Vladimir Nabokov. Un jirón de vida : Клуб изучающих испанский языкVladimir Nabokov. Un jirón de vida
Vladimir Nabokov. A SLICE OF LIFE
g, for everybody, for everything, for my own self, for Russia, for the fetuses scraped out of me. He and I passed into the tiny room I rented: it could scarcely accommodate a rather absurdly wide couch covered in silk, and next to it the little low table bearing a lamp whose base was a veritable bomb of thick glass filled with water—and in this atmosphere of my private coziness Pavel Romanovich became at once a different man.
He sat down in silence, rubbing his inflamed eyes. I curled up be-side him, patted the cushions around us, and lapsed into thought, cheek-propped feminine thought, as I considered him, his turquoise head, his big strong shoulders which a military tunic would hav