Vladimir Nabokov. Batir de alas
"And how are you today?" asked Monfiori, rubbing his lifeless hands.
Simultaneously voices rang out around them: "Isabel! Airborne Isabel!"
Kern threw back his head. She was hurtling down the steep slope. For an instant he saw her bright face, her glistening lashes. With a soft whistling sound she skimmed off the trampoline, flew up, hung motionless, crucified in midair. And then...
No one, of course, could have expected it. In full flight Isabel crumpled spasmodically, fell like a stone, and started rolling amid the snowbursts of her cartwheeling skis.
Right away she was hidden from view by the backs of people