“Sign it,” said the President in a funny automatic voice. “Legal documents excepted,” answered Krug, “and not all of them at that, I never have signed, nor ever shall sign, anything not written by myself.”
2015-11-01 23:21:30 GMT
— Vladimir Nabokov, Bend Sinister
Her skin was so tender that if you merely looked at it a rosy spot would appear. The uncommon cold of a Botticellian angel tinged her nostrils with pink and suffused her upperlip—you know, when the rims of the lips merge with the skin. She proved to be a kitchen wench too—but in the kitchen of a vegetarian. Ophelia, serviceableness. Died in passive service. The fair Ophelia.
An interesting feature was that at the most exciting moments teams of agricultural or industrial workers, like insects driven to copulation by some unusual atmospheric condition, would suddenly issue challenges to other such teams declaring their desire to arrange “production matches” in honour of the elections. Therefore the net result of these “elections” was not any particular change in the composition of the Council, but a tremendously enthusiastic albeit somewhat exhausting “zoom-curve” in the manufacture of reaping machines, cream caramels (in bright wrappers with pictures of naked girls soaping their shoulder blades), kolbendeckelschrauben [piston-follower-bolts], nietwippen [lever-dollies], blechtafel [sheet iron], krakhmalchiki [starched collars for men and boys], glockenmetall [bronzo da campane], geschützbronze [bronzo da cannoni], blasebalgen [vozdukhoduvnye mekha] and other useful gadgets.
He knew slightly the author of the article—a shabby old man who under the pen name of “Pankrat Tzikutin” had edited a pogromystic magazine years ago.
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