Chapter 607 Ch606 Pebble Beach (Long)

Chapter 607 Ch.606 Pebble Beach (Long)

"A real big family will not let its daughter run around like a pony, Barton. I understand Randolph's expectations for Betty - there are all kinds of expectations, but there is no such thing as "becoming a lady."

When Barton hinted that Roland's behavior was "inappropriate", Roland answered him like this.

Just look at Theresa.

This serious lady with a stern face did not stop the happy pony from running around.

Obviously, Randolph has realized that his sister will never have an "ordinary" second half of her life like those ladies waiting to get married - no one will marry such a woman as a wife, and if there is, Randolph will also doubt whether there is any other conspiracy.

For example, Taylor's dowry.

These days, it is too common for one or two women to go "crazy".

Beatrice is not very resistant, and Randolph is afraid that he will hear the bad news of "craziness" or "death" not long after marrying her.

"…Miss, it's a bit pitiful."

Barton pursed his salty lips, and looked at the girl who returned with a basket full of shells, and his heart was somewhat sad.

The happier she laughed, the more painful it was for the sober people.

A sincere but crazy rose cannot be sold at a reserved and elegant price.

And if it is not shameless to calculate the price, Barton doesn't even know from what angle to judge the matter of "happiness".

The collapsed waist of the cargo worker that can never stand up again and the lungs that are about to cough into the throat are symbols of "happiness".

The surviving children and sagging limbs surrounding the woman are also symbols of "happiness".

Barton believes that Beatrice Taylor should be blessed decently and married to a man with an equally wealthy background under the witness of a pastor.

She embraces the secular world, is free from labor, and even awakens love.

This little water jug-like girl should have an equally rich second half of her life, a stable but not dull life.

Her jawline should be carved out by arrogance and sarcasm, the jewel necklace hanging from her neck should be enviably well hidden, she should be pursued and envied during the day, and washed with the smell of expensive soap after a bumpy ride at night.

This is the best and most stable future Barton can think of.

"Unfortunately, she doesn't need anyone's sympathy."

Roland said softly.

Betty is not one of those pale and half-sick young ladies.

She can stretch out any long skirt that makes a girl thin. She is agile, happy, and never idle.

You can describe it as plump or lively. This rose that twists out a unique dance in the flowerbed makes people almost sure that she has a huge, strong heart that pumps blood like an angry bull.

"Extraordinarily attractive woman," Roland took out two cigars and shared them with Barton: "I think only fools don't appreciate her."

Barton carefully took the cigar and match and lit it like Roland.

It's just that the look in his eyes is a little strange.

"Teresa has hinted to me many times what you want to ask." Roland exhaled a puff of white mist, his eyebrows curved.

Barton...

He swore that he was a tough guy, and he would never mutter like those women about whose dog had a baby, whose dog had a baby with whose girl - he didn't like to talk about others behind their backs, but at this moment he couldn't help it.

Roland's words were like a small rake that tickled people's hearts.

Itchy, but can't be scratched.

"The lady likes you very much."

"Maybe I am more suitable to be her brother than Randolph," Roland shrugged: "I like Betty too, and I would rather have such a cute and clever sister."

Barton looked at the girl who was trying to "trick" her brother's index finger into the shell and then pressed it down desperately, and muttered in his heart.

She is not like this to her brother, Mr. Collins.

...

The evening in Port Port is different from that in London.

The jewel in the crown has been covered with a layer of light blue mist for many years, the kind of mist that can inspire poets to write poetry.

When the lamplighters carry long ladders and light the lamps beside the Thames piers, the soft arcs will illuminate the floating and silent ships and the white waves hitting the piers...

and the buttocks of those homeless people.

Soon, the police will be dispatched.

The seashore of Porte Port is not like this.

It is sparkling.

The pebbles are soaked with water, and a plain-like, unexpectedly long coast is in the orange lights on the bell tower in the distance, like the swaying and turning seam scale dance skirts in the hands of dancers. Countless white sparks that failed to burn exploded and extinguished in Roland's eyes.

Then exploded again.

It was very beautiful.

Tourists walked together, and from time to time they gave gentle and friendly smiles to friends who passed by and had never met.

The sound of horse hooves and waves in the distance, the sound of conversations nearby, and the sound of soles stepping on stones.

Roland understood why this place was called a resort.

"If possible, I want to sleep here for a hundred years."

"I don't think it matters where you are, Roland, you just love to sleep." Randolph carried a bottle of local whiskey without a label, rolled up his sleeves, and held a cigar in his mouth.

The sea breeze blew their hair all over the place.

"How was the talk with Mr. Taylor?"

"... What do you think." Randolph blew out a puff of smoke and kicked the pebbles under his feet as if to vent: "He doesn't even recognize me, Roland. A father who can't recognize his son and whose memory only stays at the age of 23..."

"Is this fair?"

Roland was surprised to hear the word "fair" from Randolph.

"...His "amnesia" is getting worse and worse. The doctor said that he will soon forget more...until..."

Randolph rubbed the corners of his mouth and laughed at himself:

"I don't think it will reach that level. The disease in his stomach will soon kill this old man...You see, he loved to do this when he was young."

Randolph pointed at Bellos Taylor in the distance with his finger holding a cigar.

At this time.

The old man who was staggering was "pinning" his cane, facing the silent roaring white waves, holding his head high and telling Beatrice about his magnificent past.

Teresa listened quietly on the side, and then wiped her tears quietly.

'I have twenty ships! Girl, do you know what this means? '

Betty: 'What? '

Bellos: 'It means wealth! Wealth flowing to me! Like the waves...By the way, I haven't asked your name yet? ’

Betty: ‘Betty.’

Bellos: ‘Betty? Betty what?’

Betty: ‘Betty Taylor.’

Bellos: ‘Oh, a good name. I am somewhat familiar with it… You look like my wife.’

Betty: ‘Who?’

The old man was stuck, and his two pale eyebrows squeezed out a deep ruin.

‘… I seem to have a wife, we met here… Do I have one? I seem to, no, I seem not to? What’s your name?’

Teresa cried even harder.

“I don’t know whether the ceremony is true or false, and I don’t know whether it is the mother’s or father’s fault…”

“Is this a punishment?”

Randolph poured whiskey into his throat, and when Bellows Taylor’s ‘speech’ was interrupted, he knelt on the ground holding his stomach, howling and rolling, and then threw away the bottle and cigar, and strode across the bumpy cobblestone beach.

‘Don’t… don’t touch me! What medicine did you feed me… Theresa…? What… Theresa? I don't know you! Don't... call my wife! Where's my servant? ! '

'Don't touch my cane! It's mine! '

Roland was silent.

-

I miss Yam a little.

"I also miss Su Yue, whose body is gone."

-

You should be thankful that you are invisible and never have to worry about whether your teeth will leave your mouth.