Explore "The Fortunes of Oliver Horn" by Francis Hopkinson Smith on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The night wind sighed through the old sycamores of Kennedy Square. A soft haze, the harbinger of the coming spring, filled the air. The cold moon, hanging low, bleached the deserted steps of the silent houses to a ghostly white.
In the Horn mansion a dim light burned in Richard's room and another in the lower hall. Everywhere else the house was dark.