Explore "Boris Lensky" by Ossip Schubin on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Monday in Whitsun-week. Blue heavens, with slowly piling up storm-clouds, and in all Paris a close, oppressive heat. Toward two o'clock a cab rolls up the Rue Blanche. In the cab sits Mascha, a large bouquet of white roses on her knees. Her blue eyes are strangely staring.
"Is Fraeulein von Sankjewitch in her studio? " asks Mascha, of the _concierge_, as she leaves the cab.