Chapter 25 Chapter Twenty-Four

There was a sudden gust of wind, and the elms and poplars turned their heaving backs, and a dark thunder-cloud anvil loomed over the white church tower at Ramsdale, when I finally Take a look around at once.Only ten weeks ago, I rented a room in this blue-gray house; now I am leaving the house for unknown adventures.The shade curtains—frugal, utilitarian bamboo shades—had been drawn down.Whether on a porch or inside a house, the evocative structure of a bamboo screen adds a touch of modern drama.Thereafter the house of heaven must appear empty.A drop of rain fell on my knuckles.I went back into the house to find something, and John was putting my bag in the car, when a funny thing happened.I don't know if I have emphasized enough in this miserable record that the author's handsome features--pseudo-Celtic, very ape-like, boyish majesty--have a profound effect on people of all ages and in all circumstances. That special "transporting" influence that women have.Of course, announcing the situation in the first person might sound ridiculous.But every once in a while I have to remind the reader of my appearance, which is rather like that of a professional novelist who assigns a quirk or a dog to one of his characters, and whenever the character develops in the story, He'd have to go on and on about that dog or that quirk whenever it came up in the process.In the present case, perhaps more than that.My sad, pretty face should be kept in mind if my story is to be rightly understood.Youthful Lo, smitten by Humbert's charm as if driven mad by the hiccupping music; adult Lot, who loved me with mature, possessive passion, and now my heart I do not wish to speak again of the remorse and respect that this passion feels.Joan Farrow was thirty-one years old and very excitable, and she seemed to have developed a strong affection for me.She had auburn skin and was as fit as a carved Indian.Her lips were like a large crimson polyp; when she gave a peculiar barking laugh, her large dull teeth and pale gums showed.

She is tall, wears either slacks and sandals or flowing skirts and ballet slippers, can drink any amount of hard liquor of any kind, has had two miscarriages, has written some animal stories, and is like a reader As you know, I also painted some landscapes.She was already dealing with cancer and died at the age of thirty-three; she didn't appeal to me at all.So a split second before I left (she and I were standing in the doorway), when Joan took her temples with her trembling fingers, and with tears in her bright blue eyes, wanted to kiss my lips Thinking about how panicked I was when I was there, but she didn't succeed.

"Take care of yourself," she said, "kiss your daughter for me." A loud thunder echoed through the house.She added: "Maybe someday, somewhere, at a less painful time, we'll meet again" (Joan, whatever you're doing, wherever you are, in negative or positive soul time, please Forgive me for saying all this, including this bracketed word). After a while, I was on the road, shaking hands with the couple on that sloping road.Everything whirled and danced before the approaching white rain.A truck from Philadelphia with a mattress was plowing confidently down into an empty house, dust flying over the slab where Charlotte had fallen.When they rolled up the travel blanket for me that day, Charlotte was right there in front of me, curled up, her eyes intact, her black eyelashes still wet and tangled, like yours , Lolita.