Chapter 29 Chapter 28

There was a piece of strawberry pie in the fridge, covered in saran paper.Frannie looked at it for a long time with dull eyes before taking it out.Put it on the counter and cut off a small piece.The strawberries fell to the counter with a thud of grease as they were being served on a small plate.She picked it up and ate it, then wiped the juice off the counter with a dishcloth.Return the saran wrap to the remaining strawberry pie and place in the freezer again. She turned to pick up the sliced ​​pie, and suddenly caught a glimpse of the knife rest next to the cupboard.It was made by my father.The midday sun shone on the knife, glistening.She stared at the knife for a long time.

Finally, after about 15 minutes, she remembered what she was doing.what is it?A scripture, an aphorism, she thought of for no reason: "Before you remove the speck from someone else's eye, first take care of the beam (beam) in your own eye." She pondered over it.Spinule?Beam?This particularly graphic metaphor has stuck with her.Which beam wood (beam)?A ray of moonlight?pillar?And the beam of the flashlight and the beaming smile, and the fact that the mayor of New York City is also called Abe Beam, that's not counting her in the holiday bible "I'll be a ray of sunshine for him" mentioned in a song learned at school.

"Before you remove the little thorn in someone else's eye." But that's not an eye, it's a piece of pie.She turned to the slice of strawberry pie and saw a fly sitting on it.She waved at the fly.Goodbye, Mr. Fly, what have you been talking to Franny's Strawberry Pie for so long. She stared at the pie for a long time, and she knew that Mom and Dad were dead.Her mother died at Sanford Hospital.Father, lying on the bed upstairs died.Why does everything have to happen one after the other?Why is it always coming and going in this terrible turmoil and dissonance, like an idiot mnemonic reappearing in a high fever? "My dog ​​has fleas and the fleas are biting the dog's leg..."

She woke up suddenly, and a sense of dread haunted her.There was a warm smell in the room. Something was burning. Frannie looked around quickly, and saw the French fry that had been cooking in a frying pan on the stove.Smoke billowed from the pan.The grease splashed out of the pan, landed on the stove, and started to burn, spreading out little by little, as if an invisible little hand kept lighting an invisible gas lighter.The frying surface of the pan has turned black. She touched the handle of the pan, and immediately shrank back.It's too hot.She grabbed a rag and wrapped it around the handle of the pot, and quickly brought the sizzling dragon out the back door.Putting down the pan, he sat down on the top of the veranda steps.The smell of honeysuckle rose in my face, and the bees buzzed on my chest and behind me, but I couldn't care less about it.In a moment the heavy, dull carapace that had imprisoned her emotions for four days was gone, but she too was petrified.Petrified?No - low levels of fear are one step away from panic.

She could remember peeling potatoes and cooking them in Wesson's oil.Now she can remember.But after a while, she...well, she forgot again. Standing on the porch with the rag still in one hand, she tried to remember exactly what happened after the French fry.This point seems to be very important. Well, first she remembered the piece of meat with nothing on it, French fry is not very nutritious.If the McDonald's under Route 1 was still open, she wouldn't have to cook for herself, she'd have a hamburger.Just hitch a ride to the takeout window.She buys a 1/4 lb chunk of fried meat and goes into a light red cardboard compartment where there are hardly any grease spots.In addition, pregnant women always have strange desires.

This led her to think of a series of things.The memory of a strange desire brought her back to the strawberry pie stuffed in the freezer.Suddenly she seemed to feel that she wanted that piece of strawberry pie more than anything else in the world.She'd had it before, but her eyes were drawn to the knife holder her father had made for her mother, and that's where her thoughts... short-circuited. The little thorn... the beam... the fly... "Oh, God," she said to the empty backyard and garden.She sat down, put her apron over her face, and began to cry. As the tears dried, she felt better...but she was still scared.Am I losing my memory?she asked herself.Is this the way it is?Is this how it feels?Where do you turn when your nerves break down?

Since my father died at 8:30 last night, the ability to concentrate seems to have been completely lost.She would forget what she was doing, her mind would be in a dream state, she would sit upright, thinking of nothing, and she would know no more about the world than about cabbages. After her father died, she sat by the bed for a long time.Finally she went downstairs and turned on the TV, but for no particular reason, like the man said, it seemed like a good idea. The only station still airing is WCSH, which is affiliated with NBC Portland, and they seem to be showing some kind of crazy trial scene.A black man who appears to be decapitating an enemy as a trophy pretends to kill some white men with a pistol while the rest of the audience cheers.It must be acting.Of course—they wouldn't be showing those things on TV if they were real—but it didn't look like acting.It brings back her craze for "Alice in Wonderland," which isn't the red queen who still cries "off their heads!" under the circumstances, but which is... what?Who is it?The black prince, she guessed.There also doesn't appear to be as much muscle in the loincloth as the prince.

Later (she couldn't say how long), other people rushed into the studio, and there was a more realistic shootout than the killing scene shown.She saw those men, whose heads were almost knocked off by large-caliber bullets, blood gurgling from their necks, and thrown out headfirst.From time to time, she thought, they should broadcast a reminder on the TV screen, warning parents to put their children to bed or change the channel.She also thought that WCSH TV might have obtained a license to broadcast such a film, but this program is really an extremely horrific and bloody program. When the camera wobbled and showed only lights streaming down from the ceiling, she turned off the TV, lay back on the couch, and stared at her ceiling.There she fell asleep, and this morning she thought she was dreaming about the show.Actually the gist of that show is this: "Anything" that happens, seems to wander around like a demon.Beginning with her mother's death, her father's death only intensified everything that had happened.Because in "Alice," things keep getting weirder and weirder.

Even though her father was ill at the time, she attended a special meeting in town.Her father was in his usual spirit, and Franny went with him. The town hall was packed, with far more people than at the meeting in late February or early March.Many were sighing loudly, coughing and running noses.The attendees were terrified, outraged at the slightest lapse.They speak loudly and even shout loudly.They all stood, with trembling fingers, making dogmatic opinions.Many of them, and not just women, were crying too. The result of the discussion was a decision to seal off the whole town and not allow anyone to enter.If anyone wants to leave, that's all very well, but they should understand that they can't come in again.The roads in and out of the town, mainly U.S. Highway 1, were blocked by cars (after half an hour of yelling, public trucks were used to block the roads), and volunteers wore muskets to monitor these roadblocks at all times.Those who want to use State Highway 1 to go north or south will have to head north to Wells or continue south to York, from where they can take Interstate 95, which takes a detour to Ogunquit.Shoot anyone who still tries to get through here.die?someone asked.Of course, several others replied.

About 20 people insisted on the immediate expulsion of the sick from town, but they lost the vote.Because by the evening of the 24th, when this meeting was held, almost everyone in town who was not sick had a relative who was sick.Many believed the news that a vaccine would be available soon. Then, it is recommended to drive away those who come to "rescue the summer" but are already sick. Most summer visitors point out harshly that for years they have supported the town's schools, roads, poor people and public beaches by paying taxes for the cottages.Businessmen say they didn't make any money staying here from September to June and can't afford to let their summer earnings go down the drain now.If they had been treated with such arrogance, the people of Ogunquit surely would not have come back.They will only come to catch lobsters, fish for clams and dig round clams from the sand.A motion to escort sick summer vacationers out of town also failed.

By midnight, the roadblock had been set up, and by the dawn of the next day, that is, the dawn of the 25th, several people had been knocked down beside the roadblock, most of them were only injured, and only three or four died.Almost all these people came from the north, they escaped from Boston, and everyone was like a frightened bird, numb.Some of them returned to York, from where they were very willing to continue.But others were so crazy that they couldn't figure out why, and still tried to move the barricade or go around the shoulder, and lost their lives. At night, most of the men who guarded the barricades were also ill, flushed with fever, barely supported by muskets held between their legs.Some of them, like Freddie Delancey and Curtis Beecham, fell unconscious with a thud and were transported back to the makeshift infirmary next to the town meeting room, in Dead there. By yesterday morning, Franny's father, who had always expressed his disapproval of the barricades, had also collapsed on the bed, and Franny stayed by to nurse.He doesn't go to the infirmary.He told Franny that if he couldn't live, he wanted to die at home too, in his own home with dignity. In the afternoon, the traffic to and fro stopped, and Gus Dinsmore, the administrator of the public beach parking lot, said he guessed that many cars must be stuck on the road.No matter how good the driving skills are, no matter how advanced the car is, don't even think about moving. Things went as expected, and by the afternoon of the 25th, there were less than 30 people who could stand and observe the situation.Gus, who was feeling fine until yesterday, also collapsed with a runny nose.In fact, aside from Franny, the only other person in town who seems to be doing well is Amy Lauder's 16-year-old brother, Harold.Amy also died before the first town meeting.Her wedding dress, which she never wore, still hangs in the bathroom. Franny hadn't been out today, and she hadn't seen anyone since Gus had visited her yesterday afternoon.She had also heard a few cars this morning and a muffled gunshot in succession, but nothing else.This unbroken tranquility gave her a sense of unreality. Now, these issues need to be considered.Flies..., eyes... pie.Franny found herself listening to the refrigerator.This fridge has an automatic ice maker add-on that makes a cold thud every 20 seconds. She sat there for almost an hour with the plate in front of her.Slowly, another idea began to emerge, two ideas in fact, which seemed closely related yet completely unrelated.Is it possible that these two ideas are connecting parts of a larger idea?She checked these thoughts while listening with one ear to the sound of ice cubes falling from the refrigerator's ice maker.The first thought was that her father was dead, at home as he had hoped. The second thought must be done during the day.It was a beautiful summer day, a flawless summer day, the sort of weather that travelers to the coast of Maine dream of.If you haven't gone swimming for fear the sea isn't warm enough, you should give it a go today. With the sun bright in the sky, Franny could see that the thermometer outside the back window in the kitchen was reading just under 80 degrees Fahrenheit.It was such a beautiful day, sadly my father passed away. She frowned to express dissatisfaction with this, and her eyes became confused and indifferent.This question kept lingering in her mind, and then she tried to find something else to do, but she kept getting stuck in it. It was a "warm" day and her father died. This question was like a gust of wind, bringing her back to reality immediately, and she closed her eyes hard. At the same moment, her hands jerked the tablecloth unconsciously, and the plate was thrown to the floor with a bang like a bomb.Franny burst into tears and pressed her hands to her cheeks, leaving a few scratches there.The dazed, indifferent and expressionless eyes immediately disappeared from her eyes.The eyes were suddenly sharp and direct, as if there had been a slap in the face or an open bottle of ammonia dangling under the nose. You can't have a dead body in your home, especially in the hot summer months. The indifference began to creep up again, and the thought became blurred.The fear of the matter began to fade and be suppressed.She began to hear the crash of falling ice cubes again... She beat back the fear.He stood up, walked to the sink, filled a pool of cold water, rinsed his face with water, and gently rubbed his sweaty skin. She can put aside all the things she wants to do, but the first thing is must do, "must" be resolved.She could no longer keep him lying from June to July.The priests in this town have never known what that disgusting smell is like, but it will disappear after a while.it...it... "No!" she yelled into the sun-filled kitchen.She started pacing while thinking about it.Her first thought was the local funeral home.But who would... would... "Stop thinking about it!" she yelled furiously from the empty kitchen. "Who wants to bury him?" At the same time as the cry was issued, the answer came, and it was very clear.Of course, this person is her.Who else could there be but her? It was exactly 2.30pm when she heard a car coming up the driveway.The heavy engine roared smugly, low and powerful.Franny put the shovel by the hole where she was digging among the tomatoes and lettuce patches in the garden.She turned around, a little frightened. It was a new Cadillac Metropolitan, and out of it was a dark green, stout Harold Lauder.Franny felt a heartfelt disgust.She didn't like Harold, and she didn't want to know what he was like.Maybe his mother was like that.But it reminded her, on the other hand, that the only person left in Ogunquit besides her might be one of the few remaining in a town she so disliked. Harold is 16 years old this year. He edits an Ogunquit Middle School literary magazine. He often writes some weird little stories, and they are all told in the present tense or in the second person. "You walk down the maddening hallway, shoulder your way through the broken door, and stare at the star of fate on the runway"—that's Harold's style. "He pooped in his pants," Amy confided to Franny on one occasion, "how dirty was that? He kept them on until they almost stood up." Harold's hair was black and shiny, he was quite tall, 6 feet 1 inch, and he weighed almost 240 pounds.He likes cowboy boots with pointed toes and wide military belts that hold up because his belly is much bigger than his hips.Franny didn't care how much shit he got in his pants, how heavy he was, whether he was doing Wright Morris or Hubert Selby Jr. this week.Harold could be a dangerous man, he could be when things weren't going his way, maybe more than that. He did not see her.He is looking up at the house. "Is anyone there?" he called, then reached into the Cadillac's window and honked the horn.The sound hit Franny's nerves.She should remain silent until he turned and walked to the back of the car to see the cave, where she was sitting.For a moment she wanted to go deep into the garden and lie down among the peas and beans until he got tired and went away. Don't do it, she told herself, it can't be done.He is just another living person. "Here it is, Harold," she agreed. Harold jumped, his big ass bobbing a few times in his tight pants.Apparently it was just a gesture.He turned and saw that Franny had reached the edge of the garden and was wiping her legs.Naturally, he stared at her white gym shorts and briefs.When he came and saw her, Harold's passionate eyes made her skin crawl. "Hi, Franny," he said cheerfully. "Hi, Harold." "I heard you've been successful against this terrible disease, so you're my first stop here. I'm checking out the town." He smiled at her, revealing a toothbrush-like face at best. There are only nodding teeth. "I'm deeply sorry about Amy, Harold. Your mother and father . . . ?" "I'm sorry, too," said Harold.He ducked his head for a moment, then jerked it up, sending his matted hair flying. "But life has to go on, doesn't it?" "I think so," Frannie replied.His eyes moved to her high breasts again, making her want to put on a sweater. "Do you like my car?" "It's Mr. Brannigan's car, isn't it?" Roy Brannigan was a local realtor. "Yes," said Harold dryly, "I used to think that in the days of shortages, anyone driving such a monster should be hanged, but that's changed now. There are fewer people now. Lots of oil." Oil, Franny thought dazedly, did mean oil. "Too much of anything," Harold added at last.There was a brief gleam in his eye as his gaze bounced from her navel, back to her face, onto her shorts, and back to her face again, and his words Neither fun nor easy. "Harold, will you forgive me..." "But what can you do, my child?" The sense of unreality tried to come back, and she found herself wondering how long a human brain could be expected to last before it snapped like an overburdened rubber band.Both my parents died, but I had to deal with the situation.Some strange disease seems to have spread to the whole country, maybe the whole world, and it is sweeping up the gentlemen and the villains alike--I can handle it.I'm digging a hole in my dad's vegetable garden that was only weeded last week, as deep as I presume he can get him in. —I think I can do it.But Harold Lauder in Roy Brannigan's Cadillac.But he kept staring at me and calling me "my boy".I don't know why, my god.I really don't understand what's going on. "Harold," she said patiently, "I am not your child. I am five years older than you. It is not natural that I should be your child." "It's just a rhetorical device of speech," he said, staring with a little amazement at her restrained ferocity. "But what's that? The hole?" "The grave. For my father." "Oh." Harold said in a low, uneasy voice. "Before I finish, I want to go in and get a drink of water. Come on, Harold, I want you to leave as soon as possible. I'm sick of it." "I can understand." Harold said unnaturally, "But, Franny...is buried in the garden?" She had begun to walk toward the house, a little pissed off this time. "Well, what do you suggest? Do I put him in a cafe or take him to the cemetery? In God's name, what do you say? He loves his garden! It's none of your business, eh ?what is your job?" She started crying, turned and ran toward the kitchen, nearly hitting the Cadillac's front bumper.She knew Harold was probably watching her wiggling ass, brainstorming for some X-rated movie in his head.It made her more angry, sad and heartbroken than ever.The screen door clanged shut behind her.She walked to the sink and drank three glasses of cold water in one gulp, her head immediately ached like needles.There was a spasm-like pain in the abdomen, and I had to lie down on the porcelain sink for a while, squinting to see if I was going to vomit.After a while, the stomach told her that it was because of the cold water, and she was tested again. "Frannie?" The voice was low and hesitant. She turned and saw Harold standing outside the screen door, flailing his hands unnaturally, with a look of concern and displeasure on his face, and Frannie suddenly felt sorry for him.Harold Lauder drove Roy Branigan's Cadillac around this miserable ruined town for perhaps the first time in his life, giving him a sense of the world. Has dismissed.What time, girls, friends, everything, even including myself, are all the same. "Harold, I'm sorry." "No, I have no right to say anything. You see, I can help you if you need me." "Thanks, I'd rather do it alone, it's..." "It's a personal matter. Of course, I understand." She could get a sweater from the bathroom and put it on, but he knew why she didn't because she didn't want to embarrass him again.Harold tried to act like a nice guy--to say something friendly.She went back out on the veranda, and they stood there for a while looking at the garden, at the dirt that had been dug out of the hole.The afternoon sleepiness was on the rise, and it seemed like nothing had changed here. "What do you want to do now?" she asked Harold. "I don't know either," he said. "You know..." He broke off. "what?" "Well, it's hard for me to tell. In this little part of New England, I really wasn't very likeable. For as long as I can remember, I've always doubted that even if I'd become as famous a writer as I'd hoped I'd be. Not necessarily establishing an image of myself among the local populace. By the way, I think I might be an old man with a beard down to his belt before there is another famous writer here." She didn't say anything, just stared at him. "So," Harold explained, but jerked his body up, as if the word had burst out. "So I'm forced to wonder about all the injustices here. How ridiculous the injustices are, at least to me." He pushed up the glasses that had fallen off his nose, and she noted with sympathy that his acne was a real problem.She wondered if anyone had ever told him that soap and water were better for acne.Maybe it's because the men are all staring at the beautiful and petite Amy, who is famous at the University of Maine with an average score of 3.8 and ranked 23rd among more than a thousand students in the whole class?The beautiful Amy is so bright and lively, and Harold is so intriguing. "Crazy," Harold repeated softly. "I drove a Cadillac around town as a learner driver. Look at these boots." He lifted his leg and rolled up his jeans. Roll up, revealing the exquisitely crafted sparkling cowboy boots. "86 bucks. I went straight into the shoe store and got the size I needed. I felt like a liar, a character in an act. Still a little time before I 'really' crazy." "No," Franny said.Harold smelled like he hadn't showered in three or four days, but this time it didn't make her nauseous. "How? We won't be mad, Harold." "That's the best thing to do." "Someone will come," said Franny. "Soon, after this damn sickness." "Who will come?" "Someone from the authorities," she said uncertainly, "someone will come...to clean up the mess." He smiled wryly, "My dear boy... I'm sorry, Franny. Franny, it was the people in power who created this disaster. Of course they had to clean up the mess, they solved the depression, the pollution, the oil shortage, and the Everything about the Cold War. Yeah, they did have to put everything back together. They cut it all in the same way that Alexander untied knots." "It's just a weird kind of flu, Harold. I heard it on the radio." "Mother Nature wouldn't use this method, Franny. I heard that the powerful have arranged a large number of bacteriologists, virologists and epidemiologists in government agencies to develop various germs they dream of. As far as I know, they're making bacteria, viruses. Someone said: 'Look at what's made, it can kill almost everyone. Isn't it great?' So they gave him decorations, raises, and condolences, but then someone caused a leak of this stuff." "What do you want, Franny?" "Bury my father," she said softly. "Oh . Won't you leave with me?" "Where are you going?" "I don't know either. Haven't figured it out yet." "Okay, when you think about it, call me again." Harold immediately brightened up. "Okay, I'll come. It's...you know, the problem is..." He broke off and walked down the hall steps with a dazed look.New cowboy boots glisten in the sun.Franny looked at him with bitter pleasure. He sat behind the wheel of the Cadillac and waved.Franny also raised her hand in answer.As the car moved, it jerked awkwardly and swerved to the left again, pinning Carla's flower under the right wheel.When I finally turned out to get on the road, I almost rushed into the ditch again.Then he honked the horn twice and drove away. Franny watched until he was out of sight, then returned to the garden. About 4 hours later, she forced herself to drag herself back upstairs.From the heat, fatigue and tension, there was a dull ache in both temples and forehead.Then wait another day, she said to herself, but it might be worse.She produced the flowered tablecloth her mother would only use for events. Things weren't going as smoothly as she'd hoped, but they weren't as difficult as she'd feared either.Some flies landed on his face, and when she turned on the light, the flies brushed against the little furry forelegs and flew away.His skin was a bit darker too, the garden work had given him a tan ...If you don't pay attention, you won't notice this.He didn't have the smell she was most worried about. He had died in the double bed he had shared with Carla.She put the tablecloth on the side where Mammy slept, so that the edges were next to Father's arms, hips, and legs.Then, fighting back the pain (her head hurt more than before), she prepared to wrap her father in the shroud. Peter Goldsmith was wearing striped pajamas, and she felt somewhat discordant, but that was all.It didn't even occur to her to take off her pajamas first and put him in something decent. As she braced herself, she grabbed his left arm -- it was as heavy as a piece of furniture -- and gave another push, letting him roll over.In doing so, he let out a horrible long hiccup.This hiccup lasted for a long time in the throat, like a cicada waiting in the dark for a long time, screaming and screaming because it is going to a new life. She screamed.He fell and hit the bedside table.Combs, brushes, an alarm clock, a pile of change, and some tiepins and shirt buttons, all jingled to the floor.There was a smell now, a smell of putrid gas.The last vestige of the perfume had gone from her.She knelt on the ground, put her head in her hands and burst into tears.What she wanted to bury was nothing but her own father, her father's last benevolence.Another strong smell rose into the air, getting stronger and stronger. The sky is also fainted, and the earth is also dark.Her continuous wailing seemed to spread farther and farther away, as if there was someone crying in the distance, maybe a small, tan woman I had seen on the TV news.After a long time, even she didn't know how long, she gradually regained her senses, knowing that she had to do it all by herself.It's something she's never done before. She came over to him and turned him over.He hiccups again, but much weaker this time.She kissed his forehead. "I love you, Daddy," she said, "I love you, Franny loves you." The tears fell on his face, shining brightly.She took off his pajamas to put him in her best suit.She propped his head up with two volumes of encyclopedias to fasten the tie.In the bottom drawer of the safe, she found his military medals: a purple heart, several honor medals and medals ...and the Bronze Star in Korea.Pin them one by one to the lapel of his suit.In the bathroom she found a box of Johnson's baby powder and dabbed it on his face, neck and hands.The smell of powdered powder was fragrant and nostalgic, and she burst into tears again.Sweat drenched her body, and dark circles appeared under her eyes from extreme fatigue. She wrapped him in a tablecloth, got her mother's sewing kit, closed the seam, double folded the seam and sewed it securely.With sobs and wheezing, she finally got his body to the floor and rested in a semi-conscious state.When she felt free to continue, she lifted the corpse and dragged it to the stairs, and then dragged it as carefully as possible to the first floor.She stopped for a while, and her breathing became more and more rapid, and she was already panting.The headache got worse, as if it was going to burst. She dragged the body down the hall, through the kitchen, out onto the veranda, and at the foot of the veranda steps, where she had to rest again.The golden light of early twilight has already fallen to the horizon.She was so exhausted that she sat beside her father, with her head on her knees, rocking back and forth and crying.The birds chirped and she dragged him at last into the garden. It was finally done, and it was 9:15 by the time the last pieces of turf (she put them together under her knees, as if doing an intricate puzzle) were in place.She was filthy all over, except for the whites around the eyes, which had been washed clean by tears.She felt dizzy from exhaustion.The hair hangs on the cheeks, in strands. "Please rest in peace, Daddy," she whispered softly, "Please rest in peace." She dragged the shovel back to her father's workshop.She had to rest twice to climb the verandah, which had only six steps.She walked across the kitchen without turning on the light and into the living room, kicking off her sneakers. In the dream, she went upstairs again to her father to perform her duties, and saw him lying on the ground in all seriousness.But when she entered the room, the tablecloth was over his body, and her grief and sense of loss had turned into something else... something like fear.She walked through this dark room, she didn't want to but suddenly wanted to escape, and finally stood helplessly.The tablecloth came and went ghostly in the shadows, and floated toward her: It wasn't her father under the tablecloth at all, and the man wasn't dead. A thing of infinite life and terrible vitality lay under the tablecloth, and something stronger than her life force was pushing the tablecloth back, and she... couldn't stand. She reached out, covered the tablecloth, and pulled it back hard.He grinned, but she couldn't see his face.His bared-toothed smile made her shiver, and a sense of fear immediately surged into her heart.Now, she still can't see his face, but she can see the terrifying ghost's gift to her unborn baby: a twisted coat hanger. She escaped, escaped from this room, escaped from this dream, and came to a bright world... In the darkness of her living room at three o'clock in the morning, her body had been in a sea of ​​fear, and the dream began to fragment and fade away, leaving only a sense of doom lingering, like the aftertaste of rotten meat. heart.She remembered the situation in her half-asleep state: he, it was him, and the faceless man was Volkin Doudd. She then fell asleep again, this time without dreams.When she woke up the next morning, she had no memory of the dream at all.但当她想起腹中的孩子时，立刻就涌起了一种强烈的保护感，那种困惑和恐惧感在深度和力度上也减少了许多。