Vladimir Nabokov. Humo tórpido : Клуб изучающих испанский языкVladimir Nabokov. Humo tórpido
Vladimir Nabokov. TORPID SMOKE
rom his room to the hallway and groped for the switch. On the console under the looking glass, next to the guest's smart beige cap, there remained a crumpled piece of soft paper: the wrappings of liberated roses. He rummaged in his father's overcoat, penetrating with squeamish fingers into the insensate world of a strange pocket, but did not find there the spare pack he had hoped to obtain, knowing as he did his father's heavyish providence. Nothing to be done, I must go to him.
Here, that is at some indeterminate point of his somnambulic itinerary, he again stepped into a zone of mist, and this time the renewed vibration within him possessed such power, and, especially, was so much