The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 336 Ch.335 Spring

‘Our great, rare sculpting genius: Victor Sala died at home the day before yesterday. ’

‘His life was miserable and pious. He was not alone, because he had his own works, his own friends, and his own mission. ’

‘Before that, I have to introduce you to a qualified friend, a businessman who values ​​friendship more than money: Randolph Taylor! ’

The newspapers were full of praise, as if flapping wings in the wind had become an instinct for the writer:

This makes people think of those night workers (occasionally working overtime during the day), when they dragged a stupid young man into the room, singing in front of the red face and the armpits with developed sweat glands and full of rancid smell, when they were asked:

Why are you like this.

They must have laughed a contemptuous and innocent laugh like the writer in the newspaper.

‘Otherwise, what else can we do? ’

Roland crumpled the newspaper in his hand.

He suddenly had a feeling: everyone in this country might be doing that job.

From low to high, they just serve different objects.

The absurd thing is that some people always aim for the top of the tower, thinking that is the Eden they seek all their lives.

That is just the beginning of another reincarnation.

Roland opened his arms and closed his eyes to welcome the wind and waves.

The air was turbid and the wind was cold.

The world roared in his ears, and love can make people love peace.

"I sincerely hate the words and eyes of these people. If I have the ability, I will cut every throat and dig out their eyes."

The low murmur was hidden in the black hair swaying like algae in the water.

"Roland."

"Betty?"

"Who are you talking to."

"My friends, my love."

The balcony of Taylor's house.

Beatrice was wearing a nightgown and a thick woolen cloak. She opened a thin slit in the French window and looked at him with blue eyes from the slit.

Strange Roland, strange... wind?

"Lover?"

An unfamiliar word.

"Yes, Betty, my love."

"Where?"

"Right here, beside me, in my memory."

Beatrice looked at the young man with eyes filled with the melting sun, watching him dancing on the balcony with nothing in his arms.

She was not afraid.

She was a little curious, why couldn't she see what Roland saw - she was worried, and even clearly realized that the people he was close to seemed to be gradually moving away.

The plump blonde girl blinked and started her increasingly clear mind.

I thought of a good idea.

A way to dance with Roland forever, and never catch him again.

"Me too."

"What?"

"Me too." Beatrice opened the window, and the sudden cold wind made her shiver a few times. She gathered her cloak, bit her lip, and ran up.

Waving her arms angrily in the empty place.

"I am! Leave!"

"Who are you talking to, Betty."

The girl's nostrils twitched, like the dragon described by Roland, expressing her anger: "With Roland's lover!"

She stretched out her hand, not like asking for a hug, but similar to the previous dance.

"I dance!"

She shouted.

The governess in the room quietly retreated to the shadows, lifted her skirt, and stepped on the sound under her feet like a cat.

Bronte turned a few stairs and came to a room at the end of a certain floor.

Knocked on the door gently.

After a few breaths, she got permission.

Inside the room, Randolph Taylor frowned and thought, staring at some paper documents.

The gas lamp on the table was warm and bright.

Next to the coffee was a stack of fresh grape towers on the verge of collapse.

"Mr. Taylor."

"I said, call me Randolph." The person came in gracefully, and the wind from her skirt blew away the dark clouds in the heart of the gentleman at the desk. "Randolph, or Mr. Randolph, not Taylor, Miss Bronte."

Bronte pulled up her long skirt and knelt down to salute: "I am Miss Taylor's tutor."

Randolph pinched his nose, put down his pen, and invited her to sit at the other end of the desk, in front of him.

Then he had to personally pour her a glass of water or coffee or...

"Coffee is fine, Mr. Taylor."

"So, what's the matter?" Bronte rarely came to him alone, especially to the study. "Or is it Roland who came to me?"

"No."

Bronte stroked her hair, her lips a little tight.

She didn't know if she should slander another friend, perhaps the only friend left in the world, in front of a friend...

But she liked Miss Beatrice Taylor, and she was also good to Randolph Taylor...

Teresa was good to her.

She couldn't just watch.

"Mr. Collins is a little..."

Bronte hesitated, "a little..."

Randolph crossed his hands and looked at the hesitant lady in front of him with amusement: "He is a little 'unusual', isn't he?"

Bronte nodded slightly: "Before I left, Mr. Collins was dancing on the balcony with a 'person I can't see'."

She thought it would be better to tell the truth.

Just say what she saw.

"A 'person I can't see', Mr. Taylor. Later, the lady joined."

The education she received did not allow her to use words like 'monster', 'madman', 'cursed' to describe Taylor's friends - but to be honest, this really scared her a little.

Who is he dancing with?

Why?

Is there something wrong with his head?

Is he crazy?

Will it turn the lady into...

Crazy?

"Oh, my Betty has learned to dance. If she has a good memory, she should know she can dance."

Randolph shrugged, as if he was more concerned about getting Bronte's permission to smoke a cigar from across the ocean than his sister's contact with a madman.

Bronte couldn't help but widen her eyes: "...Mr.?"

Click.

Cut off the eggplant cap.

Flame roasting.

Three fingers squeezed into a bird's beak, holding the delicately oily wrapper, and shook it in the dimmed light.

The smoke snake circled several times.

"I've recently been thinking about filling in a new model... Bronte?"

Bronte looked at him firmly: "Sir, that is... abnormal. Although it is really insulting to say, I saw it with my own eyes. I saw it with my own eyes."

"Oh, I know."

"You - you know?"

Randolph looked like "Why are you making all the fuss?" "Of course. Do you think I would just hand over the Taylor family's treasures to someone I don't know and don't recognize?"

"But since you know it, why do you still-"

Randolph's eyes were extremely calm.

"...because there are too many crazy people in the world, Miss Brontë."

Brontë saw sadness and indifference in his face.

These contradictions were intertwined and were quickly hidden into deeper shadows by the master.

"My Betty... who really cares but me?"

he said.

"If there is such a person."

he said.

"madman?"

"To be honest, I don't care if he is a blasphemer, Miss Bronte." Randolph looked at the smoke that was born and died quickly, watching them hatched from the flames and then quickly swallowed up by the invisible breath, turning pale and aging. , invisible and colorless death.

"You see, it's like my best friend spent his last moments in the glory of Taylor and gave me a wave of gold pounds like a bursting dam."

"What did I do?"

Randolph said.

"I used his death to make more money."

"Good Taylor" - this reputation will undoubtedly lift "Golden Smoke" and "Fountain of Youth" to the moral peak that everyone needs to look up to in a short period of time.

That means gold pounds.

"That's not what you think." Bronte comforted her.

"It doesn't matter what you think, miss. Businessmen only value 'reality' - it's what you do that matters."

The two gradually fell into silence.

Bronte's heart beat rapidly.

Maybe it was because the smoke was too thick, or maybe she was too hopeful that there would be something that could warm this cold man's heart like the ambitious flame in the fireplace.

"...Miss wants to go out with you."

For the first time, she broke the rules and lied.

"What?"

"She said she wanted to go out for a walk, with you." Bronte unnaturally smoothed her hair, and then pretended to straighten the neckline and shoulders that didn't need to be straightened at all: "...are you going?"

"Are you going?" Randolph asked.

"If...if the lady needs someone to accompany her..."

Randolph finally smiled: "Of course, she needs it very much."