Hello friends, in this post we will give a Lolita pdf you can download the Lolita pdf from the link below and you can also read The last wish pdf in English for Free Download.
Lolita pdf in English
I was born in 1910, in Paris. My father was a gentle, easy-going person, a salad of racial genes: a Swiss citizen, of mixed French and Austrian descent, with a dash of the Danube in his veins. I am going to pass around in a minute some lovely, glossy-blue picture postcards.
He owned a luxurious hotel on the Riviera. His father and two grandfathers had sold wine, jewels, and silk, respectively. At thirty he married an English girl, daughter of Jerome Dunn, the alpinist, and granddaughter of two Dorset parsons, experts in obscure subjects— paleopedology and Aeolian harps, respectively. My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three, and, save for a pocket of
warmth in the darkest past, nothing of her subsists within the hollows and dells of memory, over which, if you can still stand my style (I am writing under observation), the sun of my infancy had set: surely, you all know those redolent remnants of day suspended, with the midges, about some hedge in bloom or suddenly entered and traversed by the rambler, at the bottom of a hill, in the summer dusk; a furry warmth, golden midges.
My mother’s elder sister, Sybil, who was a cousin of my fathers had married and then neglected, served in my immediate family as a kind of unpaid governess and housekeeper.
Somebody told me later that she had been in love with my father, and that he had lightheartedly taken advantage of it one rainy day and forgotten it by the time the weather cleared. I was extremely fond of her, despite the rigidity—the fatal rigidity—of some of her rules. Perhaps she wanted to make of me, in the fullness
of time, a better widower than my father. Aunt Sybil had pink-rimmed azure eyes and a waxen complexion. She wrote poetry.
She was poetically superstitious. She said she knew she would die soon after my sixteenth birthday, and did. Her husband, a great traveler in perfumes, spent most of his time in America, where eventually he founded a firm and acquired a bit of real estate.
I grew, up a happy, healthy child in a bright world of illustrated books, clean sand, orange trees, friendly dogs, sea vistas, and smiling faces. Around me, the splendid Hotel Mirana revolved as a kind of private universe, a whitewashed cosmos within the blue greater one that blazed outside.
From the aproned pot scrubber to the flanneled potentate, everybody liked me, everybody petted me. Elderly
American ladies leaning on their canes listed towards me like towers of Pisa.
Ruined Russian princesses who could not pay my father, bought me expensive bonbons. He, mon her petit papa, took me out boating and biking, taught me to swim and dive and water-ski read me Don Quixote and Les Miserables, and I adored and respected him and felt glad for him whenever I overheard the servants discuss his various lady friends, beautiful and kind beings who made much of me and cooed and shed precious tears over my cheerful motherlessness…Download the full book from the below link.
Lolita pdf in English Download
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