by
Italo Svevo
Dawn was beginning, dark, hesitating, sad. It was whitening the windowpanes but left the interior of the room in darkness. One ray however, seemed to have penetrated, for the daylight breaking over the glasses on the table colored them with faint and delicate shades of blue and green. The wind was still blowing in the street with the same even, triumphant sounds as when Emilio had left Angiolina.