During my trip to Paris, I carefully sorted out the current situation, and I still couldn't understand some things. Since Mrs. Strickland, who was depressed, was no longer in front of me, I could think about the current situation more calmly and objectively. I found that there were some contradictions in Mrs. Strickland's behavior, which was puzzling. Her experience was indeed very unfortunate, but the misfortune she showed seemed very deliberate as if she was to inspire my pity. She carried a sufficient number of handkerchiefs, which meant that she had a premonition that she would cry in advance. Thinking about it, her eyes were very long, which made me admire her very much, but this also made me feel that she

Tears became cheap, not as touching as before. I really don't understand whether she called her husband back because she still loved her husband deeply, or because she was worried that others would gossip behind her back. She now showed a heartbreak. Is it really because of the pain of breaking up? Could it be because of vanity? (If it were the latter, it would be completely unacceptable to me as a young person.) I was afraid of my own suspicion. At that time, I was too young and didn't know that human nature was originally full of contradictions. This world is not black or white. Sincerity also contains some artificiality, nobleness and despicableness. Even evil contains some virtues.

In any case, I know that this trip to Paris may be in danger and may not be smooth sailing. As I get closer and closer to Paris, I feel more and more excited. From an acting perspective, I am very grateful for the role I will play - a reliable friend who was entrusted to go to Paris to bring her husband who was on the wrong path home. I feel that the responsibility I shoulder is extraordinary, so I plan to take a day off first, plan what to do, and then wait for the next night to visit Strickland. I think that if you want to truly convince others, you must choose a suitable time. Before lunch, people like to think about random thoughts, so it is difficult to change your mind. When I was young, I especially liked to fantasize about romantic love stories before lunch, and only after dinner will I fantasize about the happiness of marriage.

I stayed in another hotel that day and asked the janitor where Charles Strickland was staying. I knew the hotel he stayed in was called the Belgian Hotel. But unexpectedly, the janitor said that he didn't know its location. I remembered that Mrs. Strickland once said that it was a luxurious and grand hotel behind Leverly Road. I found the location of this hotel based on the hotel business guide, which should be located on Mona Street. However, the environment there was not elegant at all, and it was not a place where rich people would live. I felt that I had found the wrong thing, so I shook my head.

"It can't be this one." I said firmly.

The gatekeeper said that there is only this hotel in Paris called Belgium. I thought that Strickland might have wanted to hide his whereabouts. He told the shareholder that the address might not be true. Although there was no evidence, for some reason, I thought I guessed it well. In this way, it just happened to be in line with Strickland's sense of humor, and deceived a furious securities dealer into a mess and ruined his face on the streets of Paris. Anyway, I would go and investigate it myself. The next day, at six o'clock in the morning, I hired a carriage. After arriving at Mona Street, I got off the carriage and planned to walk and observe the surrounding environment along the road. There are shops on both sides of this street, which are not large in size and are cheap in decoration. It is obvious that they are specially opened for the poor. When the street is almost halfway, I saw

The Belgian hotel located on the left was surprised to find that the hotel was too dilapidated. In contrast, the ordinary hotel I lived in was too luxurious. From the outside, the walls of this building had not been painted for several years, and it looked dirty and dirty. The other houses on both sides were clean and tidy and flawless. The windows were closed for some reason. How could Charles Strickland live with a beautiful woman who had caused him to abandon his family? How could this be possible? I was puzzled. Would they really choose to have fun in such a low-end place? Soon I realized that I must have been fooled! I was angry and turned around immediately to leave this ghost place. But I remembered my previous promise to Mrs Strickland, so I had to go in and take a look, and it was not in vain.

The entrance to the hotel is not under the small building, but next to the shop next to it. The door was not closed, and as soon as I entered, I found a striking sign: the account was on the second floor. So I walked up the stairs, which were also old and made a creaking sound as soon as I stepped on it. There was a small pavilion on the platform of the stairs. Its doors and windows were made of glass, with several chairs and an office desk. There was a bench outside the small pavilion, which was guarded at night.

The disciples could rest on it. I looked around and found no one. But I saw a note with the word "Waiter" written on it, which was sticked directly under a bell button, which was very conspicuous. I immediately rang the bell, and a man came out, moving very quickly, and I couldn't see where he came out. This was a smart young man, but he was dejected, wearing a thin shirt and a pair of felt slippers on his feet.

I asked him about Strickland, although I didn't understand why I pretended to be careless.

"Is there a Mr. Strickland among the residents here?" I asked.

“No. 32, 6th floor.”

He answered so quickly that I was so surprised that I couldn't speak. "Is he at home now?"

The waiter took a wooden board from the account room and looked at it for a while.

"I don't have his key here. Go up and find him."

At this time, I asked him again.

"Does his wife live here too?"

"No, he's the only one."

Maybe my acting skills are too poor, so when I walked up the stairs, the waiter stared at me with suspicious eyes. This stairs were much harder than before, because of the lack of light and the dull air, I could smell the moldy smell. On the third floor, there was a door open. I walked past it carefully and glanced inside. I saw a woman in pajamas staring at me. Her hair was very fluffy, obviously just

As I woke up, I finally arrived at the sixth floor with a nervous mood and stood at the door of Room 32. In order to calm down my excitement, I took a few breaths. Then I raised my hand and knocked on the door rhythmically. I could hear the sound of someone coming from the room. Soon, a crack was opened. The figure of Charles Strickland came into my eyes. He looked at me with his head tilted, but did not recognize me.

I told him my name and tried to pretend to be careless.

"Do you still remember me? I had the honor of having dinner at your house in June this year."

"Come in," he said happily, "I'm glad to see you. Sit down."

I walked in. The room was not big, with a few Louis Philippe-style furniture that filled the room, as if there was no room for turning around. Against the wall was a large wooden bed, with many miscellaneous items piled up, including a thick red duck down duvet, a large wardrobe, a round table, and a small basin rack and soft chairs. These things were ragged and covered with dust. I felt a little confused, how could it be completely unrelated to the luxury that Colonel McAndrew had said? At this time, because the chairs were full of clothes, Strickland threw them all on the ground to make room for me to sit down.

"Is there anything wrong with you here?" he asked.

I looked at him, maybe because the room was too small, and I felt that his figure was taller than I thought. He was wearing an old Norphick top and his beard was as messy as weeds. I remember when I visited him last time, he was dressed cleanly and gentle, but he seemed a little unnatural; he was now sloppy and unkempt, but he looked much more natural. I took my thoughts back and thought about how to speak next. After a while, I spoke.

"It's your wife, please let me see you."

"While dinner time is not yet here, I am planning to go out for something, you can go with me. Do you like to drink absinthe?"

"Can drink a little."

"Then let's go."

He picked up a worn-out bowler hat and put it on his head.

"We can have dinner together later, you owe me a meal."

"Of course. By the way, do you live here alone?"

I felt very impressed by this key question so naturally.

"Ah, that's right. Honestly, I haven't talked to anyone for three days. I'm not good at speaking French."

I walked in front of him and went down the stairs first. I suddenly remembered the resigned girl from the refreshment shop that Miss Wattfde once said. Did something happen to her? Did the two of them break up because of a quarrel, or was it because of his obsession that had passed the shelf life? According to the current situation, it would be hard for me to believe that he had planned for a whole year just because he wanted to live alone in Paris. We walked to the Krisher Road, which was a big cafe. There were many small tables on the sidewalk in front of the cafe. We chose one to sit down.
Chapter completed!