Vladimir Nabokov. Una cuestión de honor
"We get off in a minute," said Gnushke, and rose. Mityushin rose also. Clenching his teeth, Anton Petrovich wanted to rise too, but a jolt of the train made him fall back into his seat.
"Here we are," said Mityushin Only then did Anton Petrovich manage to separate himself from the seat. Pressing his monocle into his eye socket, he cautiously descended to the platform. The sun welcomed him warmly.
"They are behind," said Gnushke. Anton Petrovich felt his back growing a hump. No, this is unthinkable, I must wake up.
They left the station and set out along the highway, past tiny brick houses with petunia