Man is what he believes. - Anton Chekhov

Man will become better when you show him what he is like.

April was just beginning, and after the warm spring day it turned cooler, slightly frosty, and a breath of spring could be felt in the soft, cold air. The road from the convent to town was sandy, they had to go at a walking pace; and on both sides of the carriage, in the bright, still moonlight, pilgrims trudged over the sand. And everyone was silent, deep in thought, everything around was welcoming, young, so near — the trees, the sky, even the moon — and one wanted to think it would always be so.

Hoping for the critics' indulgence, the author asks to send money for his story immediately, otherwise his wife and kids will die of hunger.