The Real Life of Sebastian Knight   ::   Набоков Владимир Владимирович

His finely-shaped white face with that slight shading on the cheeks – he was one of those unfortunate men who have to shave twice a day when dining out – did not show a trace of that dull unhealthy tinge itso often had. His rather large slightly pointed ears were aflame as they were when he was pleasurably excited. I, for my part, was tongue-tied and stiff. Somehow, I felt that I had barged in.

'Shall we go to a cinema or something,' asked Sebastian diving into his waistcoat pocket, with two fingers.

'Just as you like,' said Clare.

'Gah-song,' said Sebastian. I had noticed before that he tried to pronounce French as a real healthy Britisher would.

For some time we searched under the table and under the plush seats for one of Clare's gloves. She used a nice cool perfume. At last I retrieved it, a grey suйde glove with a white lining and a fringed gauntlet. She put them on leisurely as we pushed through the revolving door. Rather tall, very straight-backed, good ankles, flat-heeled shoes.

'Look here,' I said, 'I don't think I can go with you to the pictures. I'm dreadfully sorry, but I have got some things to attend to. Perhaps…. But when exactly are you leaving?'

'Oh, tonight,' replied Sebastian, 'but I'll soon be over again…. Stupid of me not to have let you know earlier. At any rate we can walk with you a little way….'

'Do you know Paris well?' I asked of Clare….

'My parcel,' she said stopping short.

'Oh, all right, I'll fetch it,' said Sebastian and went back to the cafй.

We two proceeded very slowly up the wide sidewalk. I lamely repeated my question.

'Yes, fairly,' she said. 'I've got friends here – I'm staying with them until Christmas.'

'Sebastian looks remarkably well,' I said.

'Yes, I suppose he does,' said Clare looking over her shoulder and then blinking at me. 'When I first met him he C looked a doomed man.'

'When was that?' I probably asked, for now I remember her answer: 'This spring in London at a dreadful party, but then he always looks doomed at parties.'

'Here are your bongs-bongs,' said Sebastian's voice behind us. I told them I was going to the Йtoile underground station and we skirted the place from the left. As we were about to cross the Avenue Klйber, Clare nearly got knocked down by a bicycle.

'You little fool,' said Sebastian, gripping her by elbow.

'Far too many pigeons,' she said, as we reached the kerb.

'Yes, and they smell,' added Sebastian.

'What kind of smell? My nose is stuffed up,' she asked sniffing and peering at the dense crowd of fat birds strutting about our feet.

'Iris and rubber,' said Sebastian.