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 one of suffering and piety. 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 writers:

This reminds me of those night workers (sometimes working overtime during the day), when they drag a foolish young man into the room, sing in front of his red face and underarms with developed sweat glands and rancid odor, when they are asked:

Why are you like this.

They must have laughed contemptuously and innocently like the writer in the newspaper.

'Otherwise, what else can we do?'

Roland crumpled the newspaper in his hand.

He suddenly had a feeling: perhaps everyone in this country was doing that job.

From low to high, just serving different objects.

The absurd thing is that some people always set the top of the tower as their goal, thinking that is the Eden they have been seeking all their lives.

That was just the beginning of another cycle.

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

The air is turbid and the wind is cold.

The world roars in his ears, and love can make people love Ning.

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

The low whisper is hidden in the black hair swaying like algae in the water.

"Roland."

"Betty?"

"Who are you talking to?"

"My friends, my love."

The Taylors' balcony.

Beatrice was wearing a nightgown and a thick woolen cape. She opened the French window a tiny slit and looked at him through the slit with her deep blue eyes.

Strange Roland, strange...wind?

"spouse?"

Strange words.

"Yes Betty, my love."

"where?"

"It's 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, holding nothing in his arms.

She was not afraid.

She was somewhat curious as to why she could not see what Roland saw—she was worried, and even clearly sensed that the things he was close to seemed to be gradually drifting away.

The plump blonde blinked and regained consciousness.

I thought of a good idea.

A way to dance with Roland forever, without ever being able to catch him again.

"Me too."

"what?"

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

Waving his arms angrily in that empty space.

"I am! Leave!"

"Who are you talking to, Betty?"

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

She stretched out her hand, not as if asking for a hug, but more like in the previous dance.

"I jump!"

she yelled.

The governess in the room quietly retreated into the shadows, lifted her skirt, and stepped under her paws like a cat.

Bronte turned a few stairs and reached a room at the end of a floor.

Knocked on the door gently.

After a few breaths, permission was granted.

Inside the room, Randolph Taylor stared at some paper documents with a frown in deep thought.

The gas lamp over the table was warm and bright.

Next to the coffee is a tower of fresh grapes on the verge of collapse.

"Mr. Taylor."

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

Bronte gathered her long skirt and knelt down to salute: "I am Miss Taylor's governess."

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

Then I have to personally pour her a glass of water or coffee or...

"Coffee will do, Mr. Taylor."

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

"No." Bronte smoothed her hair, her lips a little tight.

She didn't know whether she should slander him in front of one friend and perhaps his only friend left in the world...

But she liked Miss Beatrice Taylor, and she was also attracted to Randolph Taylor…

Theresa was nice to her.

She couldn't just watch.

"Mr. Collins has some..."

Bronte hesitated, "Some..."

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

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

She thought it would be better to tell the truth.

Just say what you saw.

"A 'man I can't see,' Mr. Taylor. Later, Miss joined in."

Her education had not allowed her to use words like 'freak', 'madman', 'cursed' to describe Taylor's friend - but to be honest, it really scared her a little.

Who is he dancing with?

why?
Is there something wrong with his brain?
Is he crazy?

Will the young lady also...become...

Mad man?

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

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

Bronte couldn't help but widen his eyes: "...Sir?"

click.

Cut off the cap.

Flame roasting.

She squeezed three fingers into a bird's beak, holding the greasy cigar wrapper and shaking it in the dimmed light.

The smoke snake circled several times.

"I've been thinking recently whether I should fill in a new model...Bronte?"

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

"Oh, I know."

"You—you knew?"

Randolph looked like he was asking, "Why are you making such a fuss?" "Of course. Do you think I would just hand over the Taylor family's treasure to someone I don't know or approve of?"

"But if you know that, why do you still——"

Randolph's eyes were extremely calm.

"…Because there are too many crazy people in the world, Miss Bronte."

Bronte saw sadness and indifference in his face.

This contradiction was intertwined and was soon hidden by the owner in a deeper shadow.

"My Betty... who would really care except me?"

He said.

"If there really is such a person."

He said.

"madman?"

"To be honest, I don't care if he's a blasphemer, Miss Bronte." Randolph looked indifferently at the smoke that was born and died quickly, watching them being hatched by the flames and then quickly swallowed by the invisible breath, turning light and old, and dying invisible and colorless.

"You see, it's like my best friend used his last life to bring glory to Taylor and gave me a wave of gold pounds like a dam breaking."

"What did I do?"

Randolph said.

"I used his death to make more money."

"Good Tyler" - this reputation will undoubtedly elevate "Golden Mist" and "Fountain of Youth" to the top of the moral mountain that everyone needs to look up to in the short term.

That means gold pounds.

"You don't think so," Bronte said soothingly.

"It doesn't matter what you think, miss. Businessmen only care about 'reality' - what you do is what matters."

The two people gradually fell into silence.

Bronte's heart was beating fast.

Perhaps it was the smoke that was too thick, or perhaps she wished too much for something to warm the cold man's heart like the ambitious flames 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 brushed her hair unnaturally and pretended to tidy up her collar and shoulder veil, which did not need to be tidied 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."

(End of this chapter)