Chapter 3 third chapter

They go home at tea time.With five inconspicuous fin fish and two big eaters.Pat's excuse for catching the skinny finfish is that in this weather, other than catching what he calls a "dumbo" Don't even think about the other small fin fishes.For no venerable fish would bite in this weather! About half a mile from Canou they galloped like horses returning home.Pat was bouncing around in the grass like a kid, just as silent as he had been all the way there, except that his usual had been babbling all the way back.The world and London seemed to have receded far away, and Grant felt he was not so happy being king.

But as they were cleaning their shoes on the flagstones by Knu's door, he began to realize that he was eager to read the paper for no reason, and he had always hated this irrationality in other people so much that he couldn't bear it in himself.So, he stood in place and carefully wiped the shoes again. Pat just dabbed on the double shoecloth and said, "Dude! You're so careful!" "It's rude to walk inside with muddy shoes on." "Rough?" Pat said.As Grant surmises, Pat sees things like "cleanliness" as a sign of femininity. "Yeah! That's scruffy and immature."

Pat snorted and sneaked another shoe shine. "What a poor house! It can't bear even a few lumps of mud." He asserted his independence, and rushed into the living room like a gust of wind. In the living room Tommy was pouring honey over muffins; Lola was pouring tea; Bridget was rearranging the baubles on the floor; Beagle was busy searching around the table to see if he could find something to eat.The whole picture of this room is the same as last night except for the sunlight competing with the flickering fire.What's more, there is a daily newspaper lying in a corner of this room, which matters a lot.

Laura caught Grant's searching eyes and asked him what he was looking for. "Ah, I'm looking for a daily newspaper." "Oh, Bella took it." Bella was the cook. "If you want to see it, I'll take it back after drinking tea later." He suddenly felt a little impatient with Laura for a moment.She was just too complacent.She is so happy, staying in her own castle, the tea table is full of food, she has a slightly fat body, a pair of healthy children, a considerate husband, and a proud sense of security.In fact, it would be good for her if she could occasionally fight the demons in her life, and let her occasionally be suspended in mid-air and look down on the bottomless pit below.But he quickly saves himself from the absurdity of thinking that this is not the case.There's no complacency in Lola's joy, and Knu is no refuge from reality.Just now two black and white curly-haired collies greeted them at the gate wagging their tails. In the past, they would be called Moses, Glenn or Trim, but today he noticed that they should be called Tanger and Zan grid.The water of the Qindun River has long flowed into the Tuli River, and there is no longer any ivory tower here.

"Of course, there's The Times here, but it's yesterday's, and you've probably seen it." "Who's little Archie?" asked Grant, sitting down at the table. Tommy said, "So you've met Archie Brown?" He patted the top half of the hot muffin and licked the dripping honey. "Is that his name?" "It used to be, but since he proclaimed himself King of Gaelic, he's called himself Gillisbig Marabruishan. He's very unpopular at the restaurant." "why? " "Who do you think would like to be sent out to someone with a name like Gillis Big Marabruishan?"

"I wouldn't like him at my house either. What is he doing here?" "He says he's writing epics here in Gaelic. But he's only started learning Gaelic two years ago, so I don't think he's going to make it too long. He used to belong to Crisey-Craft A Cretan school, you know, the boys from the Lowlands. He's been a part of this group for years, but he doesn't get much exposure because the competition is too high. So he thinks the Lowlands are just degraded England man, and deserves to be condemned, and he also sees nothing more important than a return to his 'mother tongue', a return to his true language. So he submits to Gnarola and Tommy with all his university dignity , one went into the kitchen, and the other went outside to get some air, leaving only him and the silent child who kept reorganizing his treasures on the floor in the living room.

He took the neatly folded newspaper from Pat's hand as if nothing had happened, and before Pat left, he opened the newspaper with an irresistible interest.It was a Scottish paper, full of local news except for the middle section, but nothing about the train incident seemed to be mentioned.He searched back and forth, skimming through a pile of unimportant news like a dog through a pile of ferns.At last he found it, just below a column, amidst the news of bicycle accidents and centenarians, a rather unremarkable headline: MAN DIED ON TRAIN.Below the headline is a succinct statement: When the Highland Flyer reached its terminal yesterday morning, a young Frenchman named Charles Martin was found dead on board in the middle of the night.According to the preliminary investigation, the cause of his death was natural death, but because he died in England, he had to be transported to London for post-mortem.

"French!" he yelled, and even Bridget looked up at him. French? Impossible! Impossible? This face, yes! This face may be, this face is very French, but what he writes is not like it! It is very English. Didn't that newspaper belong to Seven B? Did he pick it up? Maybe he picked it up when he went to the restaurant for dinner before boarding the train. There are often newspapers read by diners left on the chairs of the railway restaurant.Or did he bring it from home? His room or wherever he lived.Maybe he really just got the newspaper from somewhere. It is also possible that because he is a Frenchman studying in England, he does not use the traditional elegant and thin font of French, but writes in round and jagged English handwriting.There is basically no contradiction between this point and the fact that the poem was written by the person of Seven B.

Still, it's strange! In the case of the fall to death, however natural it may be, it's still very strange.When he saw Qi B for the first time, it happened that his own situation could not be combined with his professionalism. Events like any other pauper who might fall asleep in a car.To him, Seven B was nothing more than a young man dying in the smell of whiskey, being roughly treated by rude and impatient train sleeper attendants.But now the situation is very different, and Seven B has become the subject of an autopsy.This is a very professional matter; a matter that is restricted by laws and regulations; a matter that must be done carefully, with appropriate steps, and investigations must be conducted according to regulations.Grant suddenly remembered that he had taken the newspaper, which was obviously out of order in the strictly orthodox way of handling it.Although he took the newspaper completely without premeditation, but if you analyze it carefully, it is undoubtedly a way to annihilate evidence.

When Grant was conflicted about this matter, Laura came in from the kitchen and said, "Aaron, I want you to do something for me." She sat down next to him with a sewing box. "Happy to oblige." "Pate is stubborn and doesn't want to do something. I want you to persuade him. You are his hero, and he will listen to you." "Couldn't it just happen to be the matter of presenting flowers!" "How do you know? He already told you?" "I mentioned it this morning at the lake." "So you're on his side!" "Against you? No, no, I've made it clear to him that it's an honor."

"he agrees? " "No! He thinks the whole thing is a stupid move." "Indeed, in fact, this hall has been in use for several weeks, but because it was built with a lot of money and effort by the residents of the canyon, it is not wrong to have an exaggerated and grand official opening!" "But does it have to be Pat who brings the flowers?" "Yeah! If he doesn't do it, it'll be McFadyen's Willie." "Laura, you're bluffing me!" "No, if you've seen Willie in McFadyen, you won't think I'm kidding you. He looks like a frog with elephantiasis, and his stockings keep slipping. Flowers should be given by little girls." to do it, but there weren't any girls of the right age in this part of the canyon, so it fell to Pat or Willie from McFadyen. And besides Pat looking more respectable, this should be done by Knu's people.Don't ask me why, and don't say I'm bluffing you, just talk to Pat. " "I'll try it," said Grant, smiling at her. "Who's the Viscountess?" "It's Lady Kentallan." "Is that the widow?" "You mean widow, don't you? There's only been one Mrs. Kentallen so far, because her children aren't old enough to marry." "How did you find her?" "She used to go to the same school as me, in St. Louisa." "Oh, it was coercion! Using an old friendship to force her to do this." Laura said, "There was no coercion! She was happy to come and willing to do it. She was a very considerate person." "The best way to persuade Pat to do this is to make the Viscountess attractive in Pat's eyes." "She is very attractive!" "I don't mean that. I mean the Viscountess must be good at something that Pat worships." Lola said suspiciously, "She's an expert on insects, but I don't know if Pat would appreciate that. I just know that if someone doesn't fish he thinks they're out of order." "I don't think you can manage to imbue her with any revolutionary tendencies?" "Revolution!" Lola's eyes lit up. "Revolution, that's a good idea. She used to lean a little on the Socialist side, and she used to say it was to make 'Miles and Georgiana unhappy' , her parents. Actually, she never took it seriously because she was too beautiful to need it. But I could make a fuss about it. Yeah, maybe we could make She has a touch of a revolutionary about her." Women are fickle! Grant thought to himself, watching her knitting needles weaving through the stockings, and then returned to thinking about his own problems.He was still thinking about it when he went to bed, but before he fell asleep he also decided that he would write to Bryce the next morning.Mainly to report to Bryce that he has come to this healthy environment, and at the same time express his hope that the recovery time will be earlier than the doctor expects.In addition, he also intends to use this to make up for his mistakes and inform some people who may be involved in the matter of taking the newspaper. Thanks to the fresh air, and his spotless conscience, he slept soundly and completely undisturbed, and woke up peacefully.This serenity is not limited to the outdoors, the whole house seems like a dreamland in itself.Grant suddenly remembered that today was Sunday, in other words, there would be no postman coming to the canyon today, and he had to walk all the way to Sgon to send this letter. At breakfast he had borrowed a car from Tommy to send an important letter to Sgon, and Lola said she would give him a ride, so as soon as breakfast was over he went back to his room to write the letter.He wrote about Seven B smoothly and smoothly in his letters, saying that he couldn't put his work behind him because the first thing he faced before he got off the train at the end of the journey was a dead body.The angry sleeper thought the man was just asleep and tried desperately to wake him up.Thankfully, though, it's certainly none of his business.The only thing that mattered was that he inadvertently took a copy of Signal from berth 7B and found it among his papers at breakfast.If he hadn't found someone's penciled verse in The Latest News, he might have taken it for granted that the paper was his own.The verse is written in English, perhaps not from the dead man at all.Besides, he knew that the post-mortem would be done in London, and that if Bryce thought the paper was of any importance, he could pass the information on to the proper authorities. He went downstairs again, only to find that the atmosphere of the Sabbath was completely destroyed, and the whole house was full of gunpowder and an atmosphere of rebellion. It turned out that Pat found out that someone was going to Sgon.To a country boy, Sgon on Sunday was a colorful metropolis, so he wanted to go too.But on the other hand, his mother decided that he had to go to Sunday school as usual. "You should be happy to have a ride, not here yelling not to go," Laura said. Grant wanted the word "yelling", which is very inappropriate to describe the flaming resistance in Pater's heart. The way he jumped there was no different from a moving car. "If we didn't happen to be going to Sgon, you'd have to walk to church as usual," his mother reminded him. "Hmph! Who minds walking! We can talk pretty well while we're walking, Dookie and me! Dookie's a shepherd's son. I can go to Sgon, but I have to go to Sunday school, What a waste of time! It's not fair!" "Pet, I forbid you to think that Sunday school is a waste of time." "If you don't pay attention, you will lose me, and I will die of enfeeblement." "Oh, where did this start?" “Lack of fresh air!” She laughed. "Pet, you're amazing!" But it was never wise to make fun of Pat at a time like this, and he was very serious now. He said bitterly: "Okay! You laugh! You have to go to church on Sunday and put a wreath on my grave. That's what you have to do every Sunday. You can't go to Squam anymore. " "I never thought of doing such a luxury, I just put a little daisy on your grave every now and then when I pass by, that's all you can get from me. OK, go now, bring your scarf, you'll need it. "Scarf! It's March!" "It's still cold! Wear a scarf, it will save you from debilitating." "You and your Daisy are concerned about my weakness! The Grants are a vicious family, vicious as hell! I'm glad I'm a Rankin, and I'm glad I don't have to wear one of their red plaid dresses." Pat The tattered green plaid dress was Messintail and matched his red hair better than the colorful Grant dress.That had always been the idea of ​​Tommy's mother, a typical Mesintyrean who had always prided herself on what she called "civilized dress" for her grandson. Reluctantly, he climbed into the back of the car and sat sulking, his scarf tossed aside in a pile of clutter. "Pagans shouldn't go to church," he said.When their car came to the gate along the gravel road, stones jumped from under the wheels. "Who's the heathen?" his mother asked, her mind focused on the road. "Me! I am a Muslim." "Then you should go to church and become a Christian. Go open the door, Pat." "I'm not going to convert, I'm fine!" He opened the gate to let the car pass, then closed it again. "I'm against the Bible," he added as he got back into the car. "Then you'd never be a very good Mohammedan." "why? " "Because they have lots of Bibles too!" "But I bet they don't have David!" "You don't like David?" Grant asked. "He's a poor, stupid fellow, and he sings and dances like a sissy. There's no man in the Old Testament I can trust to go to the sheep-market with." He sat upright in the middle of the back seat, unable to relax because of the breath of rebellion, looking at the road ahead with disappointed eyes, full of absent-minded anger.Grant was now depressed at the thought that he might have similarly slumped into a corner.He was glad his nephew was the hot-tempered kind, and not a poor little wretch who would only sink down. The wounded heretic got out of the car at the church, still looking rude and angry.He walked away without looking back, and joined the group of children at the side door of the church. "Will he just stay here?" asked Grant as Laura started the car again. "Oh, yes! He actually likes it there. Of course, Duke will be there too, his Jonah. If The day he didn't issue orders to Du Qi was really a wasted day! He already expected that I wouldn't let him go to Shigun, but he didn't try for nothing." "It seems that this is a pretty realistic no-try or no-try." "That's right! Pat has a talent for acting." It wasn't until they had driven the two miles that Pat's story faded from his mind.With Pat out of his mind, he became aware that he was sitting in the car, locked in the car.Setsu asked that he no longer watched the irrational children behave with the tolerance and pleasure of an adult, but instead he turned into a child, watching the hostile giant approaching in panic. He rolled the window all the way down and said, "If you think it's too windy, let me know." "You've been in London too long," she said. "why? " "Because only people living in the city are obsessed with fresh air, but country people like a little stuffy air, which can adjust the endless outdoor life." "I'll shake it up if you like it," he said, but his voice was stiff as he forced the words out. "No, of course not," she said, and started talking about the car they had ordered. The old war started again, the damned strife, the damned tricks, the damned seduction.He stuck his hand out the window, reminding himself that it was just a car and could stop at any time.He deliberately wanted himself to think about a long time ago, and then kept convincing himself that he was lucky to be able to survive.However, that burst of panic gradually rose with the slow and ferocious coercion.The dark sin, both obscene and disgusting, filled his entire chest, oppressing him, making him almost unable to breathe.Then it started to go up, up to his throat, and he felt the foul smell lingering all over his windpipe, choking his neck, and going to attack his mouth next. "Lala, stop the car." "Parking?" she asked in surprise. "right! " She stopped immediately, and Grant jumped out of the car, his feet trembling, and leaned against the side of the stone ditch to take a big breath of fresh air. "Aaron, are you unwell?" she asked anxiously. "No, I just want to get out of the car." "Oh!" she breathed a sigh of relief, "that's right!" "That's all?" "Yeah! Claustrophobic, I thought you were sick!" "But you don't think it's a disease?" he said bitterly. "Of course not! Someone took me to Cheddar Caves once, and I nearly died of fear! I've never been in a cave before." She turned off the engine and sat on a boulder by the road, half her back to Grant. . "I've only ever seen the kind of rabbit kennels we call 'rock caves' before." She handed him the cigarette case. "I've never really been underground, and I don't mind looking. Happy, looking forward to it, but half a mile from the entrance, I'm terrified. I'm sweating from panic. Do you always do that?" "yes! " "You know, now you're the only one who calls me Lala now and then, and we're getting older." He looked around, at her, the tension on his face had faded. "I didn't know you were afraid of anything other than mice." "Oh! Yes! I'm afraid of many things, and I think everyone is the same, as long as he's not just a piece of meat. I keep my peace because I live a peaceful life and eat tallow. If I'm overworked like you, Then I'd be a raving lunatic. I'd probably be claustrophobic and agoraphobic at the same time and make medical history." He walked from the wall he was leaning against to sit beside her, stretched out his trembling hands holding the cigarette, and said, "Look!" "Oh! Poor Aaron." He agreed, "Yes! Poor Aaron. It's not half a mile off the ground; village." "Of course not!" "Isn't it?" "It's because you've been overworked and conscientious for four years in a row. You've always been the patron saint of conscience. You must be so tired, don't you have to put yourself in danger of claustrophobia or stroke just give up?" "Stroke?" "If you put yourself to work to death, then you pay the price, no matter what. Would you rather choose a general physical ailment, like high blood pressure or myocardial infarction? Pushing away, I'd rather be afraid of being locked in the car, at least you won't be afraid all the time! If you don't want to go back to the car, it doesn't matter, I can go to Shi Gun to send the letter for you first, and pick you up on the return journey." "Oh! No, I'm going." "I think it's best not to force it." "Did you scream half a mile out of the valley when you went to Cheddar?" "No. I'm not the overworked, sick type." He laughed. "It's kind of comforting to be called a pathological type, oh, or should I say comforting to be called that." "Do you remember the time we went to Varese and saw those specimens in bottles in the museum? The time it rained." "Remember! That time you threw up on the sidewalk outside." "You also threw up when we ate sheep heart at noon, because you happened to see their stuffing process." She went on immediately. "Dear Lala," he smiled again, "you really haven't grown up yet." "You can still laugh! That's great, even if you are laughing at me." She said, immediately catching the atmosphere of opposing each other in childhood. "Tell me when you can keep going." "Now." "Now? Are you sure?" "I've found that being called a pathological type has a very good therapeutic effect." "Okay! Next time don't wait until you're on the brink of suffocation," she said earnestly. He really didn't know which aspect made him more comfortable: could she understand that it was suffocating? Or could she accept the irrationality?