Vladimir Nabokov. Primavera en Fialta
Vladimir Nabokov. SPRING IN FIALTA
I did not stay long in Paris, but that week proved sufficient to en gender between him and me that fake chumminess the imposing of which he had such a talent for. Subsequently I even turned out to be of some use to him: my firm acquired the film rights of one of his more intelligible stories, and then he had a good time pestering me with telegrams. As the years passed, we found ourselves every now and then beaming at each other in some place, but I