The Doll's House by Katherine Mansfield

When dear old Mrs. Hay went back to town after staying with the Burnells she sent the children a doll's house. It was so big that the carter and Pat carried it into the courtyard, and there it stayed, propped up on two wooden boxes beside the feed-room door. No harm could come of it; it was summer. And perhaps the smell of paint would have gone off by the time it had to be taken in. For, really, the smell of paint coming from that doll's house ("Sweet of old Mrs. Hay, of course; most sweet and generous!") -- but the smell of paint was quite enough to make any one seriously ill, in Aunt Beryl's opinion. Even before the sacking was taken off. And when it was . . .
There stood the doll's house, a dark, oily, spinach green, picked out with bright yellow. Its two solid little chimneys, glued on to the roof, were painted red and white, and the door, gleaming with yellow varnish, was like a little slab of toffee. Four windows, real windows, were divided into panes by a broad streak of green. There was actually a tiny porch, too, painted yellow, with big lumps of congealed paint hanging along the edge.
But perfect, perfect little house! Who could possibly mind the smell? It was part of the joy, part of the newness.
"Open it quickly, some one!"

Miss Brill by Katherine Mansfield

Although it was so brilliantly fine--the blue sky powdered with gold
and great spots of light like white wine splashed over the Jardins
Publiques--Miss Brill was glad that she had decided on her fur. The air
was motionless, but when you opened your mouth there was just a faint
chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water before you sip, and now
and again a leaf came drifting--from nowhere, from the sky. Miss Brill
put up her hand and touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was nice to
feel it again. She had taken it out of its box that afternoon, shaken
out the moth-powder, given it a good brush, and rubbed the life back
into the dim little eyes. "What has been happening to me?" said the sad
little eyes. Oh, how sweet it was to see them snap at her again from
the red eiderdown!... But the nose, which was of some black composition,
wasn't at all firm. It must have had a knock, somehow. Never mind--a
little dab of black sealing-wax when the time came--when it was
absolutely necessary... Little rogue! Yes, she really felt like that
about it. Little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear. She could
have taken it off and laid it on her lap and stroked it. She felt
a tingling in her hands and arms, but that came from walking, she
supposed. And when she breathed, something light and sad--no, not sad,
exactly--something gentle seemed to move in her bosom.