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I sometimes used to ask myself, what on earth did i love her for? maybe fore the warm hazel iris of her fluffy eyes, or for the natural side-wave of her brown hair, done anyhow, or again for that movement of her plump shoulders. but, probably the truth was that i loved her because she loved me. to her i was the ideal man: brains, pluck. and there was none dressed better. i remember once, when i first put on that new dinner jacket, with the vast trousers, she clapsed her hands, sank down on a chair and murmured: 'oh, hermann...." it was ravishment bordering upon something like heavenly woe.
-Vladimir Nabokov
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I Sometimes Used To Ask Myself, What

Vladimir Nabokov
I sometimes used to ask myself, what on earth did i love her for? maybe fore the warm hazel iris of her fluffy eyes, or for the natural side-wave of her brown hair, done anyhow, or again for that movement of her plump shoulders. but, probably the truth was that i loved her because she loved me. to her i was the ideal man: brains, pluck. and there was none dressed better. i remember once, when i first put on that new dinner jacket, with the vast trousers, she clapsed her hands, sank down on a chair and murmured: 'oh, hermann...." it was ravishment bordering upon something like heavenly woe.
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