Chapter 20 Part VI Sections 84-87

"The point is not to let it boil, sir. And stir. If you don't stir it will clump together." "You're a good housekeeper, Ferguson. I'm ashamed of myself." "Does Mrs. Montague have any sugar, sir?" "Hmm... I don't know. Is it usually added?" "I'll have some sugar in a bowl. She can add it if she wants. I suppose you'll have a drink too, sir?" "Thank you." Allen finds a tray and places it on the table: his only contribution so far.When the milk was about to boil, Ferguson took it off the stove and started making cocoa powder.Allen thanked him again, walked him to the door, and they said goodnight one last time.Allen went upstairs with the tray.Lottie had fallen asleep, holding Alan's pillow with her arms as if it were Alan himself.Allen gently woke her up.

"Honey, it's me. Sorry to wake you up. I got hot cocoa." Lottie blinked—once, twice—rubbed her eyes—yawned—and sat up. "Of course it's you. If you're sorry for waking me up, why do you? And I didn't want hot cocoa." "I want to talk." "Honey, you can talk whatever you want, I just don't want to hear it." Ellen kissed Lottie until she complied, then put Coco in her hand. "You didn't wake up the kitchen people, did you?" "Of course not. Ferguson did it for me." "Old Ferguson was such a good man."

"Yes... listen, honey, I have news for you." "yes?" "Important news." "I said 'yeah', do you want me to say that again?" "Two things actually. First, I found Tom. I don't mean our son Tom, I mean Tom Cleary. My twin, Tom." Lottie digested the news slowly, as if she still had to be careful to separate dreams from reality.Then she said in amazement, "Honey, you say you've found Tom Cleary? Alive? Here? Where..." "I haven't found--found him. But I know his name. I know when he went to America. I have a detective from a detective agency, and if I call them on, they're sure to find him."

"If you ask them to do it? What if?" "And that brings me to my second message." "yes?" Allen paused.He suddenly didn't know what to say. "Really?" repeated Lottie. "Well...well, that sounds amazing, but it's true, apparently true...the fact that Tom shot Guy." This time, Lottie opened her eyes wide and was completely awake. "Tom shot Guy?" "It seems so." "Shot him? Shoot Guy? Just now? When? I remember you saying—" "No, no, not now. During the war." Allen took a deep breath, and then began to tell. "Tom and I had a fight. It wasn't our first fight, absolutely not, but it was the worst. Definitely the worst. Guy started it on purpose. He took me to the A place where he knew Tom was lying in bed with my woman - I thought it was my woman, I didn't realize she was... she was public property."

Allen swallowed.He had never mentioned this detail of his premarital life to Lottie before, but she just shrugged. "It was war time," she said. "Yeah... Anyway, Tom must have been very angry. Furious. Looks like he ran into Guy in the trenches on the Somme. He got into an argument with him and then shot him. In the leg .Here." Allen gestured on his thigh. "That's what Guy said?" Lottie said, slightly suggesting that the truth might not be quite so. "Yeah, that's what Guy said, but he's got witnesses, damn it. I met one of them today. He didn't lie, and I'll put my life on it. I've got to see another guy, but he'll make sure I can be 100% sure of Guy's statement."

"But, dear, is there any chance that Tom will shoot Guy?" "Yes, you have to understand, Tom will always..." Allen struggled to find the right words, "too impulsive." "That's a polite way of saying he's going to lose his mind completely." "Yes. Of course, he's never shot anyone before... though..." "what?" "Well, one more time." "Another time? That doesn't sound good." "Earlier in the war, Tom stole a motorcycle, drove to Arras, and threatened Guy with a pistol. He thought Guy was plotting to separate us. Maybe he was right."

Lottie's eyes widened in surprise, though her words were careful, "Twice? Once he threatened Guy? The other time he shot him?" Allen nodded. "Guy was a senior officer, shouldn't he be, at that time?" Allen nodded again. "And there were witnesses?" Nod again. "My God!" said Lottie softly.She knew as well as Allen what the consequences of Tom's actions would have in a court-martial. "Yeah, 'oh my god' is the right word." Lottie flaked off the milk with a spoon and began to drink the cocoa. "Ferguson makes great cocoa."

"I'll tell him." "Just a little suggestion, maybe he could add a little more cocoa powder. A very small suggestion." Allen nodded. "But without lumps. That's the hardest, smoothing it out." "Yes, dear." "What do you think of it, my dear?" said Lottie at last. "You may be very troubled." "Only the devil knows what I'm thinking," Allen said, "I don't know." Lottie put down Coco, "Can you promise to answer my next question honestly?" "it is good." "Do you like Guy?"

"dislike." "Never liked it?" "Yeah, never." Allen sighed. "Look, I'm a completely different kind of person from him. I've never been too happy with him. But he's my brother. I don't want to lose him like that." hope." "Yes, of course. I didn't mean that... And Tom? You love him, of course?" "right." "Still in love?" "Still in love." "Then are you satisfied with him? You say you are not satisfied with Guy." "I almost never admire anyone as much as I admire Tom. In fact, I think you may be the only exception, dear. Tom is full of flaws, I know that. He is violent, impulsive, stupid, aggressive, and likes to fight. A woman fool—God, he's definitely not a saint. But there's something about him that's incredibly noble. I've always felt, in his heart, that his virtues outweigh his faults a thousand times."

He sighed deeply, and Lottie finished for him. "But you're troubled now. You think maybe Tom's just a guy after all--maybe not even a particularly nice guy. He shoots Guy in a rage. Of course, it's war time, and it's emotional--but It shouldn't either. You might have to admit there's a little more to Tom's flaws than you realize." "A little more? A little? It's unforgivable. Absolutely unforgivable...and most importantly, Guy feels that the reason he went to America was because he was afraid of being court-martialed. If that's true, then Tom wasn't just a villain, he was a coward."

A moment's pause.Lottie sipped her cocoa.Allen sipped his cocoa. "One more thing," he said. "what?" "You've been right all along. I should have known." "Of course I'm right, and of course you should know, but maybe you can tell me what the hell you're talking about?" "War. It's not over...unless—well—unless it is. When I think about going to the hospital to see you, that's just beyond my tolerance. Those people. Those soldiers. It's like seeing my men. A row of people lying there again. The ones who didn't die, I mean. I didn't realize it until now. Some things never go. Fear. Loss." "Oh, poor baby!" She kissed him, and Ellen felt as if some terrible barrier between them had suddenly collapsed and ceased to exist.He kissed her back hard.He had fallen in love with Lottie for her bravery and compassion.Now he felt that he was going to fall in love with her again, and for the same reason. "You don't mind?" he asked. "Fool." "If I ask, would you like to take me to take a good look at your hospital on the nearest day? Take a good look. You don't need to let me follow the head nurse this time." "I am willing to." "And, take a vacation. We've got to take a vacation. Rome? Or the Riviera?" Lottie nodded, "Okay, both go, as soon as possible." "I love you." Lottie nodded, as if she deserved it, "By the way," she said, "since you're doing so well, let me help you avoid a huge mistake." "Oh?" "Don't lose hope in Tom." Allen's voice became grim. "I don't think I have, it's just—" "Just what? He shot Guy, and Guy's always been mean to him. During the war. During the campaign. You don't know the circumstances. You don't know what made him go away .” "Cowardice. It looks like simple cowardice." "Don't be so stupid. Your Tom? A coward?" "Obviously. Maybe I've been trusting the wrong brother." "Oh, Ellen, you don't mean it." "Why not? Guy's here. Tom's not." "Find him. Don't give up now. Find him." "He didn't bother to come to me. It's hard for me to swallow, after all these years, after all I've done." "Find him, dear. You'll be at peace only when you find him." Allen shrugged.His annual trip to Persia is coming up soon.There he would think it over and make a decision before going home. He nodded. "I think I will...maybe...not sure...I'll take a look." Lottie smiled and yawned. "Go to bed, dear." Almost three weeks later.Tom came home from Persia, only to find Rebecca curled up in the living room on a big sofa, tear-stained and trembling. On the table lay a letter with a German postmark.In the other cool, high-ceilinged rooms Tom could hear the maids and footmen trying to keep quiet as they moved about, knowing their mistress was upset.Out in the garden, Mickey and Little Things were playing together, but even they seemed to be alertly silent. "Dear?" Rebecca said nothing, but snuggled into her husband's arms.There were dried tears on her cheeks, and new tears kept pouring out.She rarely wears perfume or scented lotions, but she always smells nice, a bit like the smell of warm skin and hair drying in the sun. "Dear?" Rebecca spoke -- choked -- and spoke again. "My parents... they're fine, they're all right... but their priest, he's a good man, he came from Lithuania like them... A mob broke into their house, tore his holy book, burned the house On fire...he came home, saw them, protested, I don't know what he said. They started attacking him. Kicking him. Hitting him. He passed out. And then...then...they left. House It was on fire. There was no way to get him out. He died...the papers afterwards condemned him for murdering Christian babies. They said it was an act of justice. Nothing happened to those people. There was no punishment. There was no condemnation." Rebecca finished speaking staccatoly.Tom hugged and comforted her.Finally, when she could speak normally, he said, "They've got to go. There's been too much of that lately. We can pay for everything. They can come and live with us. Or we'll settle them Jewish in New York Buy an apartment. They can eat kosher and not even feel like they’ve moved.” "I've begged them, I've begged a hundred times. They're getting old. They don't want to move again. They say... they say... they say it's going to work out. They say it's just because Hitler needs to prove he's strong people." Tom was silent for a moment.It horrified him to think of the ancient hatred of Europe.These hatreds ruined a generation.It looks like they're going to fill the sky with clouds for the second time in less than two decades.He felt the old anger again, the anger he had felt in prison.He never wanted to leave America again.He would be very happy if he could never leave Texas.His trip to Persia seemed half a lifetime ago. He reached for the cigarette, meaning a cigar, but thinking of Rebecca's distaste for cigars, he took a cigarette instead.He lights a cigarette.His thoughts on oil were pushed aside.After all, there are more important things in life. "Your parents, can we do something for them?" Rebecca shook her head. "Can I send some money?" She shook her head again. "It just gets people's attention. It's the last thing they need." The two fell silent.Across the world, on another continent, Rebecca's parents, and millions like them, are facing the fate of a dictator.There is no way at this time.Can only pray. Allen loves his annual trip to Persia—or should I say Iran, as the country has now come to call itself.He hasn't visited oil fields in the mountains yet, but he always visits refineries and shipping facilities on the coast first. Now he is staying in a hotel on the shore of the bay, overlooking the blue sky of Hag Island.He was standing on the balcony shaving with the help of a small mirror on the wall and a bowl of soapy water, enjoying the air and sparkling waves by the sea.His war-wounded lungs preferred the clean air of Iran to the dust and smog of London.He breathed easily.Allen was in a good mood.The rift between him and Lottie had been closed.His family is wonderful.The only cloud in Skyrim is Tom Cleary/Calloway and the ugly shooting incident.Allen didn't want to think about it.Not yet.He managed to push the thought to the back of his mind.His mind is very peaceful. Then a frantic little Iranian boy barged in. "Sir, sir, the king has waged war on us!" The boy began to describe the atrocity in extremely exaggerated language.The king sent an army.No more oil flows.The whole company was shut down.Soon, there will be shootings and carnage, and the northern tribes will swoop down south, destroying everything in their path with the explosions, famine, and plague that follow them. After Ellen finished shaving the right side of his face, he began to slowly shave the left side.The first real traces of age had appeared on his face.In some places he had to pull the skin to provide a smooth surface for the razor.He told the boy to go and eat figs from the bowl on the table inside the house, and fetch him a cup of tea.The child disappeared.Allen shaved and patted his face dry with a small washcloth.He wasn't too worried about the kid's news.In Persia, a small incident can be exaggerated as if the sky is falling.He ate some fruit, and the boy brought tea and warm bread just out of the oven. Allen drank tea first, and then ate bread.The child stood in the corner watching him in amazement.To ease his scorching stare, Allen asked if the kid was in school.He had gone to school, and was soon engrossed in reciting the multiplication tables and then showing off his English. "My name is Sadeg. I'm ten years old today. The weather is fine today. Thank you. Please. Hello! I'm glad to hear..." Alan finished his breakfast and asked the boy to take him to the beach.Scents of sea salt and algae mixed with diesel and oil.Low blue waves push the water, and white gulls swoop down in search of food. But the kid was right. Behind Allen, there is a row of Allen Soup Company oil storage tanks, filled with oil.To his right, a pumping station, a coil of thick rubber hose and a line of Allen Towne Oil employees in white robes.Ahead of him, there was an Allen Soup tanker floating on the surface waiting to be loaded with oil. But it can't. Nor will it. Because between the oil storage tank and the tanker, twenty-four soldiers stood in two rows, with rifles slung across their bodies.An officer stood motionless before them.Alan noticed that the soldiers were from a northern regiment, the Cossack Brigade, which was the king's own men.Those rifles didn't intimidate Allen, but the piece of paper the officer was holding stunned him. It was an order signed by the Shah himself.The right to use the land was cancelled.Effective immediately.No compensation. Behind Alan, the boy spoke in newfound English, trying to impress his distinguished guest: "The King waged a great war. He killed us all. I died. You died. He, she Or it died..." The spacious balcony is brightly lit.Silverware gleamed on the table.The glassware imported from Venice reflects the bright light under the light of candles.The servants busily set the table, adjusting the positions of plates and cutlery to within a sixteenth of an inch. Tom was hosting a dinner for some of the biggest names in the Texas Oil Institute.Tom is now a member of high society in Texas.He was loved, respected and admired.He walked slowly over to the table to inspect the setting.The cutlery was perfectly set, but he noticed a bouquet on one flower stand had begun to wither.He called a maid and told her to change the flowers. "Oh, sir!" she said, as if genuinely shocked.She removed the bouquet and began to examine the other bouquets.Tom looked at her but didn't recognize her.He and Rebecca now had many servants, but Tom was proud of being able to call them all by name. "Excuse me," he said, "what's your name?" "Sarah Gutman, sir." Her accent wasn't American, sort of like Rebecca's, but thicker.She had to frown and pay attention to understand Tom's English. "From Central Europe?" "Germany, sir." "You are sure you are Jewish?" "Yes, sir." "Just arrived recently?" She didn't immediately understand the word "recently" and struggled to find an answer. "Sie sind neulich angekommen?" The language learned in the prisoner-of-war camp was so easily spit out, even Tom himself was surprised.Prison must be a better teacher than he imagined. "Ja, ja, nuelich. Three days ago, sir." Tom nodded. "Thank you for the flowers," he said, "and, welcome to Norgard." That night, as they undressed for bed, Tom said to Rebecca, "You've got a new maid, Sarah Gutman." "That's right. She arrived in New York as a refugee, and drifted all the way here looking for work. I know we don't really need any more maids." Tom shook his head. "You were thinking of your parents, I guess." Rebecca stood there in her evening dress, unfastening a ring of pearls.It was rare for her husband not to touch her every time she stood and undressed like this, but this time his mind was elsewhere. "Yes, my parents. Their friends. Their relatives. Their compatriots. They are my compatriots, too." Tom tugged at the bow tie, and with one simple, practiced movement, loosened it.Rebecca noticed how easily Tom fit into the role of the upper class.From the very beginning, he talked to the servants as if he was used to their service.He is confident in his gown.He can tie a bow tie without looking in the mirror.She had long guessed that he had lived an upper-class life in England, but her husband never mentioned anything about him before he was captured by the Germans.He is an enigma, a magical enigma. "Good idea," he said, "at least, it's something we can do." She loves her husband.He is typical of him at this moment.He voted Republican, he hated unions, he didn't have a thing for Roosevelt (except for the fact that he made gas prices start to rise), but he rejected any form of discrimination or oppression.The Negro servants in the family and the Negro employees in the Norgard Company were paid exactly the same wages as the whites.If white people have a problem, they can leave.Tom was threatened more than once.He was a "nigger lover," a "white-faced nigger," and an "unAmericanized trash."His car had been rocked and he had been warned by the Ku Klux Klan.Tom ignored the stones, scoffing at the Klan's warning. "Maybe we can do more than that," said Rebecca softly. "Ok?" "We can do more. Find refugees who have just disembarked. Help them with money. It's hard to get started in this place, especially with people who don't speak English well." He looked at her sharply, guessing that she was thinking of the difficult years since her own arrival in America. "certainly." "We can hire people in New York, the 'Welcome-to-America' kind of people, who can help us with the details." "Ah, dear!" Tom rubbed his face.He felt very uncomfortable.Rebecca was confused.Tom had never been stingy with his money--not at all, nor could it be said that he had no sympathy for the plight of the poor. "You don't want to help?" "No, it's not... just... I don't know. We left Europe, Becca. We left it for all these reasons. Hate. History. Injustice. I just don't want to get any closer to it." Rebecca had taken off all her jewelry and finished her hair.At this point, she slid her evening gown off her shoulders and stood in front of a make-up table in her underwear.She didn't know what to say.She's perfectly fine with arguing, but she doesn't want a good thing to turn into an argument.Instead, she stood still for a moment, then said softly, "Isn't that the point, Tommy?" "What? What's the key?" "We left. We were able to leave." "Ah, I think so." Tom had been undressing slowly, but now he picked up the pace, throwing coat, shirt, and trousers on the bed in rapid succession. "You can take your time at first and see how it goes." Rebecca walked past Tom to hang up, smelling of perfume and warm skin.He held her back with an arm and kissed her eyes and lips.His body was already aroused, and she stroked him tenderly. They let go of each other. "No," said Tom decisively. "No?" Rebecca was shocked, and her tone showed it. "No. If we want to do it, let's do it. Why petty? We can do something real. How about a foundation? Help the Jews come here from Germany. Help their economy, Transportation, jobs, everything. Yes, we can buy some apartment buildings and they can live there until they are independent. If this Hitler thing is over, we can sell these buildings again, probably for a profit The last one. The big news has gradually passed." "Oh, Tommy! Tom, dear." Rebecca was full of admiration and love for her husband.If he had decided to help the Jews from Germany, he would have done so.He would transport refugees by whole boats.He would give them a place to live, feed them, help them go to school, help them find a job.He didn't do it for fame or for recognition.He did it because he wanted to spend his money that way, that's all. "What do you say?" he said, "a foundation. Let's call it the Rebecca Calloway Foundation. That's what it's called. You're in charge. Start with two million and see how it goes. .If you need more money, we have it." There was one question on his mouth, but his eyes kept looking at her soft body, asking another question. "I love you," she replied, saying "yes" to both questions. Allen told Lottie that he would think about everything in Persia.He said he would use the time away to decide whether to go looking for Tom Cleary/Calloway.When he said this, he thought the decision might be tough.But it turns out, it's easy. extremely easy. After discovering that the land rights had been cancelled, his first instinct was to take a boat straight to the coast of Abadan.Once there, he found that the Anglo-Persian Company was in the same position as the Allen Soup Company: without land rights, it could not operate. "What the hell is the king doing?" Allen said to the manager of the Abadan refinery. "To raise money for his treasury, I guess. Apparently it was set up by an American oilman who came and promised the King a ridiculous sum in exchange for drilling rights." "Drilling rights? The only goddamn drilling rights are ours." "Exactly. Damned Yankees." "Do you know which company it is?" "It's a Texas company, Norgard, I remember the name." "What about the oilman?" "A fellow Calloway. Tom Calloway." That's it. The dust settled. Tom found new contentment.He came to America to find it all, and now, after all these long years, he has found it. Home?He was home the day he set foot in Texas.oil?Norgard Petroleum had exceeded his expectations.family?He has the nicest family in the world.Now, even the past has calmed down.Allen and the Montagues had wronged him horribly in the past, but Tom hit back by taking away the Allen Soup land rights in Persia and settled the feud. Tom is at peace now.As long as the Montagues stopped offending him, he would never offend them again.The bitterness that had accumulated for twenty years seemed to have vanished forever. Allen was in a daze. Tom! Tom did it all.He came to Persia for nothing but to destroy the company that Alan had set up in his honor in his memory.He did it all with anger; with cold, malevolent calculation; with some unexplainable destructive desire.Over the years, Alan has been wondering why Tom has been missing for so long.He considered all situations.All circumstances, except for real reasons. anger. Even here, on the hot Persian shore, Alan could feel Tom's unreasonable rage.After sixteen years of building up, Tom's rage swept through everything Alan had built up in his life like a whirlwind. Somewhere in Allen's mind grew cold and dark.For the first time in his life, his thoughts turned to revenge. ＊＊ There was silence in the boardroom.Twelve silent faces facing each other.Chairman Egham Dunlop nodded to his son-in-law, and Allen stood up. "You've all heard the news," Allen said curtly, "that the Shah of Persia has revoked our land rights. We're not allowed to ship a single barrel of oil out of the country. We still get oil in Iraq, but This is far from meeting our requirements. Within a few weeks, our storage will be exhausted." Allen smiled faintly, "To put it mildly, gentlemen, our company is facing disaster." silence. After all, what is there to say?The Allen Soup's offices are located in a quiet street near St James's Park.It was a day of fog, the kind only London could create: green, harsh, choking, and smelling of soot.The bare plane trees outside the window were almost hidden in the darkness. Then Dunlop said, "We'll get the land back, I suppose?" Allen looked surprised, "What, Mr. Chairman?" "Take back the right to use the land," Dunlop tapped on the Persian map hanging on the wall, "give the king some gunpowder, and let him regain his sanity." "I'm not sure that would..." "We can send some British soldiers over here. Go ashore here." He tapped the map. "March here. Either kill the king or put one of our own on the throne. Why not? Who's going to stop us?" "The Persian army, maybe." "Army of Persia! Pooh!" "Its army has 100,000 men and Western equipment," Allen continued, "and, I'm not sure—" "A hundred thousand, eh? Yes, but who of them ever saw a Sea Vixen open fire? Who of them ever tasted—" "Maybe the executive board can explain his thinking to us?" said one director hurriedly, trying to reassure Dunlop from his bloodthirsty plan. "Thank you," Allen said. "First things first. We need to get back the land rights. Of course, we will exert strong moral pressure. The king's behavior is illegal, and he knows it. But on the other hand Let's face it. He's the king. It's his country. He can do what he likes. We're going to pay more than we're paying. Much more. But we need oil. That's all. Simple." Everyone agreed.Even Dunlop's belligerent murmurs dwindled to a background hum. "I assume you'll go to Tehran?" one director asked. "How long do you think..." But Allen shook his head, "No, we will send one of the best people there." "But what about negotiations? Shouldn't you be in charge?" A faint smile appeared on Allen's face again.The meeting room was not warm, but his forehead was covered with a thin layer of sweat, as if the thick yellow fog from outside had sneaked into the room and settled on his forehead. "Listen to me. As I said, the first thing is to get back the land rights, but let's face it. The reality is this: These countries are capricious. Persia just proved it this year, and Iraq may next year. Do the same. In my opinion, the long-term security of our company is at stake. Does anyone disagree?" Allen looked around.Several directors shook their heads.No one spoke. "Very good," Allen nodded. "Then, there is only one place left to invest in. This place has abundant oil, abundant freedom, and famous stability: the United States." He paused for another moment to see if anyone raised any doubts.Not even the slightest hesitation.Allen smiled to himself.Tom wants to fight him, doesn't he?Tom was desperate to take him on, didn't he?Well, Alan doesn't want to disappoint his twins one bit. "Happy fortieth birthday... oh my god!" Bud, now in his late sixties, was still physically strong, but the suitcase that had slammed onto Tom's desk was so heavy that it nearly cracked the desk. "Go get the next one yourself, friend." Tom grinned.His birthday gift, while unsurprising, was no less cheerful.He turned the lock ring on the box and opened the box.There were six drill bits in it, each old and battered, and each was marked "Gate Bay Well No. 1," "Arthur Rowland Well No. 2," and so on. Tom's mouth opened wider. After oil prices stabilized again, Tom started drilling again.Bard's gift gathers the drill bits that Nogard's company has drilled for oil over the past eight months.They would join the drill bits that had long adorned Tom's office wall.Tom's sense of satisfaction increased month by month. He was more and more content, although one of the main consequences of his actions in Persia was to bring the Allen Township Oil Company to its doorstep.Allen Tang invested in a company called Blackwater Petroleum, which is located in Texas.In the past, this move would have driven Tom crazy.But not anymore.Tom was at peace.He knew he was causing problems for the Allen Soup Company.If Alan Tang took the necessary steps to come in and remedy it, then Tom had nothing to object to.Had he been in Allen's shoes, he would have done the same. He got up and walked to the window, from where he could see a Blackwater gas station selling gasoline.Even this scene no longer annoyed him. "It's a good life, eh, Lyman?" he said. "Not bad. It could have been worse. Yeah, I think." The two stared out the window.In the front yard of the gas station, a man in a white shirt is trying to put a big red notice board on the side of the road. "What's the plan for tonight?" Bud asked. "No, go home." "Well, nice arrangement, I think." Tom nodded. The guy in the front yard put the sign in place and stepped back, sweating but happy.Tom's eyes sharpened suddenly. "Is that...?" he said, his voice strained. Bud moves closer.He froze too. "No! They can't..." The signs were not properly placed, swaying slowly in the hot thin air.One of the swings makes the notice clearer. "What the hell...?" "My God! Does it say..." The billboard was placed again, and the information on it was accurate: huge red letters were extremely dazzling on the white paper.It says: gasoline only sell Fifteen cents! ! "Fifteen cents!" said Bud. "Are they crazy? Fifty cents?!" Tom stared for another moment.His knuckles were white, and there was an expression on his face that Bard had never seen before. "Go check it out, will you?" Tom said. What he means is: to find out if it's just this one gas station, or if it's the same for all chain gas stations. But he already knew the answer.Definitely all chain gas stations be damned.Allen has discovered the identity of his twin, and here's the proof.黑水公司的告示牌不是巧合，不是错误。它是由艾伦签字的、送给汤姆的四十岁生日卡。 就在这时汤姆明白了。过去并没有结束。过去永远不会结束。过去可能发生过的事算不了什么，跟即将发生的事比起来算不了什么。