Vladimir Nabokov. El Elfo Patata
Upon feeling those light fingers in his hair, Fred at first sat motion less, then began to lick his lips in feverish silence. His eyes, turned askance, could not detach their gaze from the green pompon on Mrs. Shock's slipper. And all at once, in some absurd and intoxicating way, everything came into motion.
5
On that smoke-blue day, in the August sun, London was particularly lovely. The tender and festive sky was reflected in the smooth spread of the asphalt, the glossy pillar boxes glowed crimson at the street cor tiers, through the Gobelin green of the park cars flashed and rolled with a low hum—the entire city shimmered and breathed