Vladimir Nabokov. El Leonardo
Vladimir Nabokov. THE LEONARDO
Behind them, gliding along at the same distance as before, came the brothers. Both were gloomy. Both were pumping themselves up with gloomy violence. Gloomily, Anton said, "That's not done, after all—going out walking with another's bride."
"And especially on Saturday night," said Gustav.
A passerby, coming abreast of them, happened to glance at their faces—and could not help walking faster.
The night wind chased rustling rubbish along the fences. It was a dark and desolate part of Berlin. Far to the left of the road, above the canal, blinked scattered lights. On the right were vacant lots from which a few hastily silhouetted houses h