Explore "Sanine" by Mikhail Artsybashev on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In the large corridor of the hospice there was an odour of samovars, and bread, and incense. A strong, active monk was hurrying along, carrying a huge tea-urn.
"Father," exclaimed Yourii, confused somewhat at addressing him thus, and imagining that the monk would be equally embarrassed.