She gave out these details in spurts, in no particular order, as if there were gaps in her memory. For instance, she didn’t say a word about her parents, or about many other things. I sensed it was pointless to ask. She wouldn’t answer. The past seemed so distant to her that all she had left was free-floating debris. Now she told me about the Balanchine ballet La Sonnambula, which she’d been rehearsing for the past two weeks for Félix Blaska’s company. In short, her former life no longer interested her and she had sloughed it off like dead skin. Thanks to dance. Kniaseff was right to say that dance is a discipline that enables you to survive.