Vladimir Nabokov. El Elfo Patata
"What you need is a female dwarf," said Shock pensively, produi ing with a familiar flick of finger and thumb a silver coin from the ear of the dwarf, whose little arm went up in a brushing-away curve as if chasing a fly.
That same night, as Fred, after his number, snuffling and grum bling, in bowler and tiny topcoat, was toddling along a dim backstage passage, a door came ajar with a sudden splash of gay light and two voices called him in. It was Zita and Arabella, sister acrobats, both half undressed, suntanned, black-haired, with elongated blue eyes. A shim mer of theatrical diso