Chapter 4 Chapter 3 Mystery Guest

An education like this in the back bedroom on Whymper Street often has a profound effect on the common dog.Flush was no ordinary dog, however.Although he is energetic, he is also fond of meditation; although he is only a dog, he is highly sensitive to human emotions.So the atmosphere in that bedroom had an extraordinary influence on such a dog.As a result, his sensitivity was increased and his masculinity relatively decreased, but of course we can't blame him.Pillowing the Greek dictionary under his head all day long, he naturally dislikes barking and biting; he would rather choose the quietness of the cat family than the strength of the dog family; and what he loves most is communicating with humans communicate.Miss Barrett also devoted herself to educating him and helping him to improve himself.Once, she took a harp from the window, put it beside him, and asked him: Does he think this harp, which can make music, has life in itself?Flush seemed to have stared, listened, pondered, and hesitated for a moment before finally deciding that the harp was not alive.She took him to stand in front of the mirror again, and asked him why he was barking and trembling?Isn't the little brown dog opposite him exactly himself?But what is "self"?Is that something someone else saw?Or the real "self"?Once again Flush pondered for a long time, but unable to resolve this difficult problem of reality, he leaned closer to Miss Barrett and kissed her "meaningfully"; at least it was true.

His nervous system was agitated by such questions and emotional difficulties, and he decided to go downstairs.We can easily imagine that there was a certain haughty sense of superiority in his behavior, which made Caddy Lang - the vicious Cuban bloodhound - angry, so he jumped on him and bit him, making him howl , while running back upstairs, asking Miss Barrett for help.Her conclusion: Flush was "not a hero"!But why is he not a hero?Shouldn't she be partly responsible?She has an upright personality, but she doesn't understand that he sacrificed his courage for her, just like he sacrificed sunshine and air for her.Undoubtedly, this fine-grained sensitivity had its drawbacks—she was filled with guilt when he jumped on Mr Kenyon and bit him as he tripped over the bell rope; he cried all night because he couldn't sleep in her bed. , or refusing to eat unless she was fed, bothered her immensely.Even so, she was still willing to take the blame and take the trouble; because Flush loved her.For her, he rejected air and sunlight. "He's worthy of love, isn't he?" she asked Mr. Horne.Whatever Mr. Horn's answer was, Miss Barrett already had an affirmative answer.She loved Flush, and Flush deserved her love.

Nothing seemed to be able to break the bond—time passed, and the years seemed only to make it stronger and stronger; and those years seemed to be the years of their lives.1842 became 1843, 1843 became 1844, 1844 became 1845, Flush was no longer It is not a canine, but a four or five-year-old adult dog, entering the golden period of his life.Miss Barrett, however, was still lying on the sofa in Whymper Street, and Flush was still lying on the sofa at her feet.Miss Barrett's life was that of a "caged bird," sometimes shutting herself up for weeks at a time, and going out only for an hour or two at a time, either in a carriage to a store, or in a wheelchair being pushed. Go for a walk in Regent's Park.The Barrett family never left the City of London.Mr. Barrett, seven brothers, two sisters, the butler, Wilson and the maids, Candy Lang, Farley, Miss Barrett and Flush, all at 50 Whymper Street, Dining in the restaurant at home, sleeping in the bedroom, smoking in the study, cooking in the kitchen, carrying the kettle, emptying the bucket of stale water..., from January to December.Only the chair covers were a little dirtier, the carpet a little older, and the smells of soot, mud, cooking fumes, fog, cigar smoke, wine, and meat accumulated in crevices, crevices, surfaces of fabrics, frames, and carvings. within the swirl pattern.The ivy outside Miss Barrett's bedroom window grew thicker and thicker, its green curtains thicker; and in summer the nasturtiums and runner beans burst into full bloom in pots on the windowsill.

However, one evening in early January, 1845, the postman knocked on the door.As usual, the letter fell into the mailbox; as usual, Wilson went downstairs to get it.Everything was as usual—every night the postman knocked, every night Wilson went to get the letter, and every night there was a letter for Miss Barrett.But it was not the same letter that came tonight; it was different.Even before the envelope was opened, Flush knew.Because of the way she got the letter from Miss Barrett, she turned the letter and stared at the flamboyant, powerful handwriting that wrote her name; Reading the letter intently, Flush knew it was different.He had been staring at her as she read the letter, and as she read on he heard a bell, as we hear a faint bell in the midst of sleep amidst the noise from the street. We hear the bell, but intuitively know that the warning bell is ringing for us, as if someone in the distance wants to wake us up, warn us of a fire, or a burglary, or some terrible thing that will threaten our peaceful life. Sudden Awakening—Similarly, while Miss Barrett was reading the small, ink-stained paper, Flush heard a bell ringing, rousing him from his sleep.The bell was warning him that his safety would be threatened, and told him not to sleep any more.Miss Barrett read the letter quickly, read it again slowly, and carefully put the letter back in the envelope.She couldn't fall asleep either.

A few nights later, the same letter suddenly appeared in Wilson's tray.In the same way, Miss Barrett read it quickly, read it slowly, read it repeatedly, and put it away carefully-not in a drawer next to Miss Mitford's long letter, but in a separate place. .Flush, who had developed a superior sensitivity by lying on the sofa at Miss Barrett's feet for so long, must now pay dearly for it.He can discern clues that no one else can detect. Through the touch of Miss Barrett's fingers, he can feel that now she is waiting for only one thing-the postman's knock on the door, and the sound of the tray on the tray. letter!Originally, she was gently touching him with regular movements; suddenly—the knock on the door! —her fingers gripping him like a vise, waiting for Wilson to come up the stairs.Then she fetched the letter, and he was immediately released and forgotten.

But what's so scary about that?Anyway, Miss Barrett's life hadn't changed, he thought.Indeed, business as usual.No new visitors appeared, Mr. Kenyon came as usual; Miss Mitford came as usual; brothers and sisters showed up as usual; Mr. Barrett came in as usual in the evening.They didn't notice any change and didn't suspect him.So whenever he didn't see the envelope for several nights in a row, he always comforted himself, trying to believe that the enemy had gone.He imagined it was a mysterious man in a robe and a hood, like a thief who tried to pick the lock of the door as he passed by, but found that the place was heavily guarded, so he gave up and slipped away again.Flush tried to convince himself that the alarm had been lifted and the mystery man was gone.But soon the letter will appear again!

As the envelopes appeared more frequently, night after night, Flush began to notice signs of a change in Miss Barrett.For the first time since Flush had known her, he saw her fidgeting and restless, unable to read or write.She stood by the window, staring out of the window.She asked Wilson anxiously what the weather was--is it still blowing from the east?Are there any signs of spring in the park?Oh no, replied Wilson, the brutal east wind still blowing.And Miss Barrett?Flush felt she was both angry and relieved.She coughed and complained that she was not feeling well--in fact, she was far less uncomfortable than when the east wind was blowing in previous years.When no one was around, she would reread the letter she had received the night before.It was by far the longest letter, with many pages, all blotted out with ink, with little cryptic symbols drawn here and there.Flush, standing at her feet, saw clearly, but could not understand what Miss Barrett was whispering to herself.Only when she read the last line of a page and said aloud (of course he did not understand): "When do you think I should come to see you, two months, or three months?" Detect the turmoil of her emotions.

Then she picked up her pen and wrote page after page quickly and nervously.But what do they really say—those little words written by Miss Barrett: "April is here. Maybe we'll see May and June if we live long enough, maybe ...I would like to see you when the warmer weather revives me a bit...but at first I'd be afraid of you—of course it's not true, it's just writing. You're Parachesus, I It is a hermit, whose nerves have been broken on the torture platform, and now hangs limply, trembling and throbbing at the sound of a footstep and a breath." Flush could not read what she had written an inch or two above his head, but even so he understood the meaning of each word.He understands how the hostess is in turmoil between brushes, and how contradictory desires shake her--I hope April will come soon, but I hope April will not come; I hope to see that strange man immediately, May I never see him!Flush was like her, trembling and throbbing at the sound of a footstep, a breath.Time passed cruelly on and on, the wind blowing the curtains, the sun whitening the bust, a bird singing in the stables, men hawking flowers along Whymper Street.All these sounds, he knew, meant that April had come, and then May and June—and nothing could keep that dreadful spring from approaching.What will come with spring?It was something horrible, and Miss Barrett was afraid of it, so Flush was afraid of it too.Now he started with horror at the sound of footsteps, but it was only Henrietta; there was a knock at the door!But that's just Mr. Kenyon.In this way, April passed, and the first twenty days of May passed away.Then, on the twenty-first of May, Flush knew that day had finally come.For on Tuesday, May 21st, Miss Barrett kept looking in the mirror, wrapped herself carefully in the Indian shawl, and told Wilson to draw the easy chair closer, but not too close.She touched this and that, and sat upright among the pillows.Flush lay tense at her feet and waited with her—just the two of them and no one else.At last the bell of Marypon Church struck twice; they waited on.Then the Marypone church clock struck again—half past two!The instant the bell died away, there was a bold knock at the front door, and Miss Barrett lay pale and motionless, and Flush lay still, listening to the terrible, irresistible sound of footsteps coming up. stairs.Flush knew that it was the hooded, evil Midnight Shadow who had come upstairs—the mystery guest!At this moment, his hand was on the door, the handle turned, and he appeared at the door.

"It's Mr. Browning," said Wilson. Flush stared at Miss Barrett and saw her cheeks flush suddenly, her eyes shine, and her red lips parted. "Mr. Browning!" she cried. Mr. Browning twisted his yellow gloves, blinked, and dressed with dignity, but strode recklessly across the room, took Miss Barrett's hand, and sat down in the chair which stood beside her sofa. .The two of them immediately started talking. What frightened Flush most, watching them talk, was his loneliness.Once, he had felt as if he and Miss Barrett were in a cave with a fire; now that the fire was out, the cave was dark and damp, and Miss Barrett was outside.He looked around and found that everything was different: the bookshelf, the five heads and busts-they were no longer benevolent gods sitting there, they had become strange and stern.He moved at Miss Barrett's feet without her noticing;The two talked incessantly, but their conversation did not flow slowly and gently rippling like other conversations, but like a rapid waterfall, jumping and shaking, stopping abruptly, and suddenly starting to jump again.Flush had never heard Miss Barrett speak in that tone--so excited, so alive.He had never seen her cheeks so rosy and bright, her big eyes so sparkling.The clock struck four, and the two continued talking.Then the clock struck again, and Mr. Browning sprang to his feet--every movement of his manifested fearful vigor and dreadful audacity.In a blink of an eye, he had firmly grasped Miss Barrett's hand, picked up his hat and gloves, and said goodbye.They heard him running down the stairs, slamming the door shut—and gone.

But Miss Barrett did not slump back among the pillows as she did after Mr. Kenyon or Miss Mitford had left. She sat upright now, her eyes still burning, her cheeks still swollen. Light, as if still feeling that Mr. Browning was by his side.She was startled when Flush touched her, thought of him suddenly, patted his head lightly with pleasure, then gave him a very strange look with a smile, as if expecting him to speak. , as if hoping that he could connect with her and empathize with her.But she immediately smiled self-pityingly, as if she thought she was ridiculous—how could Flush feel what she felt?How could he understand her thoughts?There had never been such a sad distance between them, and he lay there, utterly ignored, he felt like an invisible dog, and she had no memory of his existence.

She gnawed off the bones that night and gave Flush not a crumb of potato or skin.When Mr. Barrett came in to visit, as usual, Flush was amazed at his slowness.He sat down in the chair that the man had just sat on, and leaned his head on the pillow that the man had just leaned on, but he didn't realize it. "Don't you know," Flush wondered, "who was sitting there just now? Can't you smell it?" To Flush, the room still smelled of Mr. Rotating around five pale cephalothoraxes.However, the burly and heavy man sat next to his daughter in a daze, no doubt about him.The astonished Flush stole past him and slipped out of the room. Astonishingly blind, Miss Barrett's family began to notice changes in Miss Barrett as the weeks passed.She would come out of her room and sit downstairs in the drawing room, and she did something she hadn't done in years—walked to the Devonhill Street gate with her sister!Her friends and family marveled at her progress, but Flush only understood where her strength came from—the swarthy man in the easy chair.He kept coming; once a week at first, then twice a week.Always come in the afternoon and leave in the afternoon.Miss Barrett always saw him alone.Even if the person does not appear, the letter will arrive.When he left, the flowers he sent were still in the room.Miss Barrett wrote to him every morning when she was alone.The swarthy, neat, reckless and energetic man with black hair and red cheeks and yellow gloves was haunting and omnipresent.Of course Miss Barrett would improve, of course she could walk, and even Flush herself found it difficult to sit still.Old desires came alive again, a new uneasiness seized him, and even sleep was laced with dreams.He hadn't dreamed this often since he left the three-mile mark--of hares darting out of the long grass, of pheasants rushing up with their long tails fluttering, of partridges whizzing out of hay stalks. .He dreamed that he was hunting, that he was chasing a spotted spaniel, but the dog ran forward and escaped.He dreamed that he was in Spain, in Wales, in Berkshire, running before Regent's park rangers with batons.Then he opened his eyes. There was no hare, no partridge, no crackling whip, no dark man shouting "Span! Span!" Miss Wright chatting with Mr. Browning. As long as that man was around, he couldn't sleep at all.Flush lay wide-eyed and listened.Although he didn't understand the meaning of the words that came and went over his head sometimes three times a week, from half past two to half past four, he could detect the changing tone and tone of the conversation; The speed is terrible.At first, Miss Barrett's voice was forced and stiff, with unnatural excitement, but now it became a warmth and ease that he had never heard before.And every time the man came, they always made some new noises—an eerie chirping, like a pair of darting birds flying over his head, and a cooing, like two a bird in its nest; then Miss Barrett's voice rose again, soaring and circling through the air, then Mr Browning burst into a series of sharp, piercing laughs, and then there was only a vague humming, as if two voices merged into one.But as summer turned to autumn, Flush heard with horror another new tone, a new urgency, a new pressure and energy in the man's voice; It felt as though Miss Barrett was trying to avoid him.Her voice was restless, hesitant, as if cowering, hiding, pleading, panting...; as if begging to rest, to stop; as if she was frightened.Then the man fell silent. Neither of them paid much attention to Flush.To Mr. Browning he was little more than a log lying at Miss Barrett's feet.Sometimes he would scratch his head suddenly and quickly as he passed him, with energy but without emotion.Whatever the significance of the head-scratching gesture, Flush felt only a profound dislike for Mr. Browning.There was something about him—well-fitting, well-fitting suits, muscular, yellow gloves that were always pulled tight—that made him want to grind his teeth.oh!How much I want to bite down on the meat in his trousers!Yet he dared not.All in all, the winter of 1845-1846 was indeed the most difficult winter of Flush's life. Winter passed, spring came again, and Flush saw no sign of the end of their association.And yet, just as a river, reflecting peaceful trees, grazing cows and homing crows, inevitably flows to a waterfall, so Flush knew these days would turn out to be catastrophic.Rumors of change swirl in the air, and sometimes he feels that a large-scale migration is about to happen, and there always seems to be inexplicable commotion at home, as if it is a precursor to a long journey, but is it possible?The boxes were taken out to dust off the dust, and they were opened one after another in disbelief, but they were closed again immediately.No, obviously not the whole family was going to move, because Miss Barrett's siblings were still coming in and out as usual, and Mr. Barrett was still visiting at the old hour every night after the man had left.So, what is going to happen?As the summer of 1846 drew to a close, Flush was sure that change was coming.He could hear a different tone of voice in the lingering conversation.Miss Barrett's pleading, frightened voice no longer faltered, but exuded a determination and boldness that Flush had never heard before.If Mr. Barrett could have heard the tone of her voice when she greeted the usurper, the laughter with which she greeted him, the sigh with which he pressed her hand!It was a pity that there was no one else in the room but the two of them and Flush.To him the change was most hateful, for Miss Barrett's changed attitude not only to Mr. Browning, but to everyone and everything--especially Flush's affection.She became even more impatient with his approaching intimacy, and always dismissed his enthusiasm half-jokingly, making him feel that the way he expressed his love in the past was so trivial, stupid, and contrived.His vanity was hit hard, and his jealousy was burning.Finally, when July came, he decided to take drastic measures to regain her favor, even to expel the newcomer.How to kill two birds with one stone, he has no idea, and he doesn't know how to plan.But on July 8th, he suddenly lost control, threw himself on Mr. Browning, and bit him hard!His teeth found Mr. Browning's immaculate trousers at last, but the legs inside them were as hard as steel—Mr. Kenyon's legs were as soft as butter by comparison.Mr. Browning pushed him away with a big wave of his hand, and went on with his speech.Neither he nor Miss Barrett seemed to consider the attack worthwhile.Flush, who came back with nothing to help, was out of breath, and lay back on his cushion in anger and disappointment.In fact, he misjudged Miss Barrett's ability to perceive. After Mr. Browning left, she called him in front of him and imposed the most severe punishment he had never experienced.She slapped him on the ear first--that was nothing; to be honest, he kind of liked being slapped on the ear, and he would have liked her to have done a few more.But she went on to say in her calm, determined tone that she would never love him again.The arrow pierced directly into his heart.After so many years of living together and sharing everything, she didn't love him anymore just because he was foolish for a moment.Then, as if to show her determination, she took the flowers that Mr. Browning had given her, and put them in a vase.Flush thought: She did it on purpose, it was a deliberate, malicious move, designed to make him completely ashamed! "This rose is from him," she seemed to be saying, "and so is this carnation. I'm going to put red roses alternately with yellow carnations, and put this green leaf here..." Put the flowers After inserting the flowers one by one, she took a step back and stared at the huge clump of extremely gorgeous flowers with ecstasy—as if the man wearing yellow gloves was standing in front of her.Even so, even when she was arranging flowers, she couldn't quite ignore Flush's gaze on her, she couldn't ignore "the look of despair on his face" after all, she couldn't help but feel pity. "Finally I said: 'Flush, if you're good, you can come over and apologize now.' And he rushed over and kissed my hand tremblingly, then the other, and held up my hand. Feet for me to hold, while looking at me with pleading eyes, and if you had seen it, you would have forgiven him as I have." That was her description of Mr Browning; and of course he replied: "Oh, poor Flush, do you think I don't love him, don't respect him because of his jealousy and surveillance? It's because he's close to you that he doesn't want to get close to others so easily!" asked Mr. Browning to express It is not difficult to be magnanimous, but this effortless magnanimity may be the sharpest and sharpest thorn in Flush's back. Another incident occurred a few days later, showing again how close they had been, and how far apart they were now, and Flush could no longer hope for Miss Barrett's sympathy.After Mr. Browning left that afternoon, Miss Barrett decided to drive with her sister to Regent's Park.As they alighted outside the park gate, Flush's foot was caught by the carriage door, and he "wept pitifully," and held up his foot to Miss Barrett, begging for sympathy.In the past, even if he didn't do this, he would definitely receive all kinds of care and pity.But now she has a cold, mocking, critical look; she laughs at him, thinking he is putting on an act: "...and as soon as he steps on the grass, he runs away and forgets about it," she writes ; and then made a few mocking words: "Fresh always likes to exaggerate his misfortune—he belongs to the Byron faction—he always likes to play the victim." In fact, Barrett, who was immersed in his own emotions at the moment, The young lady completely misunderstood him, even if his foot was broken, he would still run wildly, that was a reaction to her mocking attitude - I'm done with you! ——This is the meaning of his rushing forward.At that moment, the flowers smelled bitter to him, the grass burned his feet, and the dust of disillusionment filled his nostrils..., but he still kept running and fleeing. “Dogs must be on leash”—same sign, same park ranger, wearing top hat and carrying baton, waiting to enforce the rule.But now the word "must" meant nothing to him; the chain of love was broken, and now he could run where he wanted; to run after partridges, after spaniels, into dahlia bushes, Trample bright, burning red and yellow roses.Just let the park rangers swing their batons!Let them beat his brains out, let him lie dead at Miss Barrett's feet, gutted, he doesn't care! Of course, none of these things happened.No one came after him, and no one paid attention to him.A park ranger on a solo tour is busy chatting with a babysitter.In the end he had to stroll back to Miss Barrett, and let her absently put the leash around his neck and lead him home. After these two humiliating experiences, not to mention an ordinary dog, even an ordinary person may become depressed and helpless; however, Flush, whose mind is as soft as silk, has burning eyes and passion like a flame, even if the tongue is extinguished Afterwards, the flames were still smoldering in his heart.He is determined to face the enemy face to face, for the final decisive battle, without allowing a third party to intervene, and let the two men decide the outcome.So on the afternoon of Tuesday, July 21st, he slipped down the stairs and waited in the hall.He didn't wait long, and soon he heard familiar footsteps in the street, and then a familiar knock on the door, and someone opened the door to let Mr. Browning in.Mr. Browning, who had long been vaguely aware of Flush's deliberate attack and was determined to be gentle with all his strength, brought a box of cakes with him that day. Seeing Flush waiting at the entrance, he obviously tried to hug him as a gesture of goodwill, and perhaps too much. Wanted to reward him with a piece of cake.This action is too much!Flush threw himself at the enemy fiercely, biting Mr. Browning's trousers with his teeth again. Unfortunately, at this critical moment, he forgot the most important thing—keep quiet!He barked; he barked loudly as he sprang at Mr. Browning!As a result, the whole family was alarmed by the barking. Wilson heard the sound and rushed down the stairs, beat him hard, and subdued him!Wilson led him away in humiliation.That was a great humiliation! —Assaulted Mr. Browning, but was beaten by Wilson!Without lifting a finger, Mr. Browning, carrying his cake, walked up the stairs unharmed and calmly, and entered the boudoir alone, while Flush was led away. After two and a half hours of confinement in the kitchen, with parrots, beetles, ferns, and pots and pans, Miss Barrett called Flush back to her room.She was lying on the couch with her sister Ella Belle sitting beside her.Flush, thinking he was right, walked straight up to her, but she ignored him.He turned to Ela Belle, and all she said was, "Flush is naughty, go away!" Wilson was in the room too--difficult, unforgiving Wilson; Miss Barrett sued; it was she who beat him."Because he deserves it!" Wilson said, adding that she only hit with her hands.It was because of her testimony that Flush was a criminal.Miss Barrett decided that the attack had been innocent, that Mr. Browning was a good man and tolerant, and that Flush was beaten (and with the hand, not the whip) by a servant because "he should have hit"!The matter was settled without further ado; Miss Barrett had found him guilty. "So he lay on the floor at my feet," she wrote, "peering at me from under his eyebrows." But though Flush stared at Miss Barrett, she refused to look back at him anyway.So she lay on the sofa and Flush lay on the floor. Exiled, he lay on the carpet, his emotions fluctuated as if he was trapped in a surging vortex, his soul collided and shattered among the rocks with the force of the water, and finally found a small foothold, pulling himself out of the water with great difficulty and pain, climbing Back on land, I was finally able to stand on the edge of the universe after the catastrophe, overlooking a world constructed according to a new plan.The question is: which one to choose? ——To destroy, or to rebuild?His dilemma can only be vaguely outlined, because his struggles and contradictions are all silent.Flush tried to kill the enemy twice with all his might, but failed both times.Why did he fail?he asked himself.Because he loved Miss Barrett!He looked up from under her eyebrows at her, stern and silent, on the couch, knowing he must love her forever.However, things are not simple, things are complicated.If he bit Mr. Browning, he bit her too.Hate is not hate, hate is love at the same time.Thinking of this, Flush shook his ears in great distress, and turned over uncomfortably on the floor.Mr. Browning is Miss Barrett, Miss Barrett is Mr. Browning; love is hate, hate is love!He stretched, whined, and lifted his head from the floor.The clock struck eight, and he had been lying in the same place for three full hours, struggling with contradictions and in a dilemma. Even Miss Barrett, stern, cold, and ruthless, put down her pen at this moment. "Bad Dog Flush!" So she was writing to Mr. Browning: "... If humans choose to act savagely like dogs, then they should also be taught a lesson like dogs! And you, treat him so kindly! If it were anyone, at least she would blurt out some harsh words." Actually, she should really consider buying a mask, she thought.Then she looked up and saw Flush.At this time, there must have been an unusual expression on his face, which made her stop and put down her pen.Once, he woke her up with his kisses, and she imagined him as Pan, the god of fauns; once, he ate chicken and pudding covered with cream; once, he gave up the sun for her.So she called him to her and told him she forgave him. For Flush, however, she forgave him on a whim and carried him back to the couch, as if he hadn't grown after all that pain on the floor, and was still the same man, completely unaware The fact that he had changed was simply unbearable to him.But now he was exhausted and had to give in.But a few days later an extraordinary incident occurred between him and Miss Barrett, which showed the depth of his affection.On that day, after Mr. Browning had left, Flush was left alone with Miss Barrett, and he would have jumped down on the sofa at her feet immediately, but that day he did not ask to be in her arms. Towards what is now known as "Mr. Browning's easy chair".Usually he hated that chair extremely, because the shape of the enemy still remained on the chair; but at that moment, he won the battle, because his heart was suddenly filled with tolerance, he not only looked at the chair squarely, but even "suddenly fell into ecstasy." state".Miss Barrett watched this unusual sign intently, and then saw him turn his eyes to the table.The box of cakes from Mr Browning was still on the table; he "reminded me that your cakes were still on the table".But at this time, the cake was already stale and moldy, and it definitely couldn't arouse anyone's appetite.Flush's intentions were very obvious—he refused to eat the cake when it was fresh, because it was a gift from the enemy; Hatred turned into a symbol of love.Yes, he said he would like to eat it now.So Miss Barrett got up to get the cake, giving him a word of caution as she handed it to him. "I explained to him that you brought it for him to eat. He should be ashamed of his bad behavior in the past, and he should make up his mind to love you from now on and never bite you again, and then let him accept it. Your kindness." Flush swallowed the soggy, unpalatable cake—the moldy, stinky, sour cake on which flies had laid their eggs—and swore in his own words what she had just said.句话：他发誓，从今以后好好爱布朗宁先生，再也不咬他！ 结果他立即受到奖赏——他的奖赏并非走味的蛋糕，也非鸡翅膀；不是再得到女主人的拥抱爱抚，也不是获准重新躺回巴雷特小姐脚旁的沙发上。他的奖赏是精神上的；奇怪的是，效果却表现在肉体上。这么多个月以来，仇恨就像一根令所有被他压在底下的生物都慢慢腐蚀、溃烂、死亡的铁条，一直压在他的灵魂上。如今，经过以利刃执行的痛苦手术，铁棒被取出来了，血液得以再度流通，神经又有了感觉，肌肉又重新长好；仿佛春天来到，万物欣喜。弗勒希再度听见鸟鸣，感觉树在发芽，当他躺在巴雷特小姐脚旁的沙发上，血管里流动的是荣耀与欢愉。如今他和他们已成为联合阵线，不再敌对；他们的希望、他们的心愿、他们的欲望，全和他一样。现在弗勒希可以为应和布朗宁先生而吠叫，他颈项上的毛因他简洁有力的话语而竖立：“我需要一星期七天全是星期二！”布朗宁先生叫道，“然后一个月全是星期二——一年——一辈子！”我，弗勒希附和，也需要一个月——一年——一辈子！我需要你们俩所需要的东西！我们三个阴谋串通在一起，要追逐最荣耀的目标；我们一起同情，一起恨，一起反抗黑色的独裁暴政，我们一起爱！易言之，弗勒希将他所有的希望全寄托在此刻他只能模糊意识到、却仍十分笃定即将属于他们共同的光荣胜利之上。然而晴天霹雳，毫无预警地，身处在文明礼教、安全与友谊之中的他，于九月一日的那个星期二早晨，和巴雷特小姐及她姊妹进入韦尔街的一家商店购物，突然被头下脚上地扔进黑暗里，地牢的门哐啷一声关上，将他关在里面——它被偷走了！