They did not miss dinner because Karenin had woken Anna up.
Anna went to bed early after that, and Karenin processed his official documents waiting for review in the study. He read an article recommended to him by Countess Lydia.
Karenin knew that Countess Lydia was implying that he would give them some decision. After examining it, he had a draft in his stomach and drafted a letter.
Although Karenin didn't really think that the women's group headed by Countess Lydia could really have any effect, he didn't dismiss it.
After replying to Countess Lydia, Karenin picked up a book called "Poems from Hell", cut a page with a paper knife, read each page, and finally put a bookmark on the seventh page.
Karenin put away the documents and books, clasped his hands together, pondered for a while, and left the study after making a decision in his mind.
When he came to the bedroom, there was only a small lamp, which was placed far away, but the mistress of the bedroom turned her head and tried her best to avoid the light.
Karenin blew out the candle, and he sat on the edge of the bed. Recently, it seemed that this frequency was pointing to a change in his habits.
He raised his hand and touched his wife's cheek. After feeling the delicate touch, he slid down to the other's thin finger, rubbed it with the side of his thumb on the fingertip, and finally rubbed it on the small knuckle. touched everywhere.
Naturally, there will be no thin calluses after half a day of moving.
Karenin withdrew his hand, he took off his clothes and lay down under the quilt.
He couldn't see his wife's face clearly in the dark, but he accurately wrapped his arms around her.
"These hands shouldn't be rough." Carlie thought quietly, closing her eyes and preparing to fall asleep after about ten minutes.
Winter in Russia always wakes up late, and that Mr. Goldman even asked to go to the shop so early. So Anna has to get up at five o'clock.
She thought her hands and feet were light enough, but apparently woke Karenin anyway.
"Go to sleep, Alexei." Anna said softly, pressing a kiss on the corner of the other's mouth.
She packed herself quickly, grabbed a croissant and left. What she didn't know was that since she left, Karenin had also gotten up.
Karenin was at the window of the balcony, looking at her back through the glass window. She was lithe, dressed as a teenager, like an antelope, with a pair of long legs running in a posture that a lady would never do.
After losing sight of the other party, Karenin looked away.
He rang the bell, and when Kearney came in, he said in a deep voice, "I'll be back later tonight."
"Yes, sir."
Carney has always been loyal and orderly. He doesn't ask the master's decision, but just obeys. Karenin had always been at ease with his old butler.
On the other side, Anna was panting a little while running.
In fact, Mr. Goldman's tailor shop is not very far from where they live, but they don't go out often on weekdays. Even if they go out, they are noble ladies with carriages, but they can't keep up with their original physical strength all at once.
Fortunately, she arrived earlier than the time requested by the other party.
The tailor's shop was closed.
Anna slowed down her breathing. She walked a few steps in place, then found a fairly clean place, sat there, took out the croissant in her pocket, and gnawed on it slowly.
A little choking, water or milk is fine.
As she was thinking, a glass of water appeared in front of her.
"Uh." Anna looked up in surprise. It was the tall and tall Mr. Prokhov, smiling a little naively.
"Do you want it?"
Anna took the water, thanked her, and drank the water. Her dry throat finally felt much more comfortable.
"Mr. Prokhov, why did you come here so early?" Anna asked, she knew that the tailor's shop didn't open at this time, so, as a shop assistant, the gentleman in front of him shouldn't have started so early do things.
"I just couldn't hold back my curiosity." Mr. Prokhov said, his round brown eyes looked so sincere and kind.
"I think you should stop wasting your time. Really, Mr. Goldman won't accept apprentices."
Anna patted the bread crumbs on her body, then stood up, wiping her mouth on purpose to make herself look less like a woman.
"I still have the same answer, I still need to try it."
"How long are you going to try?" Mr. Prokhov asked curiously.
"At least three months." Anna thought for a while and said.
"If he asks you to come at this time every day, you have to try for three months?"
Anna shrugged her shoulders in acquiescence.
"I think you're more stupid than I am," said Mr. Prokhov, choking Anna.
The tall man stretched out his broad hand and pressed Anna's thin shoulder, expressing encouragement, "Although this is really stupid, if you want to do it, then do it."
"It's better to be stupid than sorry."
Anna didn't know how to respond, so she could only say thank you dryly.
"Thanks."
Prokhov looked at her again, then waved his hand and left.
Anna looked at his back, which was as strong as a bear, and thought to herself: Maybe this Mr. Prokhov is also a person with a story.
She was still waiting in front of the shop, and after another hour, when it was already dawn, a tall and thin man walked slowly not far away.
After waiting for the other party to approach for a while, Anna called out, "Mr. Goldman."
That Mr. Goldman looked at Anna for a while, but there was no surprise, and there was no explanation in his mouth, as if he didn't care whether she was there or not.
Mr. Goldman opened the shop door, but he didn't greet Anna, but he didn't chase her away, so Anna went in after thinking about it for a while.
"Are you still moving the boxes today?" Anna asked deliberately and cautiously, while observing the other party, because Karenin said that this gentleman might have recognized her identity. But what is puzzling is that Mr. Goldman didn't act like he really recognized her identity.
At this moment, that Mr. Goldman finally looked at her, but the look in the green eyes clearly said: Is there something wrong with your brain
Anna held back the harsh look, and after a long time, she got a second task, picking out the rags according to color and pattern, and putting them away in different categories.
When Anna was instructed to enter the warehouse, the warehouse that had not been tidied up for a long time was filled with a smell of dust, which was a bit pungent.
She sneezes a big one, and actually goes to work on it.
When Prokhov came to work, after knowing what the stubborn young man was doing, he couldn't help interceding for him.
"Are you really not considering taking him?"
"Just do your thing," said Mr. Goldman, casting a stern glance at him.
Prokhov sighed and muttered: "He is so pitiful, I can't do anything well after seeing him!"
"Then close your eyes, or," Mr. Goldman smiled playfully, "it's also good to poke blind, lest you keep watching what you shouldn't."
"Please stop joking like this." Prokhov said with a pale face.
"I wish I was joking, but sometimes when I think about why you put up with me all the time, I really want to put this into action. After all, between us, you are That thief is trying to steal his treasure from the dragon." Mr. Goldman said coolly.
These words seemed to poke at the weakness of Prokhov's heart. He said shyly, "You are so mean." After speaking, the big man lowered his eyes, a little frustrated.
"I didn't mean to steal, at most I just wanted you to let me stay here."
"I told you to leave a long time ago, but you didn't listen." Mr. Goldman said lightly, "Don't expect things you know are impossible. In this era, talk about freedom and ideals, and that kind of thing, clearly It's ridiculous stuff."
"That's not ridiculous," retorted Mr. Prokhov weakly, and before Mr. Gorman delivered another biting sarcasm, he fled to the warehouse.
Mr. Goldman looked at the back of the man who fled in a hurry. He knew that the other party was going to lose his heart again, but this time he didn't say anything.
Although he has always been mean to the other party, there is always a place in his heart that he doesn't want to admit, but he still retains some warmth for a certain part of the person.
When Prokhov came to the warehouse, he saw the thin-shouldered boy picking out the rags. He looked at him sympathetically, and said, "Let me help you."
Anna looked at the other party and said, "I think it would be bad for Mr. Goldman to find out."
"I don't think it's okay, he knows." The man sighed, and he stepped in, Bianna couldn't bear the air here.
"You'd better go out, Mr. Prokhov." Anna couldn't bear it.
"It's okay, it's much better now." Prokhov wrinkled his nose, and he squatted down like a hill, but his fingers didn't look clumsy.
"I seem to be repeating things to you all the time, but I still have to say that Mr. Goldman will not accept you." After finishing speaking, he sighed himself first.
"Then don't tell me." Anna said decisively.
"Anyway, I won't give up." She quickly picked out the rags with her fingers.
Prokhov felt that there was a tragic feeling lingering between the two of them. He wanted to share his affairs with Anna, but in the end he opened his mouth and still didn't say anything.
After a while, Anna "drives out" Prokhov to work.
This day was a struggle with rags, and because I accidentally rummaged through the warehouse, I saw a lot of previous design manuscripts.
When Anna found those things, she wondered if that Mr. Goldman was testing herself, but in the end she felt that it was not reliable.
She thought, based on what she knew about him these days, that mean and weird Mr. Goldman probably didn't really care.
He may not be so bad, but he will not be very kind.
Thinking of the end, I simply didn't think about it, and looked carefully at the things I found, and I had a lot of ideas for improvement in my mind.
Anna's thinking was right, Mr. Goldman actually didn't have the kind of leisure to set up any test links.
After realizing that the other party was definitely not an ordinary person from the bamboo umbrella, Mr. Goldman observed the other party when he passed the young man who claimed to be Pavel.
After all, he is a tailor, so if he tries to tell the difference, he can still find the difference between men and women.
Mr. Goldman didn't bother to think about why the other party did this. If the other party really just wanted to learn tailoring without resorting to coercive means, he would be willing to pretend not to know, and then it was somewhat because of his bad impression of the upper class. , so deliberately being mean to the other party.
After doing that for the first time, he thought that the other party would retreat in spite of the difficulties, but seeing that person again today, he didn't want to continue playing.
He doesn't have the energy to play games with such a rich person, and he can't really offend him.
An idiot like Prokhov began to be kind again, and Mr. Goldman decided to refuse her if she came back tomorrow.
The day ended relatively quickly, and something in her heart put a smile on Anna's face, so that when she left Prokhov asked her if she would come tomorrow.
"Yes, I will still come," said Anna. Then he received the sight of pity again.
"Did you think of yourself when you saw him?" asked Mr. Goldman.
Prokhov nodded.
"Then you leave." Mr. Goldman said in a flat tone. In fact, those who are familiar with him will find that when the green-eyed gentleman speaks flat, he is speaking the truth and there is no trick.
"You know, I won't go." Prokhov shook his head.
"Let's go when the port freezes in spring." Mr. Goldman said to himself.
Mr. Prokhov also said to himself: "Next year, please, please?"
The green-eyed man's eyelashes fluttered, and his lips were pursed tightly. He wanted to say, don't ask me, I'm just an ordinary person.
He was originally a person, and his wife begged him, so he had to grit his teeth and take up that responsibility. Now, the bear who was killed halfway peeped at his treasure, and came to beg him too.
These people begged him shamelessly, who could he beg
"There's never enough money, fuck," Mr. Goldman said in a low voice, his green eyes a little irritated, staring sullenly at the income book, and Prokhov's expression became a little sad.
He can do many things, but he has no money. People always think that Mr. Goldman is rich, but the money is not enough.
None of them had any money, and they fucking needed money.
When I was worrying, a pair of valuable leather shoes stepped into this small tailor shop. The steady voice almost gave people an illusion, as if the other party was stepping on the gold bricks paved with rubles.
Mr. Goldman looked up, and a tall man walked in.
A well-tailored black suit and a coat of the same color are somewhat conservative and rigorous, but you can't go wrong. The accent of the upper-class people is clearly audible, and Mr. Goldman's full name is pronounced fluently in a calm voice, which makes people understand immediately what kind of opponent they will face.