Chapter 3 The room behind Chapter 2

Historians tell us that the summer of 1842 was like any other, but to Flush it was so different that he must have suspected that the whole world had changed.It was a summer in the bedroom, and it was a summer with Miss Barrett; it was a summer in London, the heart of civility.At first he could see nothing but the bedroom and its furniture; but that was enough to open his eyes.Merely recognizing and distinguishing objects and learning their proper names confuses him.Before he had time to get used to the tables, busts and washstands, the smell of cologne still made his nostrils very uncomfortable, and soon he encountered a rare good weather—clear but not windy, warm but not hot, dry but There was no dust--it was a fine day for a sick man to go out and get some air.On that day, Miss Barrett could go shopping and shopping with her sister in peace.

The carriage was called.Then Miss Barrett got up from the couch, put on her veil, wrapped herself up, and went down the stairs; Flush, of course, accompanied her.He jumped into the carriage and lay on her lap. The most gorgeous and spectacular side of London suddenly appeared in front of his eyes. He was shocked!They walked along Oxford Street; he saw houses built almost entirely of glass; he saw friezes shining like lace across the windows, and the window panes were heaped with bright pink and purple and yellow and rose rims .Then the carriage stopped, and he entered the arcade of mystery covered with clouds and tapestry of colored tulle.A million scents from China and Arabia floated into the deepest part of every sense of his senses.A pile of shiny silk flows quickly on the counter, while the heavy cotton yarn appears darker in color and rolls more slowly.The scissors clicked, the nickels gleamed, the paper was gently folded, and the rope was firmly tied.The feathers nod slightly, the long flag flutters with the wind, the horses bob their heads up and down, the servants in yellow uniforms, the flashing faces... all jumping up, jumping down, jumping up, jumping down.Flush fell asleep, dozed, dreamed, and fell unconscious with the gratification of a thousand senses, until someone lifted him from the carriage, until the Whymper Street gate closed behind him again .

The next day, it was still fine weather.Miss Barrett tries an even more daring adventure - being pushed for a walk on Whymper Street in a wheelchair!Again, Flush was with her.It was the first time he heard his toenails clicking on the pavement in London; it was also the first time that the strong smell of a whole street in London on a hot summer day began to smell in his nostrils. Heavy shelling.He smelled the dizzying stench of gutters; the bitter smell of corroded iron railings; Complex, corrupt, and strongly contrasting and mixing with each other; these smells are beyond the scope of the human nose, so when the wheelchair keeps moving forward, he stops from time to time, smelling and tasting in amazement, until The collar was pulled hard, dragging him forward.In addition, as he followed Miss Barrett's wheelchair up and down Whymper Street, he was dizzy from the crowd of human bodies.The petticoat swished over his head, trousers brushed his flanks, and then something like a wheel rolled over an inch in front of his nose as a lorry passed, bringing a devastating wind, in He growled in his ears, making the long fur around the soles of his feet fluff up.He ran forward in great fear, but fortunately the iron chain on his collar was buckled tightly, and Miss Barrett hugged him tightly, otherwise he would have rushed to destruction.

At last, with every nerve throbbing and every sense singing, Flush was in Regent's Park.As if after years of absence, when he saw the green grass, flowers and trees again, and the hunting call of the old field screamed in his ears, he immediately rushed forward, wanting to rush into the field and run, just like returning to his hometown.However, at this moment, there was a heavy object pulling on his throat, causing him to fall back slumped.Isn't it the trees and grass in front of you?he asks.Are they not signs of freedom?Whenever Miss Mitford went out for a walk, didn't he always rush forward?Why is he a prisoner here?He stopped to observe: the flowers here are much denser than those in his hometown, and the plants are neatly arranged in narrow pots, and the pots are divided into sections by hard black walkways.Men in shiny top hats stalked the walkway as if foreboding.Seeing them, he leaned tremblingly towards the chair, accepting the protection of the chains more than willingly.And so, before many such walks, he had a whole new concept in his mind.He pieced together various phenomena and came to a conclusion: where there are flower beds, there are asphalt walks; where there are flower beds and asphalt walks, there must be men wearing shiny hats; Where men wear shiny top hats, dogs must be on chains!He didn't need to know what was written on the sign at the park gate to learn his lesson: In Regent's Park, dogs must be on chains!

The core knowledge gained from this strange experience in the summer of 1842 soon led to another: that dogs are not equal, but different.Previously at the three-mile mark, Flush had made no distinction between the dog in the bar and the spirit of the squire.