MOSCOW, November 19, 1891.
I am at home to all commencing, continuing, and concluding authors—that is my rule, and apart from your authorship and mine, I regard a visit from you as a great honour to me. Even if it were not so, even if for some reason I did not desire your visit, even then I should have received you, as I have enjoyed the greatest hospitality from your family. I did not receive you, and at once asked my brother to go to you and explain the cause. At the moment your card was handed me I was ill and undressed—forgive these homely details—I was in my bedroom, while there were persons in my study whose presence would not have been welcome to you. And so—to see you was physically impossible, and this my brother was to have explained to you, and you, a decent and good-hearted person, ought to have understood it; but you were offended. Well, I can’t help it....
But can you really have written only fifteen stories?—at this rate you won’t learn to write till you are fifty.
I am in bad health; for over a month I have had to keep indoors—influenza and cough.
All good wishes.
Write another twenty stories and send them. I shall always read them with pleasure, and practice is essential for you.
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