Maybe it was because he couldn’t find any fun or perhaps because he suddenly awakened to the sa perverse taste as Sir Arthur Hastings, thus even the dull public security files and police regulations could be of great interest to Herzen.
After reading for a while, Herzen felt thirsty, so he knocked on the door and asked the sergeant at the entrance for a glass of water.
He drank a sip of water and read a file, doing this for several hours.
Until the sky began to show the white of dawn, Herzen suddenly heard soone gently knocking on the window.
"Master, Master..."
Herzen looked up to find several familiar faces outside the window.
There was an old coachman from his ho, along with Carl and his nurse.
Tears welled up in their eyes as they muttered various words of concern.
The sergeant outside heard the commotion and quickly ca in to check, realizing the situation, he panicked and roughly shouted, intending to drive them away.
They dared not linger, so they retreated to the other side of the street, and Herzen saw from behind the window the old coachman and Carl took off their hats and kept bowing to him.
As for Vera Aldamovna and Mrs. Provod, the two won couldn’t stop their tears, unwilling to believe that the child they raised would suffer such injustice. What a great young man! Smart, clever, gentle, and kind since childhood, capable of getting into Moscow University without relying on his father’s connections, writing deep articles that they couldn’t understand.
They rembered this mischievous boy’s boasts as a child about becoming a general and councilor, giving each of them a big house.
How could such a good child be arrested by those damned police and constitutional soldiers?
Herzen didn’t shed tears while staying at the police station all night, but now his eyes reddened unknowingly, tears flowing like a fountain.
He raised his sleeve to wipe his tears, but no matter how much he wiped, tears always lingered in his eyes.
He turned his head deliberately not to look, just waved to them, signaling them to go back.
Seeing the sergeant coming out of the police station, the coachman, who wanted to stay longer, had to whip the horse, took off his hat, rubbed his eyes, called everyone into the carriage, and finally drove off.
In the unseen street corner, under a black top hat lay a smoking pipe.
Arthur originally planned to visit his young friend casually today, not expecting to encounter this scene.
Looking at the scene before him, even a heart made of iron couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable.
Although it had little to do with him, he even planned to instigate these young n to create trouble and have them exiled to the Caucasus.
These matters are always light when spoken.
But when it truly impacts a person, witnessing these young people’s family separation, who can be truly heartless?
Thus, one must keep away from grassroots affairs to beco a big shot, because not seeing ans treating as not happening.
But conversely, if seen and then trying to ignore, Arthur temporarily didn’t have such a cruel heart.
At this mont, he no longer had the need to persecute the young people.
In other words, his approach could be more flexible, doing sothing based on conscience.
He squinted at the surrounding streets, early in the morning, various sleep-deprived clerks were already yawning and active on Moscow’s streets.
The police station reopened, and Moscow’s citizens ca noisily to file complaints.
As Arthur was about to leave, he suddenly heard a fierce uproar across the street.
A woman draped in a mink collar swung a peacock feather fan, powder falling on the police chief’s vodka-stained uniform lapel.
"That damned Ivan Petrovich!" The woman’s lipstick-sared mouth sprayed white breath: "Can you believe it? He cursed as a brothel-raised wild chicken in front of twenty-odd drunkards!"
Her lacquered nails almost poked the police chief’s face: "Does this sound believable? My place has a legal business license!"
"Marfa Vasilyevna." The police chief used a pen tip to clean the grease in his nail gap: "You haven’t paid last month’s security managent fee..."
Before he finished, a bulging suede money pouch slamd onto the oak table.
Imdiately, the boss lady pulled out a yellowed receipt from her bodice, the strong musk aroma made the police chief sneeze: "These are the twenty rubles he owed three years ago! Interest calculated at five percent monthly..."
"Nonsense!" The hotel owner suddenly exploded, the dagger at his waist clattering to the ground: "You asked to free supply wine to the brothel!"
He tore open his collar, revealing the scratch marks on his neck: "Look! This is the good deeds done by your Polish harlots!"
Finally, he didn’t forget to humbly plead with the police chief: "Look at my neck, please don’t believe the nonsense of this harlot, you know, in her line of work, there’s not a single true word from her mouth!"
User Comments
0 comments from readers