Vladimir Nabokov. Ultima Thule
Vladimir Nabokov. ULTIMA THULE
What a shame, though. You were such a darling. And, holding on to vou from within by a little button, our child went with you. But, my poor sir, one does not make a child to a woman when she has tuberculosis of the throat. Involuntary translation from French into Ha-dean. You died in your sixth month and took the remaining twelve weeks with you, not paying off your debt in full, as it were. How much I wanted her to bear me a child, the red-nosed widower informed the walls. Etes-vous tout a fait certain, docteur, que la science ne connait pas de ces cas exceptionnels ou Venfant nait dans la tombe? And the dream I had: that garlicky doctor (who was at the same