Chapter 717 Ch716 Departure

Chapter 717 Ch.716 Departure

The Beagle will dock at Newquay.

It will set sail in two days, sail down the coast, and arrive at the Royal Docks on the north bank of the Thames east of London in three days.

So, two weeks before the ship arrives, Fernandez will take Roland and Shandel to Newquay.

Oh.

And the blade.

This lady who is very good at telling dirty jokes.

Departure morning.

When the wet mist seeps out of the oak forest, someone fastens the last brass antler buckle.

Lady Blade arrives early.

The camel hunting suit with meticulous stitching is obviously made by a skilled craftsman. Every inch of the design transforms the aesthetics of imperial torture instruments into a sharp weapon of sculptured grace - she chose the latter between the travel casual dress and the hunting suit, and also matched a pair of deerskin gloves of the same color.

She wore a pair of long boots of similar color, her slutty brown hair was hanging down without being tied up, and she stood at the agreed intersection with a look of "no strangers allowed".

When she saw Roland behind the carriage window from a distance, the ice melted instantly.

"I didn't wait too long."

Before Roland got out of the carriage, she opened the door for him and sent the words in first.

"I haven't asked yet."

"A thoughtful lady won't wait for a man to ask first," she waited for Roland to land, then took a half step back, looking him up and down with a look of surprise, "If I were ten years younger, I would take the initiative to pursue you. Unfortunately, I'm too old to enjoy the relationship with a person like you..."

"Only yu."

Roland has gotten used to it.

"Is Fernandez not here yet?"

When mentioning other people, Blade's smile gradually disappeared, he brushed his left shoulder, skipped the copper buckle, and his face was calm: "Probably just got up from the bed... the bed on Hua Street."

The pungent smell of coal dust and feces filled the air in the early morning.

The milkman's tin bucket rattled and clanged in the car.

Roland could see the window-knockers with long poles walking through the fog from room to room - groups of fedora-hatted gentlemen arm in arm, spitting, telling dirty jokes, blowing smoke rings as they walked.

These people who are allergic to yeast can never get fat.

"Want one?"

Blade pinched the cigarette box.

"No, I don't smoke."

"Cigar or pipe?"

"Cigar."

"Oh, I still prefer gentlemen who smoke pipes," the woman lit a cigarette for herself, swished it around in her lungs with the not-too-cold air, and exhaled it happily: "Heller smokes a pipe."

An old morning newspaper with the Queen's profile fell into the mud pit, and her face had traces of being run over by wheels.

"Shelley's pipe."

She finished the cigarette in a few puffs and knocked out the second one to light it.

"I thought you had to be with Kratov."

"Xander? We don't live together."

"I didn't say you lived together," Blade rolled his eyes at Roland, "I meant you only slept together. Enid Jutia obviously can't satisfy a man's desire for conquest and possession, but Shandel Kratov is not bad..."

Roland agreed, "It's just that the mortality rate is a bit higher."

Blade laughed, "I can see that she likes you a lot. She wants to dig out her eyes and put them in your pocket."

After that, he bumped Roland's shoulder.

"…How does it feel to be targeted by a 'saint'?"

Roland sniffed the pungent smoke blowing across his cheeks, and raised and lowered his index finger, middle finger, ring finger, and pinky finger in turn, knocking on the handle of the silver-wrapped bird-beak cane: "I have never understood it very well, and Fernandez has not explained it to me in detail, ma'am - what does a saint mean?"

Blade explained in a deep voice: "It means a holy, sacred woman."

Roland:...

She seems to have the same habit as some women, and loves to see Roland make such an expression.

"Ha... It means 'dedicated to the gods', Collins."

She held the cigarette with the corner of her mouth, and her eyes swept across the fur-edged coats of the workers.

"A 'ritual' in the church, only the most holy and pious women can complete it."

Roland looked at her profile and asked what the ritual was.

"A ritual that can communicate with the gods," the woman also looked over and winked at him: "It requires sufficient 'dedication' and 'sacrifice' spirit - I don't know the details, and I bet that it is the same for Cinder Kratov."

Devotion and sacrifice...

Death?

"Or more terrible than death."

Roland lowered his eyes.

"So, your path is related to the Holy Cross?"

"Oh, I thought Fernandez told you," Blade shrugged, flicked the cigarette, and knocked out the third one: "Can you guess... make a bet?"

Why bet again.

"Everyone has a little hobby. In order to face this boring and painful life... a little hobby. I don't like poker, but I am interested in horse racing and other more direct gambling... Ten pounds, how about it? I guess you will lose."

She raised her eyebrows at Roland temptingly, took out two five-pound coins from the front pocket of her hunting suit and tossed them up and down in her hand.

"Here, guess in the Holy Cross."

Holy Flame, Saint, Thinker, Craftsman.

Choose one of the four?

"You are neither Holy Flame nor the Thinker."

Blade pulled his shoulder blades and stretched: "I won't give you any hints."

Roland thought for a moment.

"Saint."

He said.

"You and Shandel are on the same path."

The woman was really surprised this time.

"Totally right, Collins. You have a good brain that can help you-but I still have to ask, how do you know?"

Because every "saint" I have ever met is not very normal.

Gary Cratopher, Sindel Cratopher, and, you.

"Because every "saint" I have seen is excellent enough, unlike ordinary people's excellence. ”

"No wonder you were given to Fernandez," the blade curled his lips, "You are all knowledgeable enough, especially your mouth."

She moved her boots and leaned against Roland, her voice low and dumb:

"How come you know everything, everything. Maybe you even know the birthmark on the inner side of my thigh...is it? The little cutie who digs well in my heart..."

Another carriage was parked on the side of the road.

Fernandez arrived in a dusty manner, his face still feeling unwashed.

"What are you talking about?"

"Talk about my birthmark."

Fernandez:...

He saw the blade stuffing two coins into Roland's pocket, looked at Roland with a suspicion for a few seconds, and then warned in a deep voice:

"You'd better not do this again and again in the courtroom, boy."

Roland:...

Dao Ren smacked his lips: "Do you have any opinions on our feelings?"

Fernandez stared at them for a while.

But he didn't say anything wrong.

A few minutes later.

Xiandel has arrived, too.

She is different from the blade in a hunting suit.

Convenient lake-colored soft skirt and triangle leather shoulder bag, and a wide-brimmed hat with ferret specimens on your head (you can never figure out what women think, in this era, they can't figure out the hats every time they date What's on it. )

"Rising, three."

It seemed as if the exquisite girl who was going to have a picnic in the remote suburbs stepped down the steps and bent her knees slightly.

"What are you talking about?"

The blade tilted its lip: "My birthmark."

Xiandel:...