地板上飘过一个机械玩具，适合几个世纪前的国王。一匹长着真正白发的马戏团小马。他的眼睛乌黑发亮。他背着一个小舞者。她踮着脚尖站着，不停地转啊转。她的裙子和金箔胸衣上斜缝着一束人造玫瑰。在她的头顶上，她摆出了另一束人造玫瑰。他的鬃毛和尾巴是直接从基里科。他有一颗拘谨而忧郁的心。他感觉到她粉红色的脚趾沿著小杆子向他的背晃来晃去，这根小杆子穿过她的身体和灵魂，穿过他的灵魂，然后在他的肚子下面重新出现，就像一把大锡钥匙。 He canters three steps, then he makes a bow, canters again, bows on one knee, canters, then clicks and stops, and looks at me. The dancer, by this time, has turned her back. He is the more intelligent by far. Facing each other rather desperately— his eye is like a star— we stare and say, "Well, we have come this far."