Chapter 14 Chapter Thirteen

Sometimes... Say, how often, Bert?Can you recall four, five or more of these moments?Or can no one's heart be resurrected twice or thrice?Sometimes (I have no answer to your answer), when Lolita happens to remember her homework, she leans lazily in an easy chair with her pen in her mouth, her legs resting on the armrests, and I would like to get rid of all my Be a teacher's bondage, give up all our arguments, forget all my masculinity--kneel faithfully to your chair, my Lolita!You'll glance at me--a gloomy, soft question mark: "Oh no, stop doing that" (doubt, anger); because you'll never condescend to believe that I have no particular purpose but to bury my head in In your tartan skirt, my dear!Your bare frail arms - how I longed to hold them, all your transparent, lovely limbs, like a tight little zebra, hold your face in my unworthy palms and hold you The temples on either side pushed back, kissed your dark eyes, and—"Please, leave me alone, please," you'd say, "For God's sake, leave me alone Go ahead." I'll rise from the ground while you watch, your face writhing in imitation of my twitching nerves.But never mind, never mind I'm a womanizer, never mind, let's get on with my painful story.

One Monday morning, I think it was November, Pratt called me in for a talk.Dolly had a bad grade report last time, and I know that.But instead of consoling myself with the plausible reasons for this calling, I imagined all sorts of dreadful scenarios, and armed myself with a pint before going to the appointment.Then, as Adam's apple and Adam's heart, I walked slowly up to the gallows. A tall, gray-haired, scruffy woman with a broad flat nose and small eyes behind black-rimmed spectacles -- "Sit down," she said, pointing to an informal, insulting set of short feet and she sat with tiresome vivacity on the arm of an oak chair.For a few moments she stared at me curiously, smiling.

I remember her being like that when we first met, but I could still frown back then.Her eyes leave me.She was lost in thought - probably faking it.Determined, she rubbed her black-gray flannel skirt layer after layer over her knees, trying to get rid of chalk dust or something.Then she said, still rubbing, without looking up: "I'm asking you an abrupt question, Mr. Haze. You're an old Continental father, aren't you?" "Why, no," I said, "maybe conservative, but not what you'd call old-fashioned." She sighed, frowned, and suddenly clapped her big hands together in a gesture of getting to work, She stared at me again with her shining eyes.

"Dolly Haze," she said, "was a lovely child, but the early onset of sexual maturity seemed to trouble her." I bent slightly.What can I do? "Her anal and genital area now—" Miss Pratt said, gesturing with her liver-spotted hands, "is developing erratically, and she's basically a lovely— ""What did you say," I said, "what area?" "That's the old European look in you!" exclaimed Miss Pratt, tapping my watch and snapping her false teeth shut again. "What I'm talking about is the evolution of Dolly's physical and mental abilities -- do you smoke? -- not, so to speak -- into a harmonious and complete form." She made a melon shape with her hands, There was a pause. ""She is charming, careless but smart" (breathing heavily, without leaving her high seat, the woman took the time to look at the report of the lovely child on the table to her right). "Her grades are getting better and better." Difference.Now, I suspect, Mr. Haze--" Another feigned pause.

"Of course," she went on with interest, "as for me, I smoke, as Dr. Powles used to say: I'm not proud of it, I just like it." She lit a cigarette, and the smoke from her nostrils was like a pair of ivory. "I'll tell you the details, and it won't be long. Let me see now (rumouring through her papers). She defied Miss Redcock and was rude to Miss Cormorant. Is our special report: Singing happily with the whole class, but seems to be absent-minded. Sometimes crosses legs and shakes left leg to beat time. Types of slang: 242 words. Sighing in class. I think Think. Yeah. Let's say the last week of November, moaning in class.

Chew the gum hard.No bad nail-biting habits, if any, would be consistent with her general behavior - of course, according to science.According to the curriculum, menstruation class is about to start.Not currently affiliated with any church organization.By the way, Mr. Haze, is her mother--?Oh, I see.You are--?I think that man and God have nothing to do with each other.We also want to know something else.She doesn't have any family responsibilities, I think.Think of your Dolly as a princess, Mr. Haze, huh?What else?Cherish books.The voice speaks to the ear.Always giggle.like fantasy.Have your own banter and humor, for example, by swapping the first letter of the teacher's name.Shiny dark brown hair, very sexy - of course (laughs) you know that, I think.The bridge of the nose is clear, the arch of the feet is large, the eyes--I think, I have an updated report here.Aha, here it is.Gold said Miss Dolly's tennis was the best, even better than Lynda Hall's, but the concentration and focus were only "average".Miss Cormorant was not sure whether Dolly had unusual emotional control or not at all, and Miss Horne reported that she, -- I mean Dolly, couldn't verbalize her feelings, and according to the Cole team It is said that Dolly's metabolism is extremely efficient.Miss Mora thinks that Dolly is short-sighted and should see an ophthalmologist, but Miss Redcock insists that girls fake eye fatigue to avoid punishment for poor academic performance.And all in all, Mr. Haze, our investigators are deeply puzzled by some key facts.Now I want to ask you.I was wondering about your poor wife or yourself, or the rest of the family - I presume how many aunts and a grandfather she had in California?Oh, there used to be! --I'm sorry--so we all wondered if someone in the family had ever taught her the whole process of breastfeeding.The fifteen-year-old Dolly gave the general impression of being sexually uninterested and unhealthy, or rather, suppressing her curiosity to hide her ignorance and self-esteem.Well - fourteen.You see, Mr. Haze, the Beardsley School does not believe in bees and flowers, or cranes and lovebirds, but does believe in preparing its pupils for future intercourse and successful parenting.We feel that as long as Dori can focus on her work, she will make extraordinary progress.Miss Cormorant's report is very significant in this respect.To put it mildly, Dolly is going astray more and more.We all feel, number one, you should let your family doctor tell her the truth about life, and number two, you should allow her to go to the senior club or to Dr. Rigg's party, or to go to a classmate's house with her classmate. brothers having fun together. "

"She can meet boys in her own lovely home," I said. "I hope so," said Pratt cheerfully. "We asked about Dolly's troubles, and she wouldn't talk about things at home, but we talked to some of her friends, and indeed—for example, we insisted that you Don't ban her from the drama group. You should allow her to play "The Hunted Sorcerer."In the preview, she was so good as the little goddess: the author will come to Beardsley University for a few days in the spring, and maybe come to our new auditorium for a rehearsal or two.I mean being young and alive and beautiful is all part of the fun.You should understand--" "I always thought of myself," I said, "as an understanding father. "

"Oh, no doubt, no doubt, but Miss Cormorant thinks, and I'm inclined to agree with her, that Dolly was obsessed with sexual thoughts, and she couldn't find an outlet to play with other girls, so that They suffer, even our young educators, because they too often have chaste dates with boys." I shrug, a vile exile. "Let's get down to it, Mr. Haze, what the hell is going on with this kid?" "She's normal and happy with me," I said (disaster at last? Have I been discovered? Do they have a hypnotist?) "What makes me anxious," said Miss Pratt, While looking at his watch, he was about to repeat the topic again, "Teachers and classmates found Dolly to be hostile, unhappy, and reserved--and everyone wondered why you were so firmly opposed to everything that a normal child would do." Natural entertainment."

"Are you talking about sex games?" I asked smugly, disappointed, an old rat with horns. "Well, I certainly welcome the civilized term," Platt said, grinning. "But that's not the point. Beardsley plays conservation; dancing and other nature activities are not specifically sexual play, although girls do want to touch boys if that's what you object to." "Okay," I said, and my ottoman let out an impatient sigh. "You win. She gets to go and rehearse the play. On condition that the male role is filled by a woman." "I'm always," said Pratt, "the admirable way in which foreigners.--or at least naturalized--use our language. I believe Miss Gold , she is the director of the set and would be ecstatic. I noticed that she seemed to like--I mean, she seemed to be one of the teachers who found Dolly to be very docile. This only deals with the general Problem, I thought; and now there's something special. We're in trouble again."

Pratt paused hostilely, then rubbed her index finger under her nostril so hard her nose did a war dance. "I'm a frank man," she said, "but habit is habit, and I find it hard... Let me put it this way... The Walkers live in that big gray mansion we call the Duke's on the nearby hill-- -They sent two daughters to our school, and we also have President Moore's niece, a very nice kid, not to mention a few other prominent kids. Looks like a little lady in this environment It's shocking that Dolly is using words that you, a foreigner, probably don't know or understand. Better—would you like me to bring Dolly together right now? No. You see - oh well, let's get to the end of it alone. Dolly scribbled gossip in Miss Redcock's health booklet with her lipstick, and our Dr. Cutler told me it was Mexican piss , those brochures are given out to the girls by Miss Redcock, who is getting married in June. We think she'll have to stay a few more hours—at least half an hour. But if you'd like—""No, "I said, 'I don't want to break the rules. I'll talk to her later. I'll work it out.'"

"Should," said the woman, getting up from her armrest. "Maybe we'll meet again soon, and if things don't improve, we can ask Dr. Cutler to analyze her" Should I marry Pratt and strangle her? "...perhaps your family doctor would like to do a physical exam on her - just a routine check. She's in the mushroom house - the last classroom down the hall." Perhaps it can be explained that Beardsley School modeled on a famous girls' school in England, and nicknamed each classroom, "Mushroom House", "Eight in the House", "B House", "House BA" and so on. The "mushroom house" stinks, Reynolds' ink "The Age of Innocence" follows on the blackboard, and there are rows of stupid-looking desks.In one row, my Lolita was reading the "Dialogue" chapter of Baker's "Acting Technique," and there was no sound in the room, and there was another girl with a small porcelain-white neck, a lot of nudity, and a golden hair. Sitting in the front, reading too, completely immersed in that world, endlessly twirling a soft lock of hair with your fingers.I sat down beside Dolly, just behind that neck, that hair, and unbuttoned my overcoat; for sixty-five cents plus admission to the Academy play, Dolly had her ink chalky and red-knuckle Put your hands under the table.Oh, how stupid and reckless I was, there is no doubt about it, but after my torture, I could only use the alliance, but I know the alliance is gone forever. As Christmas approached, she caught a bad cold, and was examined by a friend of Miss Lay's, Dr. Ilse Trastramson (Hey, Ilse, you are sincere, Non-obsessive, you touched my pigeons very tenderly).She diagnosed her with bronchitis, patted Lo on the back (which was flushed with fever) and put her in bed for a week or more.At first, as the Americans say, she was "on the temperature," and I couldn't resist the unexpected pleasure—fever—Venus' mild fever—even though what was moaning, coughing, shaking in my arms was very Weak Lolita.As soon as she recovered, I threw parties with boys. Maybe I drank a little too much in preparation for this ordeal.Maybe I'm fooling myself.The girls had decorated a small fur tree, plugged it up and turned it on--a German custom, only with colored lights instead of candles.Records were selected and filled into my landlord's phonograph.Pretty Dolly wore a smart gray blouse with a fitted bodice and a skirt that flared out.I retreated to my upstairs study, humming a song--every ten or twenty minutes thereafter, I walked down like an idiot for a few seconds; With each visit, these simple actions become harder and harder to do.It reminds me of a dreadful distant day when I used to walk casually into the room where little Carmen lived at the Ramsdale Villa. The party was unsuccessful.Of the three girls who were invited, one didn't show up at all, and one boy brought his cousin Roy, so there were two more men; The other two didn't know anything, and spent most of the night fooling around in the kitchen, and then they argued endlessly about what cards to play, and for a while, the two women and four men opened all the windows and sat down. On the bedroom floor, playing a game of charades that Opel couldn't figure out; Mona and Roy, a tall, slender, handsome fellow, were sitting at the kitchen table, dangling their legs, drinking Drinking ginger ale, discussing "Fate" and "Equal Law" enthusiastically.After they'd all left, my Lo said "wow," closed her eyes, and slumped into a chair with her limbs spread like a sea cart, expressing her utter disgust and boredom, and swore she'd never seen anything like it before. Nasty boys.For this comment alone, I bought her a new pair of tennis rackets. January was humid and warm, and February was a weather that no one in the city had ever experienced, and other gifts came in a hurry.I bought her a bicycle for her birthday, like a deer, those beautiful machines I've already mentioned--and there's also a History of Modern American Painting: the way she rides, I mean her ride , the movement of the hips, that grace, etc., gave me great pleasure; she wondered if the lad taking his nap on Doris Lee's hay was the father of the brutish girl in the foreground , and can't understand why I say Grant Wood or Peter Hurd are good and Reginald March or Frederick Waugh are bad. When spring adorned Thayer Street in yellow, green, and pink, Lolita's aspirations to become an actress were irrevocably born.I happened to spot Pratt lunching with some people at the Walton Hotel one Sunday, and she saw me from a distance, clapped her hands discreetly out of sympathy, and Lo didn't look.I have a deep abhorrence of the theater, historically a primitive and decaying form; a form of stone-age manners, full of tribal frivolity, though there is an element of personal genius in, say, Elizabethan poetry, but But a reciter in a secret room mixed it into a bunch of nonsense and spit it out.At that time, my literary work took up most of my time and I didn't have time to read "The Enchanted Hunter" in its entirety, in which Dolores Haze was cast as a farmer's daughter who Fancy being the Witch of the Woodlands, or Diana, etc. With a hypnosis book, she puts a lot of lost hunters into all sorts of interesting trances before the bard (Mona Dahl) casts a spell to subdue her.That's all I know, from the crumpled, messed-up scripts that Luo San threw up the whole house.The coincidence of the play's title with the name of a memorable hotel was somewhat sadly enjoyable: I frailly thought it better not attract the attention of my witches, lest a tearful accusation should hurt me badly More than her unawareness hurts me.I assumed that the skit was merely a rehash of some obscure old myth.Of course, nothing prevents one from guessing that, in finding an intriguing name, the founder of the hotel did not hesitate, and was influenced only by the occasional whims of the second-rate muralist he employed, and that the name of the hotel later suggested The name of the play.But in my credulous, simple, and benevolent heart, I happened to think the other way around, and without actually thinking more about the matter, I guessed that the name of the mural hotel and the title of the play came from the same source, that is, a certain local tradition, That was beyond me, a stranger with no knowledge of New England folklore.So I've got the impression (all of it accidental, you know, unimportant) that this nasty skit is one of those teenage consumptive fantasies that put old wine in new bottles, like Richard Rowe's Hansel and Gretel, or Dorothy Doe's, or The Emperor's New Clothes by Maurice Vermont and Marion Lapelmeyer -- all of them would do Find it in any copy of School Actors' Plays or Let's Try Acting!In other words, I don't actually know -- and wouldn't care, even if I did -- that "The Enchanted Hunter" is a technically novel recent production, premiered only three or four months ago by a self-proclaimed knowledgeable cast in New York. of.To me--I judge from my dear side--it seems a melancholy fantasy, full of the techniques of Lenormand, Maeterlinck, and various Anglicized dreamers.Among the hunters in red hats and costumes, the first is a banker, another is a plumber, the third is a policeman, the fourth is an entrepreneur, the fifth is an insurer, and the sixth is a fugitive (Look at the coincidence!), they underwent a complete brain-change in Dolly's Glen, remembering their real life only as a dream or a nightmare, and little Diana awakened them again; but the seventh The hunter (with a cuckold, the fool) is a young poet, and, much to Diana's chagrin, he insists that she and the entertainment she provides (dancing nymphs, gnomes, devils) are the creation of his poet .I know that in the end it was Barefoot Dolores, with a deep abhorrence of such self-righteousness, who led checkered Mona to her father's farm behind "Adventure Forest" to prove to the braggarts that she was not the result of a poet's fantasy, but a Very, very realistic country girl -- the last-minute kiss will enhance the profound connotation of the whole play, specifically, fantasy and reality blend in love.I thought it would be wiser not to criticize anything in front of Lo: she was so preoccupied with "the matter of expression" and so lovingly folded her delicate Florentine hands, blinking her eyelashes, and begging me not to act like some absurd Parents go to rehearsals because she wants to surprise me dizzyingly with "First Night" -- and because, I'm always busy, say the wrong thing, or get in the way of her acting in front of others. It was a very special rehearsal...my heart, my heart.... It was a May day, marked by gray showers—all rolling away, beyond my vision and beyond my memory, and it was near evening when I saw Lo again, straddling the On the bicycle, with my palm pressed against the wet trunk of a young birch tree beside our lawn, I was overwhelmed by the gentleness of her smile, and for a moment I believed that our troubles were over. "Do you remember," she said, "the name of that hotel, you know (nose wrinkled), say, you know - the lobby with its white columns and marble swans? Oh, you know (breathing Squeeze) -- that's the hotel where you raped me. Well, let's not talk about that. I mean, is it (almost a whisper) called The Witch Hunter? well, is it? (thoughtfully) Really? "--Then, with an affectionate and soft smile like spring, she clapped her palms towards the smooth tree trunk a few times, then rode up the dirt slope, rode to the end of the street, and rode back again, pedaling on the stationary pedal, in a posture Relaxed, one hand resting on the calico-covered thigh as if in a dream. As if to limit her interest in dancing and theatre, I allowed Lo to play the piano nude with a Miss Emperor (as we French scholars are accustomed to call her), from Beardsley to her white house with blue shutters. Almost a mile away, Lo runs twice a week on his bike.On a Friday night near the end of May (just a week or so after Lo would not allow me to attend that rehearsal) I was in my study concentrating on clearing out Gustav's - I mean Gaston's - King's Wing when the phone rang. Miss Emperor asked if Luo would come next Tuesday, because she had already missed last Tuesday and today's class.I said of course she would go - and continued my game. The reader may well imagine that my intellect was seriously damaged at the moment, and I discovered through my depressed mood that a step or two later was enough to make Gaston take my queen lightly; he also noticed it, but misunderstood it This might be a trap set by his opponent, so he hesitated for a moment, let out his breath, panted a few more times, shook his chin, and even cast a sneaky glance at me, holding the chess piece with his short, pudgy, wrinkled hands , hesitantly half-push and half-back--eager to take my energetic queen but balking at it--suddenly, he eats one of my carts (who knows if this will teach him something about aggressiveness? spirit?), it took me an hour to finally find a draw.He drained his brandy and walked away, quite satisfied with the draw (I have never seen you since, my old friend, although you have read the pages of my book The chances are not many, but let me say to you, I will shake your hand with sincerity, and let me tell you that my little girls greet you all the way).I found Dolores Haze at the kitchen table, devouring a meatloaf, her eyes fixed on her script.Those eyes lifted up to meet my gaze, which was filled with the confusion of being immersed in the kingdom of heaven.Despite my observations, she displayed a remarkable indifference and assumed a false air.She knew she was an evil child who only used those music lessons because she couldn't resist magic—oh reader, my reader!Yiyi and Mona went to a nearby park to rehearse the magic forest scene.I said "okay" and strode over to the phone.Mona's mother replied, "Oh, yes, she's home," and then, with her mother's forced laugh, yelled upstairs, "Roy's calling!" After seeing it, she began to scold Roy for something she said or did in her low, monotonous and gentle voice. I interrupted her, and Mona immediately switched to the most humble and sexy contralto and said, "Yes , sir," sure, sir," blame me for this misfortune, sir," (how coquettish, how poised!) "to tell you the truth, I'm sorry about that"--blah, blah Well, that's what the little whores say. I cleared my throat and held my breath as I went downstairs.Lo was in the living room now, in her favorite overstuffed chair.She was lying on her back, biting a thorn in her hand, nonchalantly, mocking me with misty eyes, with one shoeless foot stretched out on a horse tie, shaking and shaking; How much she has changed since the first time I saw her before.Or has it all happened in the past two weeks?gentle?That is the myth unraveled.Now she sits at the focal point of my rage.All the fog of desire was swept away, leaving nothing but this terrible lucidity.Alas, she has changed! Her complexion is now the same as that of any rough, dirty schoolgirl who applies rouge to her unwashed face with her dirty fingers, not caring how polluted the texture of the skin is, giving birth What kind of acne.When we played a few days ago, I always put her disheveled head in my lap, and her cheeks were as smooth and soft as a flower bud, and then she was still so cute, and then the teardrops looked so bright again.But now, instead of the innocent yellow, a rough blush.The "bunny flu" as the locals know it is painted in flaming pink on either side of her snooty nostrils.I lowered my eyes in horror, but I couldn't help but look along the underside of her outstretched, bare thigh--how smooth and muscular her legs had grown!She stared at me with eyes that were gray and slightly bloodshot like frosted glass, and I could see the hidden thought in them, maybe it was Mona after all, Orphan Lo, who might expose me and get away with it. How wrong I was, how sick I was!Everything about her is elusive and infuriating--the charm of her well-proportioned thighs, the dirty heels of her white stockings, the sweater she refuses to take off even when the door is closed, her girlish breath, Especially her stiff face with a strange red glow and the lipstick she just put on.There was still a bit of red on her front teeth, and suddenly a terrible memory came to mind--the image that came to mind was not Monica, but another young whore in the bell house, many years ago, before I decided to do it for him. Her youth, am I worth the risk of my appalling disease, she was passed on to someone else, and she happened to have this rosy, puffy little apple face, and dead mother, with a big Front teeth, a dirty red band in her drab hair. "Okay, go ahead!" said Lo. "Does that evidence satisfy you?" "Oh yes," I said. "Very well. Yes. I don't doubt that the two of you were in collusion. In fact, I don't doubt that you've told her everything about us." "Oh, is it?" I held my anger and said, "Dolores, this should stop immediately. I'm ready to take you out of Beardsley and lock you up, you know where, but it's time to stop. I'll Just take you away, just prepare your luggage. This should stop, or other problems will arise. " "There's something else wrong, huh?" I pulled away the Maza that was dangling on the heel of her shoe, and her foot fell to the ground with a thud. Hey," she exclaimed, "be gentle. " "You go upstairs first," it was my turn to call,--at the same time grabbing her and lifting her up.At that time, I could no longer control my voice, we endlessly shouted at each other, and she said many unprintable things.She said she hated me.She made faces at me, puffed up her cheeks, and screamed viciously.She said that when I was her mother's tenant, I tried to rape her several times.She said she concluded that I killed her mother.She said she would sleep with the first lad who asked her and I had no right to interfere.I want her to go upstairs right now and show me all her hiding places.It was indeed a scene of screaming and hatred.I squeezed her gnarled wrist, and she wrestled and tried to find my weak point; to wring it off at the best possible moment, but I held her so firmly that I actually wounded her badly, and I Hoping my heart would rot for it, once or twice her arm convulsed so violently that I feared her wrist would splinter; and all the while she looked at me with hard, angry, tear-filled eyes that I will never forget that my voice drowned out the phone and when I finally heard her call she ran away. I enjoyed the just-in-time phone service just like in the movies.This is an angry neighbor.The east and west windows in the drawing-room were just now wide open, but fortunately the shutters were drawn; outside the windows the cloudy New England spring night was listening to us.I've always thought that obscene spinsters with black silks were the result of literary inbreeding in modern fiction.But now, I'm convinced, that the unassuming womanizer "Miss East House"--Miss Fenton Labine, if she overturns her sham--is probably from her bedroom Three-quarters of the body leaned out from the window, trying to get the gist of our quarrel. "...this noise...is really boring..." the person on the other end of the receiver yelled, "we are not a hotel here, I should emphasize..." I apologize for being so loud to my daughter's friend.You know, young man -- another quack. Downstairs the metal screen door slammed.Luo?Ran away? Through the gap in the stairs, I saw a little ghost impulsively burrow into the bushes; a silvery point in the darkness—the axle ring of the bicycle—moved, wobbled, and she was gone. It so happened that the car was in a garage in the city that night.I had no choice but to follow the winged fugitive on foot.Even now, more than three years have passed, when I think of the street that is already full of green shade and shrouded in the spring night, I still feel panic.Miss Lester was walking Miss Fabian's watery German terrier in front of the bright grounds.Mr. Hyde almost ran into it.Walk three steps and run three steps.A warm raindrop beat on the chestnut leaf.On another corner, a vague young man pushed Lolita against the bars and kissed her—no, it wasn't her, I was mistaken.My fingers were still aching, and I kept running. About a mile east of Fourteenth Avenue, Thayer Street is tangled with a private lawn and a fork; relief song! --saw Lolita's beautiful bicycle waiting for her.I pushed the door instead of pulling it, pulled it, pushed it, pulled it, and walked in.behold!About ten paces away, Lolita, through the glass of the phone booth (the membranous God is still with us), seems to cup the receiver, bows mysteriously, catches a glimpse of me, and holds up her Baby turned around, hung up the phone quickly, and walked out waddlingly. "Want to call you home," she said cheerfully. "Great decision made, but get me something to drink first, Dad." She watched as the listless ice cream waitress added ice, poured Coca-Cola, and added cherry dew—my heart burst with the pain of love. Those fragile wrists of a child.sweet Child O Mine.You have a lovely child, Mr. Humbert.We compliment her every time she passes by.Mr Pym watched his father sip his drink. I have always admired the golden work of noble Dubliners.At this time, the rain fell more violently. "Hey," she said, riding beside me, one foot rubbing against the dimly lit sidewalk, "Hey, I've made a decision. I'm leaving school. I hate this school. I hate that show, I really do!Never going back.Find another one.That's it.Go out for another long swim.But this time, let's go wherever I want to go, okay? " I nodded, my Lolita. "My pick? It's a deal?" she asked, shuddering beside me.She only uses French when she is good. "Okay, it's a deal. Now hurry up, Lenore, or you'll be drenched." (A rain of tears filled my chest.) She bared her teeth and leaned forward, the woman The lovely pose of the student, and then she flies away, my little bird. Miss Lester, with her manicured hands, was holding on to the corridor door for a shambling, slow, unhurried old dog. Lo was waiting for me under the ghostly birch tree. "I'm drenched," she screamed. "Are you happy? To hell with that play! Know what I mean?" An invisible witch's paw slammed shut an upstairs window. In our welcoming foyer, my Lolita takes off her sweater, shakes her beaded hair, and stretches out two bare arms toward me, one leg bent: "Carry me upstairs. I feel so romantic tonight;" Physiologists may be interested to know that at this juncture I can only - in the most extraordinary of circumstances, I think - borrow another storm Let down my torrents of tears.