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Byline: Gaby Wood
On a Saturday morning in downtown Manhattan, the American Ballet Theatre's dancers are warming up. "Plie, releve, arabesque . . . " a Russian man instructs swiftly from beside the piano in rehearsal studio five. The dancers proceed to copy the moves immaculately, gradually stripping off layers of clothing and performing increasingly impossible steps. Then the women switch to pointe shoes, carry the barres away, and spin across the room-pitter-pattering, sweeping, swirling until they reach the front.
One of these women-taller than many, not as bony as some, with a serene face and almost unearthly poise-is Irina Dvorovenko. She has been ...