Vladimir Nabokov. El timbre
"Sure, can't see a thing," said he with a laugh, and advanced toward her.
Her cry was as startled as if a strong hand had struck her. In the dark he found her arms, and shoulders, and bumped against something (probably the umbrella stand). "No, no, it's not possible..." she kept repeating rapidly as she backed away.
"Hold still, Mother, hold still for a minute," he said, hitting something again (t