Explore "The Little Angel" by Leonid Andreyev on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
His mother was asleep worn out with a whole day's work and vodka-drinking. In the little room behind the partition there stood a small cooking-lamp burning on the table. Its feeble yellow light, with difficulty penetrating the sooty glass, threw a strange shadow over the faces of Sashka and his father.
"Is it not pretty? " asked Sashka in a whisper, holding the little angel at a distance from his father, so as not to allow him to touch it.