Vladimir Nabokov. Un jirón de vida : Клуб изучающих испанский языкVladimir Nabokov. Un jirón de vida
Vladimir Nabokov. A SLICE OF LIFE
cked together the concave palms of his horizontally placed hands (I could not help smiling as I remembered an uncle of mine, a Volga landowner, who used to render that way the sound of a procession of dignified cows letting their pies plop). "Know what, my dear? Let us move to my flat. I can't stand the thought of being there alone. We'll have supper there, take a few swigs of vodka, then go to the movies—what do you say?"
I could not decline his offer, though I knew that I would regret it. While telephoning to cancel my visit to Nick's former place of employment (he needed the rubber overshoes he had left there), I saw myself in the looking glass of the hallway as resembling a