"Have you ever painted the painting before?"

"I wanted to be a painter since I was a child, but my father asked me to grow up and do business because he felt that studying art would only make a living and could not make money. Since last year, I started learning painting and took a year of classes in night school."

"Did you tell Mrs. Strickland that you go to the club to play bridge, but you actually go to class?"

"right."

"Why didn't you tell her?"

"I don't think she's better than that."

"Can you draw a good work now?"

"It's not possible. But I can do it in the future. It's because of this that I came to Paris. When I was in London, I asked but couldn't get it, so it might be better here."

"But you are already old. Do you think it's meaningful to learn painting from now on? If ordinary people want to learn painting, they will start learning from the age of eighteen."

"If I started learning at the age of eighteen, I should have learned faster now."

"Do you really have the talent for painting? Where did your confidence come from?"

He turned his head and looked at the pedestrians on the road. I didn't know what he was looking at, but in my opinion, he saw nothing. He suddenly threw out an answer that was not an answer.

"I have to draw."

"Are you just trying your luck?"

At this time, he looked at me, and I couldn't understand what was in my eyes, but I felt strange.

"What about you? How old is this year? Twenty-three?"

I don't know why he asked this irrelevant question. It's normal if a young man like me wants to do something on a whim; but his youth is gone forever. He is not only a well-known securities broker, but also has a wife and a child, and a happy family. So it's ridiculous that he left the road to the broad road and took this path of intestinal treacherous. But I still want to understand him as much as possible.

"Okay, a miracle is not impossible. You may become a great painter in the future. But you also have to face the reality. This possibility is very small. If a miracle does not come in the end, then it will be too late to regret it at that time."

"I have to draw," he repeated.

"If you can only become a poor third-rate painter in the end, do you think it is valuable to abandon everything and get this result? In any case, you may not have much talent in various fields. Anyway, just be an ordinary person and be able to live your life smoothly; but artists are not like this at all."

"Go to you, you're such a fool," he said.

"I don't understand what you mean, I think the truth I just said is very clear."

"I told you that I have to draw, I have to do this. For a person who falls into the water, whether he can swim or not is not the most important thing. If he can struggle, he is the first priority, otherwise he will drown."

I could hear that his words were full of enthusiasm for painting, and I was deeply moved by him. I seemed to see a strong force contained in his body, which was a powerful force that suppressed everything, held him tightly, making him unable to disobey. But I could not understand at the same time, he looked like he was possessed by a devil, and I was worried that this force would tear him into pieces. But on the surface, he seemed normal. I looked at him curiously, and he let me stare openly, not shy at all.

He sat there quietly, wearing a shabby Norfolk top and a dusty dome hat. If someone asked him to come to see him, he would probably treat him as a bad person. His trousers were wide, as big as his pockets. His hands should be washed, the red beard on his chin was eye-catching, his eyes were small, but his head was big, making the face look even more clumsy. His mouth was big and his lips were thick, making people feel that he was a person who was obsessed with beauty. Unfortunately, I couldn't judge his personality from the outside.

"You really don't plan to return to your wife?" I said with thought.

“Never go back.”

"But she is willing to let everything go from scratch and not to blame you. Even so, are you unwilling to go back?"

"Let her go to hell!"

"Don't you care about being seen as a bastard by others? Do you care about your wife and children not being able to live, and end up having to leave the streets to beg for food?"

"I don't care at all."

I was silent again. I compressed the emotions that surged from the bottom of my heart into a sentence, and finally said it word by word.

"You're such a complete bastard."
Chapter completed!