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Leo Tolstoy starts a family group chat. After three days, his wife Anna messages: 'Leo, please stop. You've written 847 messages just to say you're running late for dinner. We don't need the backstory of every person you passed on the street, their childhood traumas, and philosophical reflections on the nature of punctuality.' Tolstoy replies: 'But you haven't heard about the cabman's horse yet—his name was Kholstomer, and his story begins in 1856...'