 Brilliant's Audio presents the unabridged recording of King, Queen, Nave by Vladimir Nabokov, translated by Dmitry Nabokov in collaboration with the author. Performed by Christopher Lane, Tuvera 1. The huge black-clock hand is still at rest, but is on the point of making its once-a-minute gesture. That resilient jolt will set a whole world in motion. The clock face will slowly turn away, full of despair, contempt, and boredom, as one by one the iron pillars will start walking past, bearing away the vault of the station like bland Atlantis. The platform will begin to move past, carrying off on an unknown journey, cigarette butts, used tickets, flecks of sunlight, and spittle. A luggage handcart will glide by, its wheels motionless. It will be followed by a new stall hung with seductive magazine covers, photographs of naked pearl-grey beauties, and people, people, people on the moving platform themselves moving their feet, yet standing still, striding forward, yet retreating, as in an agonizing dream full of incredible effort, nausea, a cottony weakness in one's calves will surge back, almost falling supine. There were more women than men, as is always the case at partings. Franz's sister, with the pallor of the early hour on her thin cheeks, and an unpleasant empty stomach smell dressed in a checked cape that surely one would never see on a city girl. And his mother, small, round, all in brown like a compact little monk. See the handkerchiefs beginning to flutter. And not only did they slip away, those two familiar smiles. Not only did the station depart removing its newsstand, its luggage cart, and a sandwich and fruit vendor with such nice, plump, lumpy, glossy red strawberries positively crying to be bitten into, all their akeens proclaiming their affinity with one's own tongues, papillae, but alas, gone now. Not only did all this fall behind, the entire old burg in its rosy autumn morning mist moved as well, the great stone Herzog in the square, the dark cathedral, the shop signs, top hat, a fish, the copper basin of a barber. There was no stopping the world now. In grand style houses pass by, the curtains flap in the open windows of his home, its floors crackle a little, the walls creak. Sample complete. Ready to continue?