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Как это у Скотта Фитсжеральда сейчас...
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She danced exquisitely - better than anything she liked to dance - better than anything except loving. Since she was ten she had always been in love, and, usually, with some boy who didn’t respond to her. Those who did - and there were many - bored her after a brief encounter, but for her failures she reserved the warmest spot in her heart. When she met them she would always try once more - sometimes she succeeded, more often she failed.
It never occurred to this gypsy that there was a certain resemblance in those who refused to love her - they shared a hard intuition, what would become in five or six years. She felt lonely among them, they would feel shy at her presence, either keeping silence or telling awkward things about races and epaulettes.
When she grew older, she discontinued this strange play - she became calmer and tastier. One after one she filtered a queue of elegant cadets, ministry young men with brilliantine hair and queer gentlemen in refined dinner jackets.
When she celebrated her 18 years, she said to herself: "Enough, enough little lady - time to pick up the stones."
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