Chapter 3 third quarter

That afternoon, we went to Mr. Pi's house for afternoon tea. Mr. Pi is a plump man with a strong feminine taste. He is very fond of the Dresden shepherdesses and furniture of different ages that he has collected. He lived near a ruin destroyed by the Reformation era. His room was nothing like a man's room, the curtains and cushions were of the most expensive pastel silks. Mr. Pi shook his fat little hands while showing us his collection of treasures.His voice rose an octave higher as he spoke of the treasures he had brought back from Verona, Italy. Joanna and I both love antiques, so we understood his mood well.

"It's such an honor, such an honor, to have two men of such knowledge in our little group. You know, the nice folks around here are just simple country folks who don't know a thing about art and don't Not the slightest interest. In their house—it will make you cry, my dear lady, and I'm sure it will make you weep. Perhaps—you have experienced it yourself?" Joanna shook her head and said not yet. "The house you live in now," Mr. P. went on, "is Miss Emily Barton's house, which is also very attractive. She has a few good things in her collection, which are quite good. One or two of them are really good. First class. She has taste herself--though I don't know if it's as good as mine. I worry sometimes that she likes to keep things as they are, not for any other reason than because her mother has always been that way keep it."

He turned his attention to me again, and his voice changed, from a rapt artist to a flat, monotonous chatter: "You don't know the family at all? Don't you? — oh, it was introduced by the real estate agent." But, dear, you 'should' have known that family! Her mother was alive when I moved here. It's hard to believe -- too hard, too hard to believe!' Monster '! Total monster! One of those old fashioned Victorian monsters who put all their energy into taking care of her daughters, yes, that's what it is. She's huge and has five daughters around her all day.' Those girls in my house Ya!' she kept saying of the girls. 'Girls!' God, the oldest one was over sixty at the time."

"'Those stupid girls!' she called them now and then. They were like niggers, fetching and answering her. They must be in bed at ten o'clock at night, and no fires were allowed in their bedrooms, And you're not allowed to invite friends over, never heard of that. You know, she despises them because they're not married. But the fact is that they arrange their lives the way she arranges them, and there's no way they'll meet anyone. I believe that Emily or Agnes once had a relationship with a curate, but his family situation was not good enough, and the mother stopped it immediately!"

"Sounds like a novel," Joanna said. "Oh, dear, that's right. Then the horrible old woman died, and 'by then' it wasn't too late, of course. They just went on living there, talking in whispers about the life their mother wanted them to have. Even when they were renovating her room, they felt as if they were desecrating something sacred. But they could live there quietly like that, and they could enjoy themselves. It's a pity that their physical strength is not very good. One died after another. Edith died of influenza. Minnie had an operation, never recovered, and then died. Poor Marble had a stroke, and Emily took care of her with all her heart and soul. Well, that poor woman didn't do anything but take care of her for a whole ten years. She's a lovely person, don't you think? Like an antique from Dresden, it's a pity she's in financial trouble --but of course, all investments are down."

"We lived in her house, and it always felt kind of scary," Joanna said. "Oh, come on, dear lady, don't think so. Her dear Florence was very faithful to her, and she told me herself that she considered herself very lucky." "The house," I said, "has a very comforting air." Mr. Pi shot me a quick look. "Oh? Really? You really think so? That's interesting. I don't know, you know, no, I don't." "What do you mean, Mr. Peep?" Joanna asked. Mr. Pie stretched out his fat hand and said, "Nothing, nothing. Sometimes people just don't understand certain things. You know, I'm a big believer in atmosphere. People have their own thoughts and feelings about walls and furniture. There's some sort of impression."

I didn't speak for a while, looking around, I don't know how to describe the atmosphere here.Oddly enough, it seemed to me that it lacked any atmosphere, which is the most noticeable thing. I've been thinking about this so much that I didn't notice the conversation between Joanna and the master.It wasn't until Joanna began to say goodbye to the master that I seemed to wake up suddenly, and immediately returned to reality and said goodbye to the master. We walked down the hall together, and just as we were near the front door, a letter fell through the mailbox and onto the floor.

"Here's the afternoon letter," said Mr. P., picking up the letter. "Well, dear young man, you'll come again, won't you? It's good to have a chat with someone who knows, you know, Nothing big ever happens in this peaceful little place." After speaking, he shook hands with us twice, and helped me into the car with exaggerated and careful movements.Joanna started the car, carefully walked around a grassy field, then straightened the steering wheel, and stretched out her hand to say goodbye to the owner standing on the front step, and I leaned forward and waved to him.

But our farewell was not noticed by the host. Mr. Pie opened the envelope and stood on the stairs to read the letter. Joanna once described him as a cute, fat pink angel, and he still looks fat, but he doesn't look like an angel at all.His face swelled purple-black.Distorted out of shape by anger and surprise.Yes, and fear. At the same time, I also found that envelope quite familiar.It didn't occur to me at the time what that meant, just like sometimes we notice things subconsciously without knowing we're paying attention. "Jesus," said Joanna, "what's the matter with the poor baby?"

"I guess," I said, "that it's those hidden hands that are at work again." She looked at me with surprised eyes, and the car veered off. "Be careful, Missy," I said. Joanna returned her attention to the road, frowning and said, "You mean like the letter you received." "That's my guess." "What the hell is this place?" asked Joanna. "It looks like the purest, quietest, most harmonious little piece of paradise that England can find." "To use Mr. Pi's words, nothing will ever happen in this quiet little place," I interjected, "It's a pity that he said this at the wrong time, and something happened at this time."

"Jerry," said Joanna, "I—I don't think I'm such a thing." For the first time there was fear in her voice. I didn't answer because—I don't have this kind of thing... Such a peaceful and happy village - who would have thought that there is some kind of evil hidden behind it... At this time, I already had a premonition of what was about to happen...