Chapter 110 Chapter 110

Christmas fell on a Thursday this year, and Philip's shop was closed for four days.He wrote to his uncle asking if it would be convenient for him to go to the vicarage for the holidays.He had a reply from Mrs. Foster, saying that Mr. Carey was too ill to write, but that he was very anxious to see his nephew, and he was very glad if Philip could come.Mrs. Foster met Philip at the door, and when they shook hands she told him: "Sir, you'll find he's grown a lot more than the last time you were here. You'll have to pretend it's nothing, though, will you, sir? He's very nervous about his state of health."

Philip nodded.So she led him into the dining room. "Mr Philip is here, sir." The vicar of Blackstable was dying of illness and dying.Nowhere is this more evident than in his sunken cheeks and stooped body.He was sitting huddled in an armchair, with his head thrown back grotesquely, and a scarf was draped over his shoulders.Now, he can't walk without crutches, his hands tremble so badly, and even eating is very difficult. "He doesn't look like he will live long," thought Philip, looking at him. "How do you think I look now?" asked the priest. "Do you think I've changed since the last time you were here?"

"I see that you are much stronger now than you were last summer." "That's because of the heat. It's always unbearable when the temperature is high." During the last few months Mr. Carey had spent several weeks upstairs in the bedroom and the rest of the week downstairs.He had a hand bell by his hand, and while he was talking he rang for Mrs. Foster.Mrs. Foster sat in the next room, always ready to be called by Mr. Carey.He asked Mrs. Foster when was the first day he came out of the bedroom. "November 7th, sir." Mr. Carey kept his eyes on Philip to see what he would do.

"But I have a good appetite, don't I, Mrs. Foster?" "Yes, sir, you have a very good appetite." "However, it just doesn't make any meat after eating." Right now, nothing is on his mind except his own health.His life is monotonous, and he is attacked by illness from time to time. Only under the anesthesia of morphine can he close his eyes and sleep for a while.Despite this, he stubbornly and obsessively thought about one thing: survive!Just live in this world with your eyes open! "It's too bad, I have to pay a huge amount of medical bills." He jingled the handbell again. "Mrs. Foster, show Philip the drug bill."

Mrs. Foster immediately took the medicine bill from the mantelpiece and handed it to Philip. "It's just one month's bill. Even if you came to see me, I doubt you'd be able to get me to pay less for my medicine. I've thought about buying it straight from the pharmacy, but that would cost postage." He was so obviously not interested in his nephew that it never occurred to him to ask what Philip was doing.But he seemed happy to have Philip by his side.He asked Philip how long he could stay, and when Philip replied that he must go on Tuesday and Tuesday, he said he wished Philip could stay longer.He babbled on and on about the symptoms of his illness and the doctor's diagnosis of his illness.He stopped abruptly and rang the bell.Mrs. Foster entered in response.He said:

"Oh, I don't know if you're still next door. I just rang to see if you were there." After Mrs. Foster had gone, he explained to Philip that he would be uneasy if he could not be sure that Mrs. Foster was around, because Mrs. Foster knew what she had to do if something happened to him.Philip noticed that Mrs. Foster was very tired, and that her eyelids were heavy from lack of sleep.He hinted to his uncle that he was making Mrs. Foster work hard. "Nonsense," said the pastor, "she's as strong as a bull." Then, when Mrs. Foster came in to deliver his medicine, he said to her:

"Master Philip says you're too much work, Mrs. Foster. You like looking after me, don't you?" "Oh, I'm all right, sir. Anything I can do, I'll do." In an instant the potion took effect, and Mr. Carey fell asleep.Philip went into the kitchen, and asked Mrs. Foster if she could bear all the work she had to do.He saw that she had not found peace for months on end. "Well, sir, what can I think?" she replied, "that poor old gentleman depends on me for everything. Well, he's a real nuisance sometimes, but you can't bear to What can I do to leave him? I've been here for so many years, and I don't know what to do if he goes away cruelly."

Philip saw that she really loved the old man.She helped him bathe and dress him, cooked for him, and even got up five or six times a night because she slept in the room next to him.Whenever he woke up, he would jingle the bell until she came into his bedroom.He could die at any moment, but he might still be able to linger on for a few more months.How submissively and kindly she cared for a stranger like this was admirable.It is true that there is only a lonely old woman like her taking care of him in the world, which makes people feel sad and sad. It seemed to Philip that the religion which his uncle had preached all his life was now for him merely a formality: on Saturdays the curate came to him, gave him communion, and often chanted it himself. The Bible; however, it is clear that he still looked upon Death with utter dread.He believes that death is the entrance to eternal happiness in the afterlife, but he himself does not want to go in and enjoy the joy of that happy life.From time to time he was tortured by illness, and seemed to be chained, spending his time in a chair all day long.However, like a child clinging tightly to the arms of a woman he hired with money, he clings to the world he knows and refuses to leave.

There was always a question in Philip's mind that he couldn't ask: he wondered if the pastor believed in the immortality of the soul in his twilight years, and now he was like a machine, worn out and dying. scrapped.It is likely that in the depths of his soul, he firmly believes that there is no God in the universe at all, and that this world is one and everything is empty.However, he would never speak of this belief unless it was absolutely necessary.But he is not good at asking questions, because he knows that his uncle's answer will never contain anything new except for clichés.

On the evening of Boxing Day Philip sat with his uncle in the dining-room.He had to leave early the next morning to get back to the store by nine o'clock in the morning.At this time, he came to say goodbye to Mr. Carey.The Vicar of Blackstable was dozing, and Philip lay on the sofa by the window, his book falling on his knees, and looking idly about the room.He wondered how much the furniture in the room would sell for.He had wandered about the house, inspecting various objects he had known since childhood.There were some pieces of china in the house, worth a little, and Philip wondered if they were worth taking to London; and the furniture, still Victorian, strong and ugly, of mahogany, would sell at auction. Three pennies are worth two pennies.There were three or four thousand volumes in the house, but everyone knew that these books would not sell for much, probably not more than a hundred pounds.How much money his uncle will leave him, Philip does not know, but he has calculated for the hundredth time how much money he needs at least to pay for his medical school courses, obtain a degree, and stay in the hospital. The cost of living for a period of time before the letter of appointment.He looked at the old man, tossed and turned, and couldn't sleep at night.There was nothing human in his lined face; it was the face of an inscrutable animal.How easy it would be to end that mean life, Philip thought.He thought so every evening, as Mrs. Foster waited on his uncle with the potion that would make him pass the night peacefully.There were two bottles: one contained the medicine he took regularly; the other contained opiates, which he took only when the pain became unbearable.The opiate was poured and placed by his bedside, and he usually swallowed it at three or four o'clock in the morning.Increase the dose while pouring the potion, disdain to raise a hand, and his uncle will die in the night, and no one will doubt it, because Dr. Wigram wants him to die like this, and he himself will die without pain.Philip could not help clenching his fists at the thought of his poverty and need of money.A few more months of misery meant nothing to the old man, but it meant everything to him, Philip.He was getting to the point where he couldn't bear it.Thinking of going back to the store to work hard in the early morning of the next day, he felt extremely frightened and shuddered.His heart beat as he thought of the thought that had filled his mind.Although he tried his best to get that thought out of his mind, it was of no avail.As a result, the old man's life was really easy and effortless.Philip had no affection for the old thing, never liked him.His uncle had been selfish all his life, even toward his admiring wife, and indifferent to the children entrusted to him; he was, if not cruel, ignorant, hard-hearted, and somewhat sensual.As a result, the old man's life was really easy and effortless.But Philip dared not do it.He was afraid of remorse, and what was the use of having money if he hated what he had done all his life?In spite of the futility of remorse, as he often told himself, a few things occasionally broke into his mind and disturbed him.He hoped these things would live up to his conscience.

Philip was glad that his uncle opened his eyes, for he looked a little human then.When he thought of the thought that once flashed in his mind, he really felt terrified. What he was thinking about was murder for money!He wondered whether others had similar thoughts, or whether he was abnormal and evil.He thought that when it was time to do it, he would never do such a thing, but this kind of thought did exist, and it still appeared in his mind from time to time. It's out of fear.His uncle spoke up. "You don't wish me dead, Philip?" Philip felt his heart beating violently in his chest. "Oh, no words!" "That's a good boy. I don't like it when you think that way. When I die, you can get a small sum of money, but you can't count on it. If you think that way, it's not yours." benefit." He spoke in a low voice, with an uncharacteristic trepidation in his tone.Suddenly Philip felt a sharp pain in his heart.He secretly wondered, what kind of strange insight made this old guy guess the evil thoughts in his heart? "I wish you twenty more years of life," said Philip. "Oh, I don't expect to live that long. However, as long as I take care of my body, I don't believe I can't live it for another three or five years." He was silent for a while, and Philip was speechless.Then, the old man seemed to think about it and then spoke again. "Everyone has the right to live as long as they can." Philip wished to divert his thoughts. "By the way, I suppose you never had a letter from Miss Wilkinson?" "Oh no, I got a letter from her earlier this year. She's married. You know?" "Really?" "It's true. She's married to a widower. I'm sure they'll have a happy life."