She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. In my arms, she was always Lolita. Light of my life. Fire of my loins. My sin. My soul. Lolita
What I heard then was the melody of children at play. Nothing but that. And I know that the hopelessly poignant thing was not Lolita's absence from my side but the absence of her voice from the chorus.