I often think back to the morning when I received my first anonymous letter. The letter arrived at breakfast time, when time passed very slowly for me, so I did everything slowly and without haste.I picked up the letter slowly and found that it had been mailed locally and addressed with a typewriter.In addition to this letter, there are two other letters, one is obviously a bill, and the other is clearly from my boring cousin, so I will read the one in hand first. In retrospect, it seems odd that Joanna and I would have been particularly interested in that letter.At the time, we had no idea what the consequences of this letter would be - blood, violence, suspicion and fear.

No one would associate these things with the place Linstak. Ever since I accidentally crashed the plane, although the doctors and nurses kept comforting me, I still worried for a long time, fearing that I would have to lie in bed for the rest of my life.Finally they took the cast off and I started to learn to use my limbs carefully.Later, the attending doctor, Marcus Kent, patted me on the back and said, everything is fine, but you have to rest in the country for at least six months. "Find a place where you don't have any friends, don't worry about anything, keep a little interest in local politics, listen to the chitchat of the neighbors, and swallow the local scandals. Drink some beer later, here's my prescription for you .Remember, you must rest well."

It's kind of funny to think about it now. So, I just came to Linstak, and Little Foz. Linstac was an important stronghold when the Normans conquered England, but in the twentieth century, it is not important at all.It is only a small town, three miles from the main road, and has a moor on higher ground. Little Foz was on the way to the moor, a stodgy, low white house with peeling green paint on the Victorian porch outside. As soon as my sister Joanna saw the house, she thought it would be the most ideal place for the sick to recuperate.The owner's temperament matches the house perfectly, a lovely little old woman with an unbelievable Victorian concept.She told Joanna that she would never have thought of renting out "if it weren't for the heavy taxes that are so different now."

So the matter was decided, the two parties signed the lease, and soon after, Joanna and I moved in and settled down, and Miss Emily Barton moved to Linstoke, a maid ("I in the rooms that that faithful Florence") tends.Miss Barton's former maid, Patrick, is temporarily under our command.Patridge was a no-nonsense but capable servant, and there was a girl who came to help her at set times each day. Just a few days after we settled down, the residents of Linstak officially visited one by one.Everyone in Lynstack has some characteristics--Joanna said, "It's like a happy family." Mr. Symington, a thin lawyer, is very cold to others, his wife loves playing bridge and complains a lot, Dr. Griffey Dark-skinned and seemingly melancholy, his sister was the opposite, tall and very warm-hearted.The pastor is an elderly scholar-type figure who always seems to be absent-minded, but the expression on the pastor's wife's face is strangely overzealous.There was also Mr. P., a wealthy amateur art lover, and our landlady, Miss Emily Barton, a typical old country spinster.

Joanna played with their business cards with a surprised expression and said: "I didn't expect that they would really 'visit' us-visit with business cards!" I told her, "That's because you don't know much about the countryside." Joanna is vivacious and beautiful, loves to dance, cocktail parties, fall in love, drive fast cars, and is definitely a city girl. "Anyway," she said, "my appearance isn't too outrageous." I looked at her critically and could not agree. She was wearing a tracksuit specially designed for her by Mirodin, she looked very cute, but in a small place like Linstak, she was still too eye-catching.

"No," I said, "you're totally wrong, you should wear a faded tweed kilt with a woolen jacket, or a baggy woolen jacket, a felt hat, thick socks, and a thick, stiff boots. Besides, your face doesn't look like that at all." "What's wrong with my face? I'm using the Country Tan No. 2 makeup line." "That's what's wrong," I said. "If you were really a country girl, you'd just put on a little powder to cover up the sunburn, and the brows would be fully defined, not just a quarter." Joanna said with a smile, after all, living in the country is a new thing, and she will enjoy it well.

"I'm afraid you will feel bored in the future." I said in a pitiful tone. "No, it won't! I've had enough of the noisy people in the city. I know you won't sympathize with me, but Paul hurt me so deeply that it will take a long time to calm down." I don't really believe this, Joanna's love history is the same every time.She is particularly obsessed with some spineless guys who think they are talented, and they listen to their endless complaints and try hard to get their promises.But when she found out that the other was an ungrateful fellow, she felt very hurt and said her heart was broken-until about three weeks later, another young man of the same pessimism and melancholy appeared, and her mood did not change. back again.

I didn't take Joanna's "heartbreak" very seriously, but I could see that living in the country was like a fun new game for her, and she was eager to go back to begging people.Soon, we were invited to drink tea and play bridge, we accepted one by one, and invited others back in the same way. For us, these activities are new and fun, like a new game indeed. And when the anonymous letter came, I also found it very surprising and interesting at first. For a minute or two after opening the letter, I stared at it in bewilderment, because the letter was assembled by pasting cutouts of typography on a piece of white paper.

As for the content of the letter, it was expressed in the most vile terms that the writer did not believe that Joanna and I were brother and sister. "Hi," Joanna asked, "what's up?" "A dull, vicious anonymous letter," I said. I was very shocked, because no one would have imagined that such a thing could happen in a place as good and simple as Lynnstack. Joanna immediately showed a very interested expression and asked, "Oh, what did the letter say?" I remember those malicious anonymous letters encountered in the novel, and I always tried my best not to let women read them, so as not to hurt their fragile and delicate nervous systems.

But it did not occur to me at that time not to let Joanna read the letter, but to hand it to her as soon as I heard her question. After she read the letter, she didn't express any attitude. She only showed an amused expression and said, "It's ridiculous and despicable. I've heard of such things as anonymous letters, but I've never seen them with my own eyes before. Aren't anonymous letters like So despicable?" "I don't know," I said, "It's also the first time I've seen it." Joanna giggled suddenly, "You must be right about my makeup, Jerry. I think they 'must' think I'm an outcast."

"Besides," I said, "my father is tall, dark-skinned, with a thin chin, and my mother is petite, with blue eyes and beautiful hair. I look like my father, but you look exactly like my mother. In the eyes of others, of course we Not like siblings." Joanna nodded thoughtfully, and said, "Yes, we are not alike at all, and no one would think that we are brother and sister." "Some people really think so." I also said thoughtfully. Joanna said that this incident was ridiculous and scary, and she asked me what to do as she rolled up a corner of the letter. "I think the best thing to do," I said, "is to yell 'disgusting'! Throw it in the fire." When I said it, I burned it immediately, and Joanna clapped her hands and said, "It's beautifully done, you should be an actor on stage. Luckily we still have fire, right?" "Yeah, it's less dramatic if it's in the trash," I agree with her. "Of course, I can light a match and watch it burn." "When you want something to burn," said Joanna, "the fire just goes out, and it may take several matches to burn it down." She stood up and walked to the window, then suddenly turned her head and said, "I was wondering, who wrote it?" "Maybe we'll never know," I said. "Well—perhaps," she went on after a moment's silence, "anyway, it's a ridiculous thing to do. You know, I think they—they like it quite a bit that we live here." "Yes," I said, "it must have been written by some crazy fellow who lives farther away." "Probably, oops! It's really bad!" When she went outside, I thought, smoking an after-dinner cigarette, that she was right, the letter writer was a nasty person, who must have hated our stay, was jealous of Joanna's young, mature beauty, and wanted to malign us.It may be the best way to laugh it off-but if you think about it further, it's not just ridiculous. That morning, Dr. Griffey came for my weekly checkup. I liked Owen Griffey very much. He was dark and a little clumsy, but he was very dexterous in his hands.Talks fast and a little shy. He said that my injury has improved significantly, and said: "You don't feel uncomfortable, right? Is it my illusion, or are you really in a bad mood because of the weather this morning?" "No," I said, "it's because I got a nasty anonymous letter today at breakfast, which has left a bad taste in my mouth." The bag in his hand fell to the ground suddenly, his thin and dark face revealed an excited look, and he said, "You mean, you also received an anonymous letter?" I asked him with great interest: "Has anyone else received the anonymous letter?" "Well, it's been a while." "Oh," I said, "I see, I thought it was because we were foreigners that people hated us." "No, no, it's nothing to do with that, it's just—" He paused, and then asked: "What did the letter say? At least—" He blushed suddenly, "Maybe I shouldn't ask? " "No, I'd be happy to tell you," I said, "that the pretty girl I moved here with was not my sister! I think the writer meant more than that." His swarthy His face flushed with anger, "It's shameful! Lingmei—I hope she doesn't feel uneasy about it?" I said, "Joann looks a bit like a cherub on a Christmas tree, but she's actually very modern and strong. She thinks this is interesting because it's never happened to her before." "I hope not," said Griffey kindly. "Anyway," I said firmly, "I think it's the best way to do it, because it's so ridiculous." "Yes," said Owen Griffey, "but—" He stopped, and I interrupted him at once, saying, "Yes, the problem lies in the 'but' key." "Yes, I think so." "Of course, such a person must not be mentally sound." I nodded, "In your opinion, is there anyone who is more suspicious?" "I wish I could figure it out, but unfortunately I can't think of anyone who is suspected. You know, there are two possible reasons for such annoying things as anonymous letters. The first one is directed at a certain person or some special people, The person who wrote the letter had some kind of hatred in his heart, so he took a mean and cunning way to send an anonymous letter. Although it is shameful and hateful, the person who wrote the letter is not necessarily mentally ill, and it is easy to trace. It may be fired A servant, or a jealous woman, etc. But if the recipient is ordinary, with no characteristics, the situation is more serious." "The person who sent the letter doesn't distinguish between black and white, and only wants to achieve the purpose of destroying others. As I said just now, the writer's psychology is not sound, and his interest will become stronger and stronger. Of course, it will always be traced out in the end (mostly The most unlikely person), that's what happened. Last year, this kind of thing happened on the other side of the county, and it was later found out that it was done by the supervisor of a millinery department attached to a large cloth shop. No one could have imagined that such a quiet, Graceful woman -- has served there for several years." "This kind of thing happened to me when I was an intern in the north before, and it turned out that it was just a personal grievance. However, even though I have seen this kind of thing several times, I still can't help being a little scared now!" "Has this happened for a while?" I asked. "I didn't know it for a long time. Of course, it's hard to say, because people who receive anonymous letters will not publicize them, and most of them will be thrown into the fire." He paused, then continued: "I got one myself, and Solicitor Symington got one, and one or two poor patients also told me about anonymous letters." "Do they all mean the same thing?" "Well, it can be said that it's all about sex, which is the biggest feature," he smiled, and said, "Mr Symington's crime is that he had an affair with his female staff—poor The old Miss King was at least forty years old, wearing pince-nez and teeth like rabbits. Symington handed the letter directly to the police. My anonymous letter scolded me for being unprofessional and messing with female patients Come on, and write out the details clearly. The content of the letter is very childish and ridiculous, but the intention is very malicious." His face became serious, "In short, I am afraid, you know, that this kind of Things could get dangerous." "I think so." "You see," he said, "although these letters are very childish and vicious, but sooner or later one of them will speak of a fatal wound in someone's heart. God knows what will happen then. I am also afraid of those dull, suspicious, Uneducated people may react badly. As long as they see the words in black and white, they think it's true, and all the troubles will arise." "This letter is not very good," I said after thinking about it. "I think it was written by someone with little education." "Oh? Really?" Owen said and left. When I thought about his "really?" afterward, I was quite confused.