Vladimir Nabokov. Batir de alas
Not looking at him, she said, "Sorry—I had the feeling I was still amid the snow and stars. I didn't even notice whether you danced well or not."
Kern glanced at her as if not hearing, and she was indeed immersed in her own radiant thoughts, thoughts unknown to him.
One step lower sat a youth in a very narrow jacket and a skinny girl with a birthmark on her shoulder blade. When the music started again, the youth invited Isabel to dance a Boston. Kern had to dance with the skinny girl. She smelled of slightly sour lavender. Colored paper streamers swirled out th