“…A damp, cold wind blew from the sea, spreading across the steppe the pensive melody of the splash of a wave running ashore and the rustle of coastal bushes. From time to time his impulses brought with them shriveled, yellow leaves and threw them into the fire, fanning the flames | the darkness of the autumn night surrounding us quivered and, timidly moving away, revealed for a moment on the left - the boundless steppe, on the right - the endless sea and directly opposite me - the figure of Makar Chudra, an old gypsy - he was guarding the horses of his camp, spread fifty paces from us ... "