Explore "Boris Lensky" by Ossip Schubin on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In the Jeliagins' little sandy garden behind the house sits Lensky with his daughter. It is Sunday afternoon. Upon his gentle, loving persuasion, she has left her bed for the first time. As the maid had left the house with the Jeliagins, the kitchen maid, with her red, swollen, awkward, but kind hands, has dressed her, slowly, as one dresses an invalid who will not or cannot help herself. When she was ready, they could not at first induce her to leave the room. With little steps, trembling and tottering, she dragged herself to the door, leaning on her father's arm; but then she suddenly turned round, and clinging with a wild gesture to the bed-posts, she declared with rigid obstinacy: "No -- no -- no! " until she at length, half exhausted by opposition, half calmed by her father's tender assurances that she would certainly see no one, with her head hidden on his shoulder, let him carry her down-stairs.
The sight of every object which reminded her of her past life, of the outer world, is indescribably painful to her.