he was thinking of Lenina, of an angel in bottle-green viscose, lustrous with youth and skin food, plump, benevolently smiling. His voice faltered.
John Leninarengan pentzatzen zegoen, botila berde koloreko likaz jantzitiko aingeru harengan, gaztetasuna eta usain goxoa zerion aingeru mardul irripartsu harengan: