At the roots of the thick grass the morning dew still lingered, and Koznyshev, afraid of wetting his feet, asked his brother to drive him across the meadow to the willow clump near which perch could be caught.
C’era ancora guazza nel folto del prato e Sergej Ivanovic, per non bagnarsi i piedi, chiese d’esser portato in calesse fino al cespuglio di citiso presso cui si pescava il pesce persico.