Vladimir Nabokov. Primavera en Fialta
Vladimir Nabokov. SPRING IN FIALTA
Then she vanished again; and a year later my wife and I were seeing my brother off to Posen, and when the train had gone, and we were moving toward the exit along the other side of the platform, suddenly near a car of the Paris express I saw Nina, her face buried in the bou quet she held, in the midst of a group of people whom she had be friended without my knowledge and who stood in a circle gaping at her as idlers gape at a street row, a lost child, or the victim of an ac cident. Brightly she signaled to me with her flowers; I introduced her to Elena, and in that life-quickening atmosphere of a big railway sta tion where everything is so