Why, of course, the most banal singing of “charochka,” a lonely vase with chocolates, the hostess’s wail (about me): “oh, he’s eating all the chocolates,” a view from the picture window onto the skeleton of the growing exhibition and the moon.
as we listened to the blind-drunk Khmara’s rather boorish ballads she kept saying: but my life is over! while Kedrova (a very sharp-eyed little actress whom Aldanov thinks a new Komissarzhevskaya) shamelessly begged me for a part.
We had a pleasant little party the other day, what can I say: tra-la-la, Aldanov in tails, Bunin in the vilest dinner-jacket, Khmara with a guitar and Kedrova, Ilyusha in such narrow trousers that his legs were like two black sausages, old, sweet Teffi-and all this in a revoltingly luxurious mansion.
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