Chapter 18 third quarter

After Nash left, and Joanna and I were left alone, she said, "You didn't really think that letter was meant for Miss Emily, did you?" "Otherwise it wouldn't have started with: 'You hypocritical whore...'" I said, and Joanna agreed. Then she suggested that I go to the street: "Go and listen to what other people say, everyone must be talking about this topic this morning!" I asked her to go with me, but she refused, saying that she wanted to work in the garden. I stopped at the door and said in a low voice, "Petridge is probably all right!"

"Patridge!" The surprise in Joanna's voice made me feel very embarrassed. I said in an apologetic tone, "I was just asking. She seemed 'weird' in some ways, like some kind of religious fanatic." "It's not fanaticism—you told me that's what Graves said." "Well, sex mania. As far as I know, the two are very closely related. Her emotions were suppressed, and she was shut down in this place for many years with a group of older women." "How did you come up with this?" "Oh," I said slowly, "what did Agnes say to her? We only hear her side of the story, don't we? If Agnes asks Patridge, why did Patridge come to Symington's that day?" Left a letter--and Patridge said she'd call back that afternoon to explain--"

"So he pretended to ask us if the girl could come here?" "right." "But she didn't go out that afternoon." "How do you know? Don't forget, we went out ourselves." "Yes, you're right, I think it's possible." Joanna thought for a while, and then said, "But I don't agree with this view, I don't believe that Patrige is so smart that he knows how to cover up all traces of anonymous letters, For example, wiping off fingerprints and the like. You know, it’s not only useful to be smart, but also to have that kind of knowledge, I don’t believe she understands. I think—” Joanna paused, then slowly continued: “They Surely the letter was written by a woman, isn't it?"

"Don't you think it's a man?" I asked aloud in disbelief. "No--not the average man, but a certain kind of man. To tell you the truth, I was guessing Mr. Peep." "So you think the anonymous letter was written by Mr. Pi." "Don't you think it's possible? He's the kind of guy who can be lonely--unhappy and resentful, you know, and everyone laughs at him a little bit. Don't you see that he's secretly Normal people who hate all things happy and have a weird, reserved, artist-like chuckle at what they do?" "Greve thinks it's a middle-aged spinster."

"Mr. Pi is 'just' a middle-aged spinster," said Joanna. "This title seems inappropriate." I said slowly. "It's a good fit, he's rich, but money isn't much use for it. I really think he's out of balance, and to be honest, he's a little bit scary." "Don't forget, he also received anonymous letters." "Who knows if it's true?" Joanna said. "It's just that we thought so. And anyway, he's probably playing." "For us?" "Yes, he is smart enough to think of this, and he also knows not to go too far."

"He must be an actor." "But of course, Jerry, whoever does it 'must' be a top-notch actor to enjoy it." "God, Joanna, don't make it sound like that! Makes me think you—you know psychology!" "I think I get it, I can read people's minds. If I wasn't Joanna Burton, if I wasn't this young and cute and had a good time, if I -- how should I put it? -- were locked up In prison, watching other people enjoy life, then, will I have vicious thoughts in my heart, wanting to hurt others, make others suffer--or even destroy others?" "Joanna!" I grabbed her shoulders and shook her vigorously. She sighed softly, shook slightly, and smiled at me:

"Scares you, Jerry. But I think that's the right way to go about it. We have to put ourselves in the person's shoes, try to understand his feelings and motivations, and then—then maybe know what he's going to do next." do what." "Oh, my God!" I said, "I've come all the way to this place to recuperate, and I've got into these unexplained scandals. Slander, slander, obscenities, and murder!" Joanna was right, the street was full of interested people, and I decided to get everyone's reaction. The first thing I ran into was Owen Griffey, who looked sick and tired.Of course, murder is not what a doctor is responsible for all day, but his profession allows him to face most things: pain, human ugliness, and death.

"You seem exhausted," I said. "Really?" he replied vaguely. "Oh! These last few cases are very worrying." "Including the mentally ill person?" "Of course." He turned his face to look across the street, and I noticed that his eyelids twitched. "You didn't suspect anyone?" "No, no, I hope so." He suddenly asked about Joanna, and said hesitantly that he had some photos that she might like to see. I offered to give the photo to me and pass it on to her. "Oh, it doesn't matter, anyway, I will pass by the house later."

I'm afraid Griffey has an affair, damn Joanna!A good person like Griffey shouldn't let her be taken as a trophy. I told him to go away because I saw his sister approaching and offered to talk to her for the first time.