Explore "The Old House" by Fyodor Sologub on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was bright and refreshing on the terrace. Natasha's light-coloured dress suddenly kindled with the pale-rose smiles of the early sun. A soft breeze blew from the garden. It caressed and kissed Natasha's feet.
Natasha seated herself in a wicker chair, and leant her slender rosy elbows upon the broad parapet of the terrace. She directed her gaze toward the gate between the hedges beyond which the grey silent road was visible, gently serene in the pale rose light.