Chapter 13 Chapter Twelve

Through the interplay of lights and shadows we drove to 14 Thayer Street, where a gloomy young man handed us the keys and a note from Gaston, who had rented the house for us.Without even glancing at her new surroundings, my Lo walked instinctively towards the radio, casually turned the knob, then instinctively lay down on the sofa in the bedroom where a pile of old magazines was piled up, and then with the same blind but accurate Gesture reached under the lamp table and put the magazine down. I really don't mind where I live as long as I can lock up my Lolita; but, I think, in my correspondence with the dazed Gaston, he makes vague references to Brick house with ivy.In fact, it was a disappointing resemblance to the Hazes' house (only four hundred miles apart), the same dull gray brick walls, shingled roof, and dark green sackcloth awning; Smaller, but its terry-sheet metal style is more uniform, and the room layout is basically the same.It's just that my study room is too big, with about 2,000 chemistry books lined up from floor to sky, and my landlady (who is on vacation at this time) teaches chemistry at Beardsley University.

I wish Beardsley Girls was an expensive day school with extra lunches, a well-equipped gymnasium, and a formal education for their minds while exercising all those young bodies.Kajton Godin, who is seldom right about the American situation, reminded me that this educational institution is likely to release female students as he judged by a foreigner's likes and dislikes in such matters: "Spelling doesn't have to be very good. , but you have to have a good sense of smell." I don't think they're even that good yet. My first meeting with the headmistress, Pratt, praised my child's "beautiful blue eyes" (blue! Lolita!) and my friendship with the "French genius" (genius! Gaston!) --then handed Dolly to a Miss Cormorant, who frowned and said in thought:

"Mr Humberd, we are in no hurry to turn our students into nerds or be able to blurt out and write about all the capitals of Europe that no one can remember, or remember the years of wars that have been forgotten. What we care about is the child's ability to adjust to group life. So we want to emphasize the four "D"s: drama, dance, debate, and dating. We face many specific problems. The age group that you jolly Dolly will soon be programmed into, for her dating, dating, dating clothes, dating books, dating etiquette mean as much to you as, say, business, business connections, business success means to you, or my girls' happiness to me. Much more Rosie Humberd has become involved in the total system of social life, which includes, whether we like it or not, hot dog stands, corner pharmacies, maltose and Coke, movies, party steps, beach blanket parties, and even Hair-styling! Of course, Beardsley School banned several of these activities; on the other hand, we steered the rest into more constructive directions. But we did try to ignore the clouds and face the sun as much as possible. Simply put , our approach to education is more interested in the exchange of ideas than in the craft of writing. That is, we admire Shakespeare and other things. We ask our girls to freely communicate with the living world around them, rather than plunge headlong into musty Perhaps we are still groping, but we are groping rationally, like a gynecologist diagnosing a tumor. Mr. Humberg, we think in terms of organisms and social groups. We have cleared the traditional is a mass of inconsequential maxims given to young women, which early on appear to have nothing to do with the knowledge, skills, and Bad attitude. Let's put it this way, Mr. Humberson: position on a planet is important, but having the refrigerator in the most practical place in the kitchen may be more important to the future housewife. You say you want girls to get Solid education is everything. But what do we mean by education? In the past, it was mostly oral; All the knowledge that can be given, and more. Dr. Hummer, did it occur to you that the medieval form of dating is not as viable for modern teens as it is for today's weekend dates (wink)? -- Just kidding, I heard Beards A psychoanalyst at Leigh University allowed himself a date a few days ago. We live not only in the world of ideas, but also in the world of matter. Words without practice are empty. How could Dorothy Hemmerson Interested in Greek and Oriental slaves and concubines?

I was amazed by this show, but when I spoke to two bright ladies connected with the school, they both affirmed that the schoolgirls were indeed very fond of reading, and that the so-called "communication" principle was more or less ostentatious in order to give The old-style Beardsley School has been given a touch of modernity, although in reality it remains as prim as a prawn. The second reason this school appeals to me, which may sound funny to some readers, is important to me because that's how I grew up.Across the street, right in front of our house, I noticed a weedy ditch with some colorful bushes, a pile of bricks and a few planks here and there, and low quality lilac foam and chrome fall Roadside flowers; from that ditch just happened to be able to see a dimly lit school path parallel to Thayer Street, next to the school playground.In addition to the psychological comfort, this patchwork allows Dolly's day to be closely related to myself, and I immediately foresee the fun I will have: through high-power binoculars, I can enjoy the recess between classes from the study-bedroom. The other girls who played around Dolly at that time could statistically tell the proportion of nymphets among them; unfortunately, on the first day of school, the workers A fence was built in the place where I was, and soon, a yellow-brown wooden building was erected outside the fence, completely blocking my illusion; but when they had just installed materials capable of destroying everything, those absurd construction workers stopped again, Never showed up again.

On Thayer Street, in the green, yellow, and gold neighborhood of a small academic town, one was sure to run into a few friendly jovial guys who suddenly yelled at you.I'm proud of myself and our just-right level of relationship: polite yet distant.My Simon's neighbor, who may have been a businessman or a university teacher, or both, only trimmed the new garden or flushed the car, or defrosted the driveway at night (I don't care if the verbs are Not all wrong) talk to me occasionally; my simple grunts, which sound distinctly like superficial approval, or fill in the gaps after he's finished talking in confusion, completely rule out any possibility of a development toward intimacy sex.Of the two rooms opposite the overgrown rubbish, one was closed, and in the other were two professors of English, a short-haired Miss Lester in tweed and a faded Miss Fabian. The only subject of conversation with me on the sidewalk was (God bless their wit!) my daughter's youth, sweetness and Gaston Godin's innocent charm.My neighbor to the east gate, a pointy-nosed, plain-looking fellow, was by far the most dangerous of all, and her late brother had been the "building-cum-groundskeeper" of that college.I remember one time when I happened to be standing by the living room window restlessly waiting for my little sweetheart to come back from school, when she stopped Dolly on the way.The cloistered spinster, trying to hide her voyeuristic, secret morbidity under the mask of good wishes, stood leaning against a slender umbrella (the hail had just stopped and a cold, wet sun flashed out), Dolly, in spite of the cold weather, in her brown coat, her pile of books cradled to her chest, her pink knees showing above her heavy Wellington boots, in the style of a frightened little sheep. A smile flitted and disappeared from her small, snub-nosed face, which—perhaps because of the bleak, cold light—looked almost pale, that of a country girl in German, and she stopped to meet the east room. Missy questions like "Where's your mother, dear? What does your poor father do? Where did you live?" Another time, the obnoxious fellow accosted me in a pleading voice--but I avoided it. It opened; and a few days later she sent a note, in a blue-bordered envelope, a pretty mixture of venom and honey, inviting Dolly to come to her on Sunday and curl up in a chair and read "I A stack of books my dear mother gave me as a child instead of having the radio blaring all night long."

I also had to be wary of Mrs. Holligan, the handmaid and cook, who I inherited from a previous tenant, as well as a vacuum cleaner.Dolly eats lunch at school, so that's not a big problem, and I've also been able to make a big breakfast for her with skill, and I'll heat up the supper Mrs Holligan made before she left. This kind and harmless woman, thank God, has an eye so badly short-sighted that she can't see fine details, and I've long since become a great expert at making beds; Something had gone terribly wrong, or Holligan had come just in time for Lo to be there; it didn't happen very often, but once in a while the simple-minded Lo might fall for her in the midst of a nice kitchen chat. The allure of sympathy with solicitude.I often feel that we are living in a brightly lit glass room, where at any moment a sheepskin face with a thin lip can peer through a window that has been carelessly forgotten to draw, trying to catch a glimpse of what most voyeurs must have. Things that cost money to see.

Tell me about Gaston Godin.I gladly—or at least tolerated with relief—his company, chiefly because his open-minded attitude towards my secrecy gave me absolute security.Not that he knew everything; I had no particular reason to trust him with secrets, and he was too self-absorbed to notice or doubt anything that would make him ask a frank question and I should give a blunt answer. He complimented me to the Beardsleys, and he was my good messenger.Even if he found out about my lust and Lolita's identity, it only interested him in trying to figure out my loyalty to him, which was as harsh as my attitude toward obscenities. Demanding; for, in spite of his pale mind and hazy memory, he probably understood that I knew him better than the native citizen of Beardsley.He was a weak-willed, impressionable, melancholy bachelor with narrow, unbalanced shoulders and a conical, pear-shaped head, his greasy black hair combed on one side and on the other. Only a few are left on the side.His lower body was thick, and when he walked, he looked like a clumsy spy, and his legs were surprisingly fat.He always wore black, even with a black tie; he rarely took a shower;Even so, everyone thinks he's an extremely cute, cute and weird guy!Neighbors pampered him: he knew the names of all the kids in the neighborhood (he lived a few blocks away from me), and would often call in some to sweep the sidewalks for him, burn the leaves in his backyard, clear logs from the cabin, or Doing chores around the house, he feeds them wonderful chocolates, still stuffed with pure wine--he has a den in the cellar furnished with oriental furniture, and a playful dagger and pistol on a gray wall with decorative frescoes, surrounded by camouflaged hot water pipes.Upstairs, he has a studio--he paints a little too, old crook.He uses the melancholic André Gide, Tchaikovsky, Norman Douglas, and two other famous British writers, Nijinsky (all thighs and fig leaves), Harold D. Large photographs of Burnham (Misty Eyes, a left-wing professor at a Midwestern university) and Marshall Proust adorn that sloping wall.All of these people seem to be falling at you from a sloping wall.He also has a photo album, which contains pictures of all the boys and girls in the neighborhood. When I flipped through it with my thumb and made some casual comments, Gaston pursed his lips and muttered in a low voice:

"Yeah. They're nice" His brown eyes are still in all sorts of sentimental, artistic bric-a-brac and his own well-worn canvases (traditionally painted childish eyes, dismantled guitars, blue nipples and geometric design time) turning around and gesturing vaguely at the finished wooden bowl or the veined vase, he said, "Take a pear. The kind lady across the way gave me too much, and I Can't taste that much." Or "Miss Lowe just sent me these beautiful dahlias, but I hate them." (Melancholy, sad, full of world-weariness.) For two or three times a week I would rather have him come to my house than to his, for obvious reasons.He sat with his stubby hands on his lap like an old battered doll, and stared at the chessboard as though it were a dead body.Panting, he had to think about it for ten minutes - walk out or lose.Or else, after thinking for a while, the good man announced slowly, like an old dog, in a low voice: "General!" He immediately raised his curved eyebrows and sighed deeply.

Sometimes, from where we sat in the study, I could hear Lo practicing her dance moves in the downstairs bedroom, but Gaston's outside perception was numbed, and he was deaf to the obvious rhythms—one, two, one. , two, shift the weight to the straight right leg, raise the leg, extend sideways, and one, two; only when she starts to jump, do the splits as she jumps, one leg bends, the other stretches back, flies up, lands again Only then would my pale, proud, bad-tempered opponent scratch his head or face, seeming to confuse the distant thud with the thrust of my imposing queen. Sometimes when we were thinking about chess moves, Lola walked in stooping—it was a pleasure to see Gaston every time, his elephant eyes still fixed on his chess pieces, and he only got up to shake hands with her politely, Without looking at her, she quickly let go of her soft fingers, sat back in the chair and fell into the trap I set for him.One day around Christmas, when I hadn't seen him for almost two weeks, he asked me "all your little girls, how are they?" My eyes glimpsed a Lolita array of clothing that doubled that of my only daughter: blue jeans, skirts, shorts, a padded gown.

I don't want to spend much time talking about the poor man (sadly, a year ago, during a trip to Europe, he got involved in a nasty affair in Naples and never came back!) If he hadn't been in Biel I may not mention him at all, I need him as my bodyguard.He lacks talent, a mediocre teacher, an ineffective scholar, a sullen, indifferent old fat gay with a high disdain for the American way of life and complete ignorance of the English language -- in a pretentious way The old New England, the old man praises Pond, the young man embraces him--oh, he's so pompous, but he's made a fool of them all; and I'm not.

I am now faced with the tedious task of documenting the exact circumstances in which Lolita's qualities have fallen.If the part of her fire which she ignites had not been so ardent, pure riches would not have come to her.But I'm weak, I'm not smart, and my schoolgirl nymphets make me a willing slave.With the shrinking of the human environment, there can only be an increase in tenderness and pain; and she has taken advantage of this. Her weekly allowance, conditional on her fulfilling essential duties, was twenty-one cents at the beginning of the Beardsley period—rising to a dollar and a half by the end of the period.Besides, she gets various little presents from me from time to time.If you want, you can eat candied fruit or watch an open-air movie.That's generous enough.Of course, I'd be happy to ask her for one more kiss, or even a fondling if I sensed that she was craving some kind of child's entertainment.But she is really difficult to deal with.She languishes on threepence or three nickels a day; and what a ruthless negotiator she proves to be whenever she has the power to deny me some sort of life-savior, such as a strange, slow aphrodisiac; I could not live even a few days without that medicine; yet, because the nature of lust is so weak, I cannot achieve it by force.She knew the magic of those soft lips, and she was able to--in one year of school! --increase the expensive interest rate for a hug to three or even four dollars, oh, don't laugh, imagine I'm hanging on the scaffold of happiness, it's like a crazy machine that clanks and spews riches, clamors Spit out dimes and quarters and big silver dollars; and she, seeing me in a state of madness, clutches a handful of them in her little fist, which I can always pry open afterward, unless she takes advantage of me Bu Bei ran aside to hide her loot.Every other day, I have to patrol around the school, step into the pharmacy in a daze, peep into the foggy deep alley, and eavesdrop on the distant laughter of the schoolgirls echoing between my trembling heart and the fallen leaves, I From time to time, I would sneak into her room, examine the torn pieces of paper in the trash basket with roses painted on it, and carefully look under the pillow of the maiden bed I made with my own hands.Once I found eight one-dollar bills in one of her books (what a coincidence - "Treasure Island"), and another time I found twenty-four $ and some change--twenty-four sixty cents in all--I smuggled away, and the next day she accused Mrs. Holligan of being a vile thief.In the end she intellectually found another safer depository, which I never found; but since then I have made her work hard to get permission to take part in the school play, and I have reduced her value entirely. ;Because what I am most afraid of is not that she may destroy me, but that she will save enough money and run away.I'm sure the poor, fierce-eyed kid figured out that with fifty dollars in her purse she could go to Broadway or Hollywood--or some stinky restaurant in the middle of nowhere beyond the prairies (jobs!); Blowing, stars are flashing, cars, taverns, bartenders, everything is dirty, broken, and dead. Your Excellency, I have done everything I can to deal with the boys.Oh, and I even dived into the so-called "Junior Column" in the Beardsley Star, trying to find the code of conduct! Advice to father.Don't scare your daughter's friends away.Maybe it's not easy for you to realize that boys are finding her attractive these days.To you, she is still a little girl.In the eyes of boys, she is charming and funny, cute and lively.They like her, today you are the big manager of the office, yesterday you were not the middle school student Jim Ben who carried Jane's textbooks.remember?Now that your daughter has her chance, don't you want her to be happy in the adoration and company of the boy she likes?Don't you want them to have complete fun together? Complete fun!Good God! Why not treat the young man as a guest at home?Why not talk to them?Make them tell the truth, make them laugh, make them feel at ease? You are welcome, young man, to this brothel. If she breaks the rules, don't blow it up in front of her male partner.Let her know about your unpleasant inner conflicts in private.Don't make the boys think she's the daughter of a troll. Initially, the ogre wrote two sheets titled "Completely Forbidden" and "Barely Allowed".A complete no-no is single or double or triple dating - the next step, of course, is mass orgies.She could hang out with her girlfriend at the candy store, giggling with the young men she happened to meet while I waited in the car at a careful distance; For the annual ball (of course there will be a lot of female partners), I will consider whether a fourteen-year-old girl can wear her debut "evening dress" (a kind of gown that makes girls with thin arms look like flamingos) .Also, I promised her a dance at our house, and she could invite her prettier girlfriends and the nicer boys she'd met at Butler's ball. Just one thing, as long as I'm in power, I will never, never allow her to go to the movies with young men in love, or make love to each other in a car, or go to a mixed dance party at a classmate's house, or go to a party where I can hear her. And beyond, having endless male-female phone conversations, even if "just about his relationship with a friend of mine." Lo was so indignant at all of this—she called me a vile villain, or worse—that if I hadn't quickly discovered that what really made her angry was not a single pleasure I was depriving her of, but rights in general, which would have made me mad. I feel relieved secretly, otherwise I must be thunderous.You see, I infringe on agreed upon items, common pastimes, "perfectly legitimate" affairs, and routines of youth; but none should be more cautious than a child, especially a girl, like October orchard mist One of the most auburn and mythical nymphets of her kind. Don't get me wrong.I'm not absolutely sure that throughout the winter she had no occasion to have casual, unusual contact with young strangers; of course, no matter how closely I controlled her leisure, there were always inexplicable time gaps, and she always used them as soon as she recalled them. Extremely complicated explanations to jam, and of course my jagged paws of envy can always catch this nymphet's false texture; but I do feel - and now certify the accuracy of my feelings - that no serious warning is given at all. reason.I think so, not because I've never caught a guttural teenage voice flirting with mutes of the same sex; but because I "know too well" (my Aunt Sybil's common phrase) that all kinds of middle school boys- --from the sweaty, "hands-on" goofy kid to the self-satisfied rapist with the scars on his face and a constant drive-up car--everything my seasoned, teenage hostess hated. "The noise these boys make makes me sick," she scribbled in her textbook, along with a sly quibble from Mona (who is always so apt now: "Shake the reel How about the man of the wheel?" (also just right). Shamelessly, it was the dandies I happened to meet among his company.Like "Red Sweater," one day, the day we had our first snow—he was taking her home; I stood by the living room window and saw them talking in the front yard of my house.She wore a cotton coat with a fur collar; a brown hat topped my favorite hairstyle—bangs in front, small curls on both sides, big waves in the back, wet black moccasins and The white socks were covered in mud.She talked for a while and listened for a while, habitually holding the book against her chest, and her feet kept making gestures: her feet touched each other, moved backwards, crossed her feet, shook them, and took another eight steps , all over again.Another time was on a Sunday afternoon, "Leather Jacket" was talking to her in front of the restaurant. His parents and sister tried to send me away to chat;She has developed more than one habitual gesture, such as tilting her head, which is a polite way for young people to indicate that so-and-so has "sleeped together", and (when she heard my cry), Still pretending to be joking, took two steps back, looked around, and smiled when he walked towards me.On the other hand, I love her way of moaning—perhaps because it always reminds me of her unforgettable first confession—"Oh, my dear!", humorous and sad resignation to fate , or when the blow of fate did strike, she uttered a long "no--" in a deep bass.Besides--because we're talking sports and youth now--I've always liked to watch her run up and down Thayer Street on her beautiful bicycle: stepping on the pedals, pedaling eagerly, and as the speed slackened itself, she Leaning back, her posture faltered; then she stopped by our letter box, with her legs still straddling the car, took out a magazine from the box, rummaged through it, and rolled it out again, with the center of her tongue touching the side of her upper lip , kicked up the car with one foot, and ran at full speed under the bleak tree sprouts and sunlight. In short, thinking of my spoiled little slave girl and the bracelet of behavior she had so innocently touched the previous winter in California, it seemed to me that she was more attuned to her surroundings than I had hoped.Although I will never be able to adapt to the state of constant anxiety, in which evil, greatness and goodness exist, I feel that I am doing everything I can to learn to do.Lying on my cramped bed in my study after another disappointment with Lori's cold bedroom love, I would always review the whole day, checking my image so that it lingered in front of the brain's red eyes instead of passing by . I saw Dr. Humbert, dark and handsome, not non-Celtic, probably Higher Church, maybe higher, watching his daughter go off to school.I saw him smile and greet the black-toed-to-brow dopey Mrs. Holligan with a happy arched hand, who reeked of the plague (her first move, I know, was towards the master's gin).Mr. West, a retired administrator or a writer of religious treatises -- who cares? --I saw him and his neighbor--what was his name, I think they were French or Swiss--sitting in his brightly lit study at the typewriter in bony profile, on his pale brow, Has curly Hitler hair.On weekends, Professor Heng is likely to be seen strolling with his daughter in a well-tailored coat and brown gloves to the Walton Tavern (famous for its pottery squirrels and chocolate boxes with violet ribbons, just sit down Wait for a "table for two" that still has your ex's crumbs all over it. And see me majesticly saluting the hundred-eyed Easter around one o'clock in the afternoon on a weekday while pulling the car out of the auto factory , bypassing the damn Holly, and headed for the smooth road. In the sweltering Beardsley University library, lifting a cold eye from a book to look at a watch, catching in a hulking young woman a flood of human knowledge, dazed for it, and University Reverend Rigg (who also Taught at Beardsley School and taught the Bible) Walked the campus. "Someone told me her mom was a great actress and died in a plane accident. Oh? I was wrong, maybe. Is that so? I get it. How bad." I slowly pushed the trolley through the supermarket maze after Wei Jiao picked him up, he was also a slow-moving, kind-hearted widower with a pair of goat eyes. Usually he only wore a shirt and a long black and white scarf around his neck Shoveling snow. Without hesitation (even wiping her feet on the straw mat) I followed my schoolgirl daughter into the house. Taking Dolly to the dentist--beautiful nurse looking at her with glowing eyes- - old magazines. To take Dolly into town for dinner, and to see Mr. Edgar H. Humbert with a knife and fork on a steak was very Continental.Similarly, enjoy a concert: two stern-faced and calm Frenchmen sit beside them, Mr. Henry Heng's young daughter who loves music sits on the right of his father, Professor Wei (who spent time in Providence) A Healthy Night) His youngest son who loves music sits on the left of Mr. G·G.In the open garage, a flood of lights engulfed the cars and went out. In her smart pajamas, she hurried to draw down the curtains in Dolly's bedroom.On Saturday morning, invisible to anyone, the little girl, bleached by winter, was lying majestically in the bathroom.On Sunday mornings, the non-church-goers saw and heard me say to Dolly, don't be too late, she's going to the shaded courtyard, and I could tolerate an observant eccentric classmate of Dolly's saying, "I'm the first This is the first time I've ever seen a man in a smoking suit, sir—except in movies, of course." Her girlfriend, whom I wanted so much to meet, turned out to be a big disappointment.Opel Somser, Lynda Hall, Avich Chapman, Egan Rosen, and Mona Dahl (all but one, of course, are phonetic names).Opal was a shy, shaggy, bespectacled, acne-prone little guy who doted on Dolly, who was always bullying her.Linda Hall was the school tennis champion, with whom Dolly played singles at least twice a week: I guess Linda was a real nymphet, but for some reason she didn't come - probably not allowed - to our family Therefore, in my memory, she can only be a natural sunlight shining in the courtyard, and the rest, except Eva Rosen, are not qualified to be nymphets.Avis is a blunt bastard with hairy legs, and Mona, although she is handsome in a rough way, is only a year older than my little housewife, and if she was ever a nymphet, she is obviously past it now passed that stage.Eva Rosen is a French immigrant, but she is a child who does not have the appearance of a closed moon. To the discerning pseudo-expert, she still has the basic charm of a nymphet, such as a perfect adolescent body, attached eyes and protruding eyes. Out of the cheekbones.Her wet copper hair had Lo's smooth silkiness, and her creamy delicate face, pink lips, and whitebait lashes were less cunning than those of her kind; nor did she flaunt the green of the redhead family. Uniforms, as far as I remember, she wore many black or cherry colors - such as a stylish black pullover, a pair of high-heeled black shoes, and dark red nail polish.I spoke French to her (Jeanlot was disgusted).The child's voice quality is still amazingly pure, but when it comes to school language or game language, she lets the popular American accent and a little bit of Brooklyn pop up: it's funny in a little Parisian , she went to a well-chosen New England school with pseudo-British aspirations.Unfortunately, though "the French kid's uncle" was a millionaire," Lo somehow broke off with her before I could admire her fragrant presence in Humbert's open room. Readers know, How important these consolation prize nymphets around Lolita meant to me. One day I tried to shift my interest to Mona Dahl, who came to my house a lot, especially during the spring term when Lo and her drama-crazed I have often wondered what secrets the furious and treacherous Dolores Haze taught Mona, because in moments of her urgent request, she often told me without thinking that Mona told a sailor by the sea She gets paid handsomely for the truly revealing details of the sexual affairs that take place. That's Lo's signature, she brings to her all the softest, coldest, nastiest, most sophisticated young women. Best friend, I overheard her (misheard, Lo swears) happily joking with Lo in the hallway once - she also talked about her (Lo's) sweater being made of raw wool: "As for you , baby, the only thing is..." She had a weird husky voice, long dark hair with artistic waves, earrings, amber eyes, and sexy lips. Lo said the teachers used to think of her wearing so many and The jewelry that matches the costume has been advised. Her hands are shaking. Her IQ is 150. I also know that she has a huge chocolate-colored mole on her back that looks like a mature woman. Ye Luo went to the Butler Institute with her that night I saw it when I went to the prom to wear a long dress with a very low neckline, a light color, and a steamed bun shape. It's a little early for me to talk about going to school that year, but it's my memory that jumps to this keyboard involuntarily.I'd love to know what boys Lo knew, but Miss Dahl graciously avoided it.Lo went to Linda's country club to play tennis, and called to say she might be half an hour late, so asked if I could entertain Mona, who had come to her to practice the Taming of the Shrew.She stared at me in all soft tones, all seductive ways, perhaps with -- Am I mistaken? --With a faint sarcasm, the beautiful Mona replied: "Well, sir, the truth is that Dolly doesn't care much about boys. The truth is, we're rivals, and she and I are both obsessed with Reverend Rigg." (This is a joke—I already mentioned the dour old Lux, with a horse chin: I was so annoyed that I wanted to kill him when he talked about his impressions of Switzerland at a parents' tea party; I just don't know where to put that tea party in the chronological order.) The dance How about it?Oh, it was a riot.What time?It was a panic.You know, it's scary.How much did Luo dance?Oh, not too scary, just dance as much as you can.What does she, depressed Mona, think of Luo?what sir?Does she think Lo is doing well in school?Ah, she was still a child.But her general performance -- ?Oh she's great.But her? "噢，她是个小乖乖。"莫娜下了这结论，又突然叹息一声，摘起手边的一本书，故意改变表情，皱起额头，问道："对我说说鲍尔·扎克吧，先生。他真地那么出色吗？"她把椅子向我挪来，那么近，我透过洗浴液和奶蜜油脂嗅出了她皮肤的芳香，但那令人兴味索然；猛地一个奇异的念头刺伤了我：我的洛是不是在充当拉皮条的角色？如果是这样，她就找错了对象。避开莫娜冰凉的目光，我讲了一会文学。不久多丽回来了--眯起眼睛看我们。我听任这两个朋友去自由捣鬼。楼梯拐角处一扇爬满蜘蛛的门或小窗，闪着红宝石色的光，而在一尘不染的长方形和它不对称的位置中间皮开肉绽的伤疼---一名骑士从上面走过--总是奇怪地扰乱我。