The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 61 Visiting Taylor
No. 25 West Street.

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

The decoration here is obviously more gorgeous, even the carriages of all sizes parked at the door have patterns on the walls.

Roland always felt that he could smell a scent of warm ink in the fragrance of flowers.

Of course, it's the same here as on the other side, it's very quiet.

'Loud noises, poor goods' - people living in the West End are not bothered by the high and low notes of match sellers, paper boxes and pig castrators.

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

Who gave them the advice, hawking it by their own window as they slept.

There are also repairmen who walk the streets.

He had never seen anyone who could sing hawking with such an artistic sense in the time he was in Fork County:

'Is there anyone who can repair the table?'

The deep voice always has a melancholy, heart-warming elegy.

In the midst of all the harsh, annoying noises, this lingering, deep and mournful tone was 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 outside the window:
'Is there anyone who can repair the table?'

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

“Neither a good nor a bad city.”

Roland commented.

As the wheels went from bumpy to smooth and the road surface went from uneven to flat, the carriage drove into the West End 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 all observe a certain silent etiquette. Apart from the squeaking of wheels on the road, even footsteps can hardly be heard.

Even the newsboys were no longer noisy. They ran around hurriedly with their cloth bags and frayed hats, but like dumb people, they used their eyes to signal to the men and women passing by.

Only when they passed by him or looked at him intentionally, he would whisper:
'New Post...'

'A copy of the New Post...'

Interesting people, interesting city.

If the city were not flat, it would definitely look like a spiraling tower.

"Sir, we are here."

A horse snorted ahead.

The 25th has arrived.

Taylor House——

The place where Roland was to meet today was surrounded by black-painted, silver-headed spiked iron railings.

The main entrance is like this, like an arched wave, large and high; the wall is gray ivory, the house number is marked, and there is a very trendy line of small words engraved on the bottom:

"Taylor", and a number representing time.

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

He turned around and ran back in a hurry. After Roland passed the narrow road and the well-trimmed bushes, Randolph in a vest happened to lead his men out of the house quickly.

He smiled at Roland from a distance, tilted his head slightly, and bowed to greet him.

"My friend," he walked forward quickly, held Roland's shoulders, and asked carefully, "How is your injury? Please don't embarrass me anymore, Father of All Things! Tell me the good news, okay?"

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

"Call me Randolph."

He looked at the servants coldly and told them that Roland was the Taylor family's best friend. Then, he and the servants led Roland into the house:
I hung up his coat and took off his hat for him.

Holly-colored wallpaper is used over a large area in the house, giving the overall look a calm and low-key feel.

But even Roland, with his limited knowledge, could tell from the decorations and furnishings that there were piles of gold pounds in the interior - the gas lamp had a beautiful shell, the armchair had a curved profile without any straight parts, and the fabric was made of soft satin, covered with blue patterns of snowflakes and stars.

The ceiling is light green, with complicated grids and lines painted on it. There are oil paintings on the walls, one of which shows a family of three:

An older man, and Randolph Taylor and her sister, Beatrice Taylor. The living room fireplace was closed, but the fire was burning in the cracks.

The fireplace was covered with stone slabs, a small gilt-rimmed clock, a mirror and a porcelain vase.

The carpet was soft and the room was very warm.

Everything is so expensive.

"Please sit down, please sit down. I see you are in a hurry. Have a cup to warm yourself up first."

He told the servants to get busy, asked Roland to sit on the sofa, and personally took his cane and put it away.

There was a small table next to the sofa, with many small silver utensils on it.

"It's great to see you're okay." The thin man rubbed his hands, rubbing his sleeves against each other. "I went there twice in person and sent someone to deliver something to you. You didn't receive anything, did you?"

Seeing Roland nod and wanting to say something, he interrupted nonchalantly, "It wasn't originally for you, 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 the dozens of pounds of gifts, I hope they can take your injury more seriously."

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

His eyebrows twitched, and the warmth in the room seemed unable to warm his thin, snow-white face.

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

Roland meant what he was saying to himself right now.

"I have to thank you again, Randolph."

"Then I have to thank you again after you thank me." Randolph joked and patted Roland's shoulder warmly, "I know your eyesight is not good. I wanted to show you something..." He moved his butt and pulled the table over.

Roland then noticed that there were small wooden wheels under several of the table legs.

"Lunch still needs to be prepared."

"You know what our family does, right?"

He pushed open the exquisite bolt and found many utensils in the silver box carved with vines.

Next to it, there was an open wooden box.

There were several cigars thicker than thumbs stacked inside.

"Want to try?"

He gave one to Roland and took one for himself, chanting something like an aria:
"The consolation of the thinker, the intoxication of the imaginative builder with the air and the fragrance of frankincense beside the marble, the eleventh finger of the benefactor."

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

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

Randolph used a small silver knife to cut open the cap, then lit a stick of wood and slowly toasted it not far from the cigar head.

The servant brought tea and coffee, as well as a small porcelain jug of milk.

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

Roland shrugged his nose.

Not like the cigarettes those men smoke at the party.

This taste…

It smells good.

"Try it, try it, our little angel." Randolph raised his strange voice and teased Roland. His hand holding the cigar shook in the air again and again, and the cigarette butt was red.

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

Suddenly.

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

Like a new leather jacket brushed with honey.

(End of this chapter)