« No, vertigo... | Main | Why has the pleasure of slowness disappeared? »

Febrero 27, 2006

In the world she was rather silent...

In the world she was rather silent, contributing just her share of urbane humor with a precision that approached meagreness. But at the moment when strangers tended to grow uncomfortable in the presence of this economy, she would seize the topic and rush off with it, feverishly surprised with herself - then bring it back, and relinquish it abruptly, almost timidly, like an obedient retriever, having been adequate and something more.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, from Tender is the Night

Posted by sarita at Febrero 27, 2006 1:05 PM