Vladimir Nabokov. Una belleza rusa : Клуб изучающих испанский языкVladimir Nabokov. Una belleza rusa
Vladimir Nabokov. A RUSSIAN BEAUTY
knocked on her door but she did not open. In the middle of the night, having swatted a multitude of sleepy flies and smoked continuously to the point where she was no longer able to inhale, irritated, depressed, hating herself and everyone, Olga went into the garden. There, the crickets stridu lated, the branches swayed, an occasional apple fell with a taut thud, and the moon performed calisthenics on the whitewashed wall of the chicken coop.
Early in the morning, she came out again and sat down on the porch step that was already hot. Forstmann, wearing a dark blue bath robe, sat next to her and, clearing his throat, asked if she would consent to become his spouse—that was the very word