Vladimir Nabokov. Ultima Thule
Vladimir Nabokov. ULTIMA THULE
Oh, my love, how your presence smiles from that fabled bay—and nevermore!—oh, I bite my knuckles so as not to start shaking with sobs, but there is no holding them back; down I slide with locked brakes, making "hoo" and "boohoo" sounds, and it is all such humiliating physical nonsense: the hot blinking, the feeling of suffocation, the dirty handkerchief, the convulsive yawning alternating with the tears—I just can't, can't live without you. I blow my nose, swallow, and then all over again try to persuade the chair which I clutch, the desk which