Chapter 35 Section 13

Andrew Markwhite sat on the balcony of the East Head Inn, looking across the river and at the bluffs on the opposite bank. At this time, he was sinking into the general review of his thoughts and emotions. Seven months ago, right here, he attempted to take his own life.Fate, pure fate, interfering, is he grateful to fate?he doubted. He soberly thought that he was not grateful.Yes, he is not currently suicidal.The term suicide is a thing of the past for him forever.Now he is willing to continue to bear the burden of life, without enthusiasm or even fun, just living one day at a time.He admitted that you cannot take your own life in cold blood.This requires an unusual stimulus of despair, sadness, depression or pain.You can't kill yourself just because you're bored.

Today, he thought, he would be considered a rather lucky man.After frowning at him, the god of fate has begun to smile at him.But he was not in the mood to smile back.He couldn't help laughing when he thought of the meeting with the rich and eccentric Count Cornelli. "Are you Mark White? Used to drive with Herbert Clay? Clay got a bad record on his driver's license because you didn't tell him he was driving twenty miles an hour. He was pissed off! One day He told us. 'Damn Scots, what a pig's head!' he said. I thought to myself - that's what I want! A liar who can't be bribed. You don't have to lie for me. That's not my style Yes. I'm looking everywhere for honest people—there are very few of them."

The earl laughed when he finished, his shrewd, monkey-like face crumpled up in pleasure.Mark White didn't find it funny, and stood there dumbfounded. But he got the job.a good job.Now his future is secured.In a week he would be leaving England for South America. He didn't know what made him choose this place to spend his last few days of vacation before his departure.Still, something brought him here.Maybe it was a desire to test himself—to see if any of the hopelessness of the past remained in his heart. Mona?How much he doesn't care about her now.She married another man.One day he passed her by on the street and felt nothing in his heart.He still remembered the sadness, the pain in his heart when she left him.But all that is now a thing of the past.

A wet puppy and a new friend, thirteen-year-old Miss Diana Bullington, interrupted his thoughts. "Oh, go away, Don. Go away. It stinks, he's on the beach with dead fish or something. You can smell him from afar, it stinks." Mark White's nose smelled foul. "A rotting dead fish in a crevice," said Miss Bullington. "I took it into the sea to try to wash the smell out, but it didn't seem to work." Mark White feels the same way.Don, a lovable curly poodle, looks hurt by his friend's determination not to let him get too close to them. "Sea water doesn't work," Mark White said. "Hot water and soap is the only way."

"I know, but it's not easy to do in a hotel, and we don't have a private bathroom." Later, Mark White and Diana slipped in through the side door, secretly took Don into Mark White's bathroom, and cleaned up so vigorously that Mark White and Diana were also dripping wet.After cleaning, Don was very sad.The nasty soapy smell again—just when he had managed to acquire a scent that other dogs would envy.Alas, never mind, human beings are always the same - they have no idea what taste is noble and good. This little incident made Mark White a lot happier.He took the bus to Saldington to pick up a suit he had sent for laundering.

The girl in charge of the twenty-four-hour laundry looked at him blankly. "You mean Mark White? I'm afraid it's not all right." "It should be ready." They promised him to hand over the suit to him yesterday, and even if it was handed over to him yesterday, it would have been 48 hours for laundering instead of just 24 hours.A woman might complain like this, but Mark White just looked unhappy. "Not yet," said the girl with a nonchalant smile. "nonsense." The girl stopped smiling.She growled. "Whatever it is, it's not okay, it's not okay," she said.

"Then I'll take it back," Mark White said. "It hasn't moved at all," the girl warned him. "I still want to take it back." "Maybe we'll do it tomorrow—specially for you." "I'm not used to asking for special service. Just give me that suit back." The girl gave him an annoyed look and walked into the inner room.When she came back, she threw the badly wrapped package on the counter. Mark White took it and left. Quite absurdly, he felt as if he had won a battle.In fact, he would have to send the suit elsewhere to be cleaned!

After returning to the hotel, he threw the bag of clothes on the bed and looked at it upset.Maybe he could ask someone from the hotel to wipe it down and iron it for him.That suit isn't really all that bad - maybe it doesn't actually need to be laundered? He opened the package with an annoyed expression on his face.The 24-hour laundromat is so inefficient that I have nothing to say.It wasn't his suit at all, not even the right color!He sent them a set of dark blue ones.What a mess. He looked at the label indignantly, it said that Mark White was right.Another guy named Mark White?Or get confused and get the label wrong.

He looked at the crumpled pile in confusion, and suddenly twitched his nose. Of course he was familiar with the smell--a particularly bad smell--and the ignorance associated with dogs.By the way, that's the taste.Diana and her puppies, the real smell of dead fish! He bent over and rummaged.Right here, there is a scar stain on the shoulder of the suit jacket.on the shoulders— Mark White thought to himself, this is really very strange... In any case, tomorrow he will have a good time to say a few harsh words to the girl in the 24-hour laundry shop.What a nonsense!