Vladimir Nabokov. Una cuestión de honor : Клуб изучающих испанский языкVladimir Nabokov. Una cuestión de honor
pathetically independent about the way everything within him was moving now—the heart pulsating, the lungs swelling, the blood circulating, the intestines contracting—and he was leading to slaughter this tender, defenseless, inner creature, that lived so blindly, so trustingly.... Slaughter! He grabbed his favorite shirt, undid one button, and grunted as he plunged headfirst into the cold, white darkness of the linen enveloping him. Socks, tie. He awkwardly shined his shoes with a chamois rag. As he searched for a clean handkerchief he stumbled on a stick of rouge. He glanced into the mirror at his hideously pale face, and then tentatively touched his cheek with the crimson stuff. At fi