Activity

the level of her lemonade sinking with a kind of childish celerity

In short, I discovered that once a week, at her house, she betrayed me with a respectable paterfamilias, who, incidentally, was so infernally meticulous that he would bring his own shoe trees with him.

Katya and I are not coevals. I was going on eighteen, and she on twenty.

What bliss it had been. Bliss—what a moist, lapping, and plashing word, so alive, so tame, smiling and crying all by itself.

or else his hand adumbrated a kind of beckoning gesture directed to no one in particular