Vladimir Nabokov. Una belleza rusa
Vladimir Nabokov. A RUSSIAN BEAUTY
Yet there was a time in her life, at the end of 1916 or so, when at a summer resort near the family estate there was no schoolboy who did not plan to shoot himself because of her, there was no university stu-dent who would not... In a word, there had been a special magic about her, which, had it lasted, would have caused... would have wreaked... But somehow, nothing came of it. Things failed to develop, or else happened to no purpose. There were flowers that she was too lazy to put in a vase, there were strolls in the twilight now with this one, now with another, followed by the blind alley of a