Although the Great Dumas repeatedly consoled Dickens, telling him that the Bidnell family couldn’t recognize the Thas River in front of them, and with his current wealth and fa, it was only a matter of ti before he found a girl better than Maria.
But Dickens was ultimately not a Frenchman, so he couldn’t be that carefree, especially considering this was his first love, which made it even harder for him to move on.
Disraeli and Arthur really couldn’t offer much advice or comfort on matters of the heart.
As everyone knows, Disraeli was a guy who rose through "connections," and even a woman like Mrs. Sikes, who had seen it all, was captivated by him. Seeing Dickens tripped by a "pebble by the roadside" and single-handedly taken down by a "novice village beast," with Disraeli’s disposition, not coming out to mock him already counted as a deep friendship with Dickens.
As for Arthur, this Yorkshire superman with an iron heart had standards for judging girls that differed greatly from normal people.
He really didn’t understand what attraction a girl from a banker family had other than being able to sign two checks, which seed wholly useless.
Such a girl might pique the interest of his students, the unworldly Junker lad Bismarck.
However, for a genuine Yorkshire gentleman educated at the University of London, this was impractical.
At tis like these, they’d have to rely on that "man as lonely as winter night’s snow," Heinrich Heine, to take action.
After all, Heine once faced a similar situation when pursuing his two cousins, and among everyone, only Heine could put a hand on Dickens’ shoulder and say, "Only I can understand your pain."
Oh, speaking of which, I almost forgot about the other two important mbers of the "British" gang.
If Mr. Charles Darwin, currently adrift at sea, and his observation subjects were in London, they might indeed have so comforting words for Dickens.
Especially with Eld’s repeated failed courtships, which could indeed provide so encouragent.
But there’s no need to rush, because it’s been four years since their departure following the Beagle from November 1830.
According to the Navy Departnt’s planned exploration route, their survey tasks in South Arica have been completed, aning they now only have so wrapping up to do in Australia. Once these tasks are finished, the Beagle will head west across the Indian Ocean, round the Cape of Good Hope, and proceed towards Britain at full speed.
And from the increasingly restless tone of a certain primate’s recent letters, Arthur easily deduced that the great patroness of the ladies of Leicester Square was only a few months away from returning to London.
Like: My recent research subjects are a group of kangaroos, and their jumping posture reminds of the girls on the stage of the Alhambra Theater. Especially when they wear silver-studded ballet skirts, spinning around like ripples under the moonlight.
Or: A few days ago, Charles discovered a female koala that seed uninterested in the male’s advances, and when the male began buzzing with his rough voice, that female koala climbed to the top of a tree, playing dead. Arthur, doesn’t this sound familiar? I bet it’s a routine not uncommon in London’s social balls.
God bless, it seems the five-year hard labor on the Beagle has not successfully reford Eld.
But at this point, Arthur was too lazy to consider much more.
After all, once Eld returns to London, it’ll certainly be the Navy Departnt’s headache, not him, the family tutor at Kensington Palace.
He’s interested to see how the Navy Departnt plans to place Eld at that ti, as they had made quite a few promises to lure him out to sea in those days. If the position isn’t good enough, with his uncle’s backing, Eld would surely cause a stir.
But if the position is too important...
Heh...
The credibility of the University of London’s classical literature departnt is still solid.
Louis has been tightly wound for these two years, even if forced by artillery into the mud, he would rather remain silent. Even when faced with Louis Philippe, the French police, and the constitutional soldiers, he never showed a hint of weakness or emotional fluctuation.
But at this mont, he really laughed.
Not the fake smile of diplomatic occasions, nor the mild and firm smile in front of the Bonaparte Party, but a smile with a touch of youthful air, one that appeared after being surrounded by friends, old events, and familiar tones.
When he heard of little Dumas jumping out of a window, Disraeli triumphing in love affairs, and Mr. Carter, whom he’d only heard of but never t, writing letters claiming the kangaroo’s jumps were better than ballet dancers, Louis relaxed completely, even forgetting to change the long-extinct cigar in his hand.
He looked over at that table of friends, his gaze unintentionally falling on Arthur.
This superior and old friend he had always respected.
Arthur Hastings, who hailed from the University of London, a symbol of Scotland Yard, an acquaintance of White Hall and Downing Street, a professor with a chair at Gottingen...
Regarding Arthur’s recent experiences, Louis had heard much; he originally thought this old friend would be downcast after the Caucasus incident, but unexpectedly, at this mont, he had transford again, becoming a guest at Kensington Palace, as the guide to the British Crown Prince.
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