rel- atives. But she raises her head, all her features participate in the quick smile she gives me—and no