A surprised expression appeared on Miss Audrey's face, and then she was about to turn sad again.
Only then did Jenkins realize that there was some ambiguity in the sentence just now:
"Oh, I mean, we came across A-11-2-3301 when we came back just now. Ha, Miss Miller has been searching for so long, but I didn't expect to find it in this way. She has already set off for Loen , let me apologize to you on her behalf, it's too late to say goodbye to you."
The woman glanced at him, and the flickering expression gave Jenkins the illusion that she was about to reach out and hit someone:
"It's nothing, but what you said just now really scared me."
The two sat down in the living room. Although it was Wednesday, so many things happened, and the evening class was cancelled. Jenkins didn't have to worry about missing the teaching time.
"Is everything going well?"
"It's going well. I'll go to Mr. Piscoe in a while. He probably won't last long. I need to confirm whether the thing I solved is the cause of the so-called disaster."
"I will do divination again tomorrow. I have already applied to the church to use a special item. I hope it will be useful."
Miss Audrey didn't chat here for too long, she came here this time mainly to confirm whether Jenkins and Miller's plan is going well. Before leaving, she also told Jenkins not to forget the astronomy class starting next week, when they could talk more deeply about what happened "today."
Not long after Miss Audrey left, Jenkins set off for Mr. Pisco's house without taking a break.
Very fortunately, this gentleman is still alive.
When I saw him, the middle-aged playwright was sitting on the bed, his body covered with a thick quilt with blue-gray stripes.
His face was pale, and even if the gas lamp was directly above the head of the bed, the light could not make his expression any better.
"There are a lot of things that happened today... The movement you made, huh, even a person like me who can't go out can see it."
Jenkins didn't know what to say, the gentleman probably didn't have much time left.
"Is everything going well?"
Mr Piscoe asked the same question.
"Fortunately, at least I did everything I could."
"That's very good, Mr. Williams, just don't leave any regrets. I can't judge whether what you did was right or wrong, but it has to be like this."
After saying this, both of them fell silent.
After a long time, Jenkins handed him the tea cup by the bed, and asked again:
"Mr. Pisco, do you have any regrets in your life?"
"Probably not."
As he spoke, he smiled weakly:
"My whole life is for this moment, yes, no regrets..."
"you… "
The transparent body gradually began to return to its original appearance, and with it, the man began to breathe heavily.
"I have no regrets, yes, no. Mr. William, I have bought a cemetery, and my friends all know that I have a terminal illness. If you have time, please attend my funeral."
His cloudy brown eyes seemed to be shining, and Jenkins nodded slowly.
"Is there anything else you want to say?"
he asked again.
"Go ahead, Mr. Williams, the road ahead is still long, I hope fate can always guide you. The meaning of my life is to provide you with this trivial help, in your future road There will be more victims on the way, but don't look back, keep going..."
His left hand stretched out from under the quilt, holding half a piece of paper that seemed to have been bitten by an animal. Jenkins reached out to catch it, but the hand fell only halfway out.
With this movement, half a blank page of [Epic of Time] slowly turned into a white spot of light and disappeared into the air.
"Mr. Pisco?"
Jenkins yelled softly, stood up, bent down to test his breath, and felt the pulse on his neck.
"Thanks."
He stood by the bed and whispered.
Whether Mr. Pisco is an ordinary soul chosen by the paper, or whether he is a soul born from the paper, is no longer important.
Seeing that his left hand was still hanging by the bed, he lifted the quilt and put that hand in as well. Only then did he realize that the middle-aged man was still holding a photo frame in his right hand, and the photo frame was pressed above his heart by that hand.
He hesitated for a moment, and took the frame out of his hands after apologizing softly.
In the photo is a young girl with long hair, holding the straw hat on her head with her right hand, smiling happily at the camera, with a large flower field and a windmill at the mill in the background.
In the lower left corner of the photo, written in pen:
dear andersia
Judging by the age and poor photography of this black and white print, it is at least thirty years old.
"You see, you are still lying, and you have regrets."
He said softly, closed his eyes and sighed, and put the photo back into the hands of the corpse.
With grief, Jenkins notified the landlady of Mr. Piscoe's death.
She covered her mouth and wept softly, but she was not surprised. Just like what Mr. Pisco said, he has already arranged his affairs very properly, whether it is the funeral, the tomb or the inheritance, they have been well disposed of.
Even the things bought from Papa's antique shop left the rest of the purchase price.
To avoid trouble, Jenkins left and returned home before Mr. Pisco's friends arrived.
Standing in the darkness at the corner of the street, leaning against the cold brick wall, he looked back at the apartment again. Jenkins couldn't describe what kind of man that was, and he didn't want to think about what kind of life he had, because it was over.
I couldn't let go of it for a long time, and when I got home, I flicked my wrist and threw a ball of flame into the fireplace, and then sat down on the sofa.
The gas was not turned on, and only the fire in the grate shone on his face.
The coat was already hanging on the hanger in the hallway, and Chocolat jumped onto the sofa with catwalks, obediently lying on the man's lap for him to stroke.
"Fun day, just exhausting."
He said to Chocolate, who squinted and enjoyed the touch, ignoring him.
"Mr. Piscoe is right that his death was worth something, that one's own mortality is less than..."
He thought of many things, he thought of the documents brought out from Ponton Winery that had not been carefully checked, he thought of the stack of secret letters from the congressmen entrusted to him by Miss Miller before leaving, and thought of Miss Audrey's The last thing that comes to mind, of course, is the slightly smiling face of Mr. Piscoe before he died and the old photograph in his hand.
He was so tired, pictures flashed in front of his eyes, his eyelids drooped a little bit, and finally he tilted his head and fell asleep sitting on the sofa.
PS: Happy 2019! I wish everyone a new year... well, let's talk about this sentence in the Spring Festival, in short, everything goes well!
New year, new weather, ask for votes!