Vronsky stroked her firm neck, adjusted a lock of her mane that had got on to the wrong side of her sharply-defined withers and brought his face close to her dilated nostrils, delicate as a bat's wing.
Vronsky acarició su cuello robusto, arregló un mechón de crines que le caían al lado opuesto y acercó el rostro a las narices del animal, finas y tensas como alas de murciélago.