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A review by sriq
Rakes of the Old Court by Mateiu I. Caragiale
"A night toward winter, an air of tears."
"Under the high trees, at dusk, the unknown man took his melancholy for a walk."
"He could only converse about the card-playing he plied as a trade and the scabbado that had enervated him prematurely; these were the complete foundation of the spirit with which he enchanted those who prized his idiocy."
"Somewhat sunken beneath the arch of his eyebrows, a rare blue, their line of sight, unspeakably sweet and veiled in nostalgia, seemed to follow the recollection of a dream."
"Under the high trees, at dusk, the unknown man took his melancholy for a walk."
"He could only converse about the card-playing he plied as a trade and the scabbado that had enervated him prematurely; these were the complete foundation of the spirit with which he enchanted those who prized his idiocy."
"Somewhat sunken beneath the arch of his eyebrows, a rare blue, their line of sight, unspeakably sweet and veiled in nostalgia, seemed to follow the recollection of a dream."