“It was Sunday. At the cozy dacha of Ivan Pavlovich Verkhovensky, in Tsarskoe Selo, several people from his former colleagues gathered. The guests arrived in the morning, had breakfast, walked, had lunch, then walked again and finally got ready to have a drink at the “acceleration”, with the intention of leaving. It was already ten o'clock in the evening, and the guests, with the host at their head, were sitting in the dining room having a light snack, not noticing that clouds had gathered in the sky, and just as they were about to rise to say goodbye, pouring rain poured down..."