The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 61 Ch.61 Visiting Taylor

No. 25, West Main Street.

The location of Taylor House is different from that of Lord House.

The decoration here is obviously more gorgeous, even the large and small carriages parked at the door have patterns on the walls.

Roland always felt that he could smell the smell of heated ink in the fragrance of flowers.

Of course, the same thing here as the other side is that it's very quiet.

‘Loud, poor stuff’ – those who live in the West End are not bothered by the high and low notes of the seller of matches, cartons and castrations.

Especially the vendors selling paper matches. Roland recently even had a plan to silence them with poison.

Who gives them advice and sells it by the window where they sleep.

And the repairman who walks the streets.

When he was in Fork County, he had never seen such a person who brought an artistic sense to his hawking songs:

‘Is there anyone who can repair the table? ’

The deep voice always has a melancholy and refreshing elegiac tone.

Among all the hard and annoying noises, this melancholy, deep and sad tone is particularly unique. Often when Roland was holding his breath, making holy water, and lowering his eyes to pray, a deep and hoarse greeting would suddenly come from the window:

‘Is there anyone who can repair the table? ’

Then the uncle would open the window from upstairs and yell at him to get away.

“A city that’s neither good nor bad.”

Roland commented like this.

As the wheels changed from bumpy to smooth and the road surface changed from uneven to flat, the carriage drove into the West District and turned left onto the main road.

There are some shops here, but they are all very quiet. Whether it is a tobacco shop or a clothing store, the ladies and gentlemen coming and going adhere to a certain silent etiquette. Apart from the creaking of wheels on the road, it is difficult to hear even footsteps. .

Even the newsboy stopped making noisy noises. He was running around carrying a cloth bag and a hat with frayed edges, but like a mute, he used his eyes to signal the men and women around him.

Only when they passed by him or intentionally cast their gaze over, did they whisper this sentence:

‘New Post…’

'A copy of the New Post...'

Interesting people, interesting city.

If the city wasn't flat, it would definitely look like a spiraling tower.

"Sir, we are here."

The horse snorted ahead.

The twenty-fifth has arrived.

Taylor House——

The place where Roland went for an appointment today was surrounded by sharp iron bars with black lacquer and silver tips.

The main entrance is like this, like an arched wave, big and tall; the wall is gray ivory, the house number is marked with a number, and a very trendy line of small characters is engraved on the lower side:

"Taylor", and a number representing time.

The servant at the door soon spotted the carriage and the gentleman's staff extending from the carriage.

He hurriedly turned around and ran back. After Roland passed through the narrow road and the well-manicured bushes, Randolph, who was wearing a vest, happened to lead people out of the house quickly.

He smiled at Roland from afar, turned his face slightly, and bent down to greet him.

"My friend," he stepped forward quickly, held Roland's shoulders, and asked carefully: "How is your injury? Please don't make me ashamed anymore, Father of All! Can you tell me the good news?"

Roland hugged him gently with his backhand: "I'm healthy, sir."

"Call me Randolph."

He looked coldly at the servants and told them that Roland was the Taylor family's best friend. Then, he and the servants brought Roland into the house:

Hang up his coat and take off his hat with his own hands.

A large area of ​​the house is covered with holly-colored wallpaper, making the overall look calm and low-key.

But even with little knowledge like Roland, he could still see the soul of the piles of gold pounds in the decoration and ornaments - the gas lamps were specially replaced with beautiful shells, the curved armchairs without any straight lines, and the fabrics were The soft satin is covered with blue patterns of snowflakes and stars.

The roof is light green, covered with complex grids and lines, and oil paintings hang on the walls. One of them shows a family of three:

an older man, and, Randolph Taylor and her sister Beatrice Taylor.

The fireplace in the living room was turned off, and a flame was burning in the cracks.

The fireplace was paved with slate, a small gilt clock, a mirror and a porcelain vase.

The carpets were fluffy and the room was very warm.

Everything is so expensive.

"Please sit down, please sit down. I see you're here in a hurry. Let's have a drink first to warm ourselves up."

He ordered the servants to do their work, asked Roland to sit on the sofa, and personally took his cane and put it away.

A small table stood beside the sofa, with many scattered silver utensils placed on it.

"It's great to see you fine." The thin man rubbed his hands and rubbed the rustling sleeves of his morning coat against each other. "I went there twice in person and sent people to deliver things to you, but you didn't take anything. Arrived, right?”

Seeing Roland nodding, he wanted to say something, so he added nonchalantly: "It wasn't for you in the first place, Roland."

"I just want to tell those women in black robes that Roland Collins is not an ordinary person. There are people watching him outside. For the sake of those dozens of pounds of gifts, I hope they will take your injury more seriously."

"As long as you get better, a few dozen pounds is nothing."

His eyebrows were twitching, and the heat in the room seemed unable to warm his thin, white face.

It has to be said that when it comes to understanding people's hearts, this Randolph Taylor is by no means ordinary.

Roland meant what he was saying to himself right now.

"I have you to thank again, Randolph."

"Then I have to thank you again after you thank me." Randolph joked and patted Roland warmly on the shoulder, "I know your eyesight is inconvenient. I wanted to show you something... "He made a mistake and pulled the table next to him.

Only then did Roland notice that there were small wooden wheels installed under several table legs.

"Lunch needs to be prepared for a while."

"You know what our family does, right?"

He pushed open the delicate latch, and placed many utensils in the silver box carved with vines.

Next to it, there is an open wooden box.

There are several cigars thicker than your thumb stacked inside.

"Want to try?"

He gave one to Roland and took one himself, chanting like an aria:

“The consolation of the thinker, the intoxication of the richly imaginative architect in the air beside marble and the fragrance of frankincense, the eleventh finger of the benefactor.”

Roland rubbed the slightly greasy wrapper in his hand and shook his head slightly.

"How can a man not smoke? It is a hundred times more precious than cigarettes."

Randolph opened the hat with a small silver knife, lit another stick, and slowly began to bake it not far from the end of the cigar.

The servant brought tea and coffee, as well as a small porcelain pot with milk.

The aroma of milk tea and tobacco mixed together, and merged into the smell of wood burning in the fireplace.

Roland shrugged his nose.

Not like the cigarettes the men smoked at parties.

This taste…

It smells good.

"Try, come try, our little angel." Randolph made a strange noise and teased Roland. The hand holding the cigar waved in the air again and again, and the butt of the cigarette was red.

He bit it gently with two rows of teeth, tightened his cheeks, took a sip, then swung it back and forth in his mouth several times, and spit out a thick gray-white line towards the other side.

Suddenly.

The room was filled with a faint smell of cardamom mixed with dill.

Like a new leather coat brushed with honey.