The Stories of Vladimir Nabokov by Vladimir Nabokov
By Vladimir Nabokov
From the author who stunned and overjoyed the realm together with his novels Lolita, light hearth, and Ada, or Ardor, and such a lot of others, comes a powerful number of tales. Written among the Nineteen Twenties and Nineteen Fifties, those sixty-five tales--eleven of which were translated into English for the 1st time--display the entire colours of Nabokov's mind's eye. they vary from sprightly fables to bittersweet stories of loss, from claustrophobic routines in horror to a connoisseur's samplings of the desk of human folly. learn as an entire, The tales of Vladimir Nabokov deals and intoxicating draft of the master's genius, his devious wit, and his skill to show language into an tool of ecstasy.
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It’s my job to decide. That pretty much makes me Lord of the Losers. Which is great if you want a Phantom Blade with a Fiery Enchantment, but not so great if what you want is a date to the prom. Luckily, my best friend, Danny Yu, VP and secretary of the Pawns, doesn’t have a date, either. There are many reasons why I love Danny, but the biggest one is that he’s the only person at Wallingford as crazy as me. Like one time, when he was home sick, he saw some daytime talk show that had a bunch of KKK members on it and gave out their official website.
Amy Gershwin’s purple bra is around her waist, like a belt, as she crawls toward them. Across the room, three cheerleaders corner another cheerleader and swipe at her with their long, manicured nails. Scratches mark both her cheeks. I stumble forward and see Danny. He’s lying half underneath a table, kissing Hannah Davis, who turns and kisses Daria Wisniewski. None of them is very dressed. Hannah is wearing Wonder Woman underpants. There’s a part of me that figures Danny deserves whatever happens to him at that point.
I’m sure I stink of vodka and I bet that my eyes are glassy. Any advisor gets a whiff of me and I’m going to get hauled out of here. “Look,” Xavier says, leaning close to me, and I’m startled to hear him speak English. “The rest of them probably don’t care what happens to you, but I want to make sure you understand. That stuff in the vial is an antidote. ” I ask. He laughs. “No way. Look around. People are drinking water and soda and energy drinks. No one drinks punch out of a central punch bowl anymore.