The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 409 Ch.408 Night Talk and Touch

Later, Yam paid an extra two pennies - extra for the bartender.

Because the glass bottle was not allowed to be taken away.

But old Collins insisted on taking it away.

He insisted.

So...

Before Roland was beaten, he laughed with Rose all the way - while walking, he glanced at Collins who maintained a smile and talked with Yam, and glanced at his fat finger stuffed in the glass bottle, like a tail behind his back.

In the night, the four people stepped on the dim lights and bypassed the reflective puddles.

Like a family that had never been separated.

Then when they returned to their residence, Roland was twisted by Yam's ears - it took a lot of effort to break the glass bottle, and she had to make sure that the broken glass would not scratch Mr. Collins' fingers.

At the same time, she had to do this thing immediately, find a cloth and a hammer head, so that this big gentleman would not suddenly say something like "I am a man" or "I can do it myself", and then swing his arm and smash the glass bottle on the door frame.

Let the fragments fly everywhere.

"I haven't decided whether to leave, Roland."

After making the bed, Yam suddenly said this.

When it came to leaving, she backed off.

Because she had the same concerns as old Collins, but slightly different concerns.

London, a big city.

What could she do there?

'We have a perfume shop and a herbal medicine shop. '

Yes, but she didn't know anything, so she inevitably became a burden that couldn't be thrown away - since she brought Roland home, she knew too well how difficult it would be for people around her to be a 'burden'.

Roland has grown up.

He is a man.

And she is old.

She will become an invisible burden that has done a great favor, can't say bad things, and has the upper hand in morality.

Yam Jones wanted to leave with Roland, and she wanted to do it immediately.

But she hesitated.

Because Roland was at the age when he should date girls, just like Vansittart today.

He should be busy every day, drinking and having fun with others, spending money on hounds, cigarettes and expensive watches.

He should go to the pub to curse people, show the thickness of his chest, and tell some dirty jokes.

He should chat with those big shots, dress neatly, and attend all kinds of banquets.

With his appearance, there is no shortage of people who love him, and he can even live better than anyone else.

He gradually gained a foothold in London, and let the unbearable past disappear like night fog with time.

He should shine in the sun.

But once Yam Jones, once he appeared.

Then, someone should ask.

‘Who is this woman? ’

‘Oh, she took care of you in the workhouse? ’

‘So you were born in the workhouse? ’

‘You actually walked out of the workhouse? ’

‘What a pity. ’

Roland would never hide his origins, Yam Jones knew it.

At the same time, she had also slightly lifted a corner of the place where flowers bloomed, smelled a hint of the decadence and debauchery in it, and of course knew how cruel human nature was when it was poor and how vicious it was when it was rich.

Therefore, her arrival would not bring any good to Roland, but would add burden to him -

Compared to the financial burden, she was more worried whether this would make the future of an outstanding and promising young man dim.

This was not a quarrel, and there was no mediator.

In the room rented by Yam, the three people who came from afar looked at each other.

To be honest, compared with the relationship between Yam and Roland, old Collins himself knew that he was not close enough to this lady, and some advice could not come from his mouth.

In the end, he just sighed, smoked a cigarette with the half-burned candle, and staggered back to the room prepared for him by Yam.

"Rest early, Roland. Maybe we can think of other ways."

He left the narrow living room, leaving the girl and nephew who had changed into casual clothes.

"What is your 'mother' thinking?"

Rose wore a men's shirt, but did not match it with proper trousers. Instead, the shirt was like a skirt, not covering her soft waist and thighs, and in the candlelight, there was a hint of secrets that people could peek into.

So her face was a little red.

Maybe it was because of the heat, after all, winter was almost over.

"...Yam was probably worried about my reputation."

Rose couldn't understand it at all: "With such a good opportunity, I can be with you and go to London to enjoy life - I don't understand why she hesitated. If it were me, I would not even want the things in this house and go with you overnight."

She held a cold French fry for a midnight snack, and her wet short hair curled to both sides, revealing her slightly tilted ears.

It was like a green-eyed elf who always came to visit at night.

Roland held his cheek and replied incoherently, thinking about how to get Yam to sit in the carriage obediently - because the room was too dark, the two of them were guarding the same cluster of overtime flames at the same table, face to face, no one could avoid each other.

So, Rose was a little bored.

She didn't say anything, but she leaned back boldly, her movements were as slow as a cat swaying on its back, and she lifted her soft limbs, the one that was being watched and became hot, on the table at an amazing angle... to show off.

The more slender white fish allowed her to land silently.

Although the more petite shape made it less patient, it was more agile.

A layer of flame life was sprinkled on the straightness, with a faint golden glow.

She is softer and more delicate than the girl in the circus who can fold herself into a box, and when the light flickers on and off, her shy and innocent innocence is muddied with a wave that can pollute innocence. lure.

Use your tongue, teeth and clear water to beg for the temptation of men.

This is a natural instinct that comes from the bones.

Her brain told her to sit quietly.

Instinct told her it was time.

The cat licked his lips, twisted his waist, and the white thing disappeared under the table before he could get enough of it.

She quickly curled up and held her face like the person opposite her.

"Are you going to touch me with it? Roland."

The emerald-colored gems were spinning in the eye sockets. The clever and light wild cat would not be easily caught: "There were girls in the gang who talked about this... They said that many men like this thing."

The two of them knew what 'this thing' was.

The creaking wooden chair shook like she was shaking a person's heartstrings.

To test the strength of a glass, never drop it again and again.

For example, the man in front of her who had weird blood and was in his prime, or the chair under her butt that had not been used for a long time.

——Crack.

The girl who reacted quickly and was as dexterous and sharp as a cat. Before the wooden chair broke, she turned over on her stomach and landed on all fours, almost hitting herself directly on the hard mud.

But after a click.

The turbid, salty smell suddenly cleared away.

The old wooden chair was broken into several sections, like the bones of Mingsi Chloe.

Roland wanted to laugh but didn't dare.

"...I'll tell you tomorrow that it was you who broke it."

Rose muttered and tugged at her oversized shirt, looking dissatisfied.

She finally caught a glimpse of the wonderful feeling, but she couldn't find it anymore because of the shabby chair.

"Rose."

Roland suddenly stood up and turned around to leave.

"Wait for me at home."

"Roland?"

"I've thought of a way." Without stopping, he went directly to the door, took off his coat, put it on, hung up his cloak, and picked up his cane and hat: "Wait for me at home, about half an hour - don't sleep, understand?"

"oh…"

"Also, your shirt buttons."

Rose looked down.

The neckline is tight.

"I didn't say the above."

Bang.

You can't make a skirt out of a shirt, it's not that strong...

It's also more sensible than a skirt.