… she began in a weak, quivering voice that nevertheless had something in it that immediately clutched at my heart, making it throb with a sweet pain…
Except from Dostoyevsky’s “White Nights”
… she began in a weak, quivering voice that nevertheless had something in it that immediately clutched at my heart, making it throb with a sweet pain…
Except from Dostoyevsky’s “White Nights”