Chapter 17 seventeen

About five years after this incident, I decided to go to Paris for a while.I'm so tired of London; doing almost the same thing every day bores me like hell.My friends lived the same old, routine lives that no longer aroused my curiosity.Sometimes when we meet, I know what they are going to say before they speak.Even their love affairs are boring and old-fashioned.We people are like a tram running back and forth from terminal to terminal, and even the number of passengers can be estimated to be close to ten.Life is arranged too orderly.I think it's just horrific.I got rid of my small house, sold the few pieces of furniture I had, and decided to start another life.

Before leaving, I went to Mrs. Strickland's to say good-bye.I haven't seen her for many days, and I found that she has changed a lot. Not only has she become older, thinner, and has more wrinkles than before, but even her personality has changed.Her business prospered, and she now opened an office in Chancery Street.She didn't type much herself, and spent her time proofreading the typescripts of the four female typists she employed.She tried her best to type the manuscript very carefully, using blue and red tapes in many places, and binding the typed manuscript with various light-colored rough paper, which at first glance looks like corrugated silk.She had a reputation for neatness and precision in the manuscripts she typed, and her business was very lucrative.But despite this, she thinks that she has lost her status by making a living, and she always feels a little bit embarrassed.When talking to others, she never forgot to confess her noble origin to the other party, and she frequently mentioned some people she knew to let you know that her social status has not been lowered at all.She is embarrassed to talk about her courage and insight in running the typing industry, but she always beams when she mentions that she will have dinner with a royal counsel who lives in South Kensington the next night.She would love to tell you about her son's studies at Cambridge; she always smiled smugly when she told how her daughter, who was just entering the world, was overwhelmed by balls.I feel like I asked a stupid question while chatting with her.

"Does she want to do something in this typing office you opened?" "Oh, no, I won't let her do it," answered Mrs. Strickland. "She's very pretty, and I think she'll make a good match." "That would be of great help to you, and I should have thought of that." "It has been suggested that she should be put on the stage, but of course I would not agree. I know all the famous dramatists, and I could give her a part in a play if I would open my mouth. mixed together." Mrs. Strickland's narcissistic attitude gave me a chill. "Have you heard anything from your husband?"

"No, heard nothing. Maybe he's dead." "I might meet him in Paris. If I know anything about him, would you like me to tell you?" She hesitated for a moment. "If his life is really poor, I am still ready to help him. I will send you a sum of money, and when he needs it, you can give him little by little." But I knew that it was not out of kindness that she promised to do it.It is not true that misfortune ennobles man; what makes men noble sometimes is happiness, and misfortune, in most cases, only makes men narrow-minded and vengeful.