Chapter 8 first quarter

Later that day, I met Symington on the street. "Isn't it okay for Megan to stay with us for a few days?" I asked, "She can accompany Joanna, because Joanna doesn't have any friends nearby, and she always feels very lonely." "Huh? Ah-oh, Megan, yeah, you're so kind." At this time, I suddenly felt dissatisfied with Symington, and I couldn't calm down for a long time.He had obviously forgotten all about Megan.If he didn't like the girl at all—men can't help being jealous of their ex-husband's children sometimes—I wouldn't mind, but it wasn't that he didn't like her, it was that he didn't pay attention to her at all.Just like a person who doesn't like dogs, he won't notice that there is a dog in the house. He will scold it when he accidentally falls on the dog and notice its existence. Occasionally, if the dog comes up to you to pat him, You'll pat it on the back too.Symington has this kind of indifference towards his stepdaughter, so I'm not happy.

I said, "How are you going to settle her?" "Settling Meghan?" He seemed very surprised: "Oh, she will live at home as usual, I mean, of course it's still her home." When my beloved grandmother was alive, she used to love to sing while she played the guitar, and I remember the last lines of one of them being: Ah, dearest girl, I'm not here, No room, no place, There is no shelter, either by the sea or on the shore, Only, ah, only in your heart. On the way home, I kept humming this song. We had just finished our tea when Emily Button arrived. She has come to talk about the garden.

After we talked for about half an hour, we went to the back of the house together. Then she lowered her voice and said, "I hope the kid—doesn't feel too bad about this dreadful thing?" "You mean her mother's death?" "Of course, but what I really mean is the unhappiness behind it." I'm curious and hope Miss Barton can explain further. "What do you think? Could it be true?" "Oh, no, no, of course not, I'm sure Mrs Symington absolutely—she didn't—" Emily Barton, blushing slightly, faltered: "I mean there is absolutely no such thing— But of course some people might really think so.”

"Oh?" I said, staring at her. Emily Barton flushed like a Chinese shepherdess. "I guess, these anonymous letters must have ulterior motives, deliberately trying to cause other people's pain and sorrow," "Of course the person who sent the letter had his purpose," I said sternly. "No, no, Mr. Burton, you have misunderstood me. I don't mean the letter writer. I mean that the letter writer must have been permitted by Heaven to draw our attention to our own faults and shortcomings." "God could do it in a less obnoxious way!" I said.

Miss Emily said to herself, Providence is unpredictable. "No," I said, "people often attribute the bad things they do to God's will. I can even say that you are the embodiment of the devil. Miss Barton, in fact, there is no need for God to punish human beings. Human beings have punished themselves enough. gone." "I don't understand, 'why' would someone do something like this?" I shrugged and said, "The nerves are miswired." "It's a sad thing." "I don't think there's anything sad, I just think it's shameful, yes, that's right, it's extremely shameful."

Miss Button's flush disappeared and she became very pale. "But why, Mr. Burton? Why? Is there any pleasure in doing it?" "Thank God, you and I don't know what the fun is in it." Emily Barton said in a low voice, "It's never happened before, at least I don't remember it. The neighborhood has been so peaceful and happy, what would my dear dead mother say if she found out? Well, It's a good thing she's passed away and can't see this kind of thing." From what I have heard of old Mrs. Barton, the old lady must have been very strong, and even glad to hear such new and exciting things.

Emily added: "This is a real disappointment to me." "Have you yourself—er—received an anonymous letter?" Blushing, she said, "Oh, no--oh, no, not really. Oh! It'd be a terrible thing to receive!" I apologized to her right away, but she seemed disturbed and walked away. I went back inside and Joanna was sitting by the fire she had just lit in the living room, it seemed to be cold tonight. She is reading a letter. As soon as I entered the door, she immediately turned her head. "Jerry! I found this letter in the mailbox. Someone else put it in the mailbox. The first sentence said: 'You hypocritical whore...'"

"What else?" Joanna laughed and said, "It's still the old ways." She threw the letter into the fire, and I ran forward quickly and rescued the letter from the fire. Fortunately, only a little corner was burned. "Don't burn it," I said, "it might be useful." "Is it useful?" "I mean the police."