[Titanic] Ticket

Noticing the teasing gazes from other wealthy people in the first-class cabin, Carl Hockley was like a rigid stone sculpture, licking his reason frantically with anger, so that his hands trembled uncontrollably .

Carl bit the tip of his tongue fiercely, and with difficulty controlled his facial muscles to force out a smile: "Ruth, you know—I love—"

"Come on, Carl, don't say those words, you know, we don't believe this." Ruth turned her head, with a kind of almost tired indifference in her eyes, waved at him forcefully and left the terrace.

The rich people around were chattering about something. Carl didn't care anymore. He lowered his eyes blankly, only feeling that every word Ruth uttered turned into a huge ax around Louis XVI's neck, splitting his heart. It was riddled with holes.

"Fur Elise" had already stopped, Lester frowned slightly, Ash curled his lips: "A woman's trick. Ha, it seems that this rich man is hot."

"Don't say that, Ash, he gave us a brandy anyway—generous rich man."

Lester put the violin into the piano case, and Ash muttered: "Man, that's not my share. Hey, what are you doing! God! Lester, when will you accept yours? Kindness!"

Lester turned his head and stuffed the piano case into his arms, blinking playfully: "So this matter is not your part. Take my piano and go back to the room, I will bring you dinner, maybe It's first class top notch - think of your bluefin tuna and Caesar salad, it's tongue-in-cheek."

"You don't look well, Mr Hockley."

Lester took two glasses of vodka from the waiter's plate, and the waiter looked at him suspiciously—I couldn't believe that this poor man could enjoy first-class treatment. The waiter walked away unwillingly.

"Have a drink, I think you need this."

Lester handed over the wine glass and leaned against the railing, with a heavy pity in his eyes.

It was a pity that the rich man had to fall in love with a woman like Ruth Bukett.It's not that there's anything wrong with Miss Ruth, it's just that she deviates from the norms and hates the world, and seems to be out of tune with this society, not to mention that she can become the wife of such a social leader as Carl Hockley.

Her love story with Jack Dawson is also beautiful, but for Lester, nothing is more important than life right now. Although Ruth and Jack are the protagonists of this tragic movie, they have nothing to do with him. The role is far inferior to the person in front of him - as long as he is grasped, there must always be a glimmer of life.

Lester sipped the vodka in the goblet shallowly, with a casual smile on his face: "Are you feeling better, Mr. Hockley?"

Carl breathed a sigh of relief, and finally regained his usual sharp and shrewd face. Looking at the blond young man who was drinking quietly in front of him, he said in a slow tone, "Thank you for your help."

Lester raised his glass: "I don't have such kindness—you know, the wine in the first class is much better than the wine in the third class."

Carl raised the corners of his mouth, as if agreeing with this statement, and hesitated for a while before saying: "...you saw it just now? She was a little unhappy—you should know that women are always out of touch with machines, and they generally don't like machines. These places."

Lester nodded with a gentle expression: "Understandable. Mrs. Hockley doesn't look very well. Maybe you should find a doctor for her."

Carl seemed to be relieved, touched the tip of his nose, and imitated his movements and leaned on the railing - but the upbringing from childhood was deeply ingrained, his shoulders and back were straightened, it didn't look like he was relaxing, but more like being tortured.

"... Ruth is a good girl—she's educated, educated, and aristocratic—I think you can see what aristocracy means to us businessmen. I do have some—as she puts it. I’m a selfish philistine, but that doesn’t stop me from liking her, don’t you think?” Carl said with a dazed expression, he was never a person who was willing to reveal his heart, but Lester looked too gentle and harmless ——He is only a third-class passenger, and we will part ways when we arrive in the United States, so what if we tell him?

Lester shook the goblet and said softly: "It is true. Mr. Hockley, women's ideas are usually different from ours. What they want-maybe a purer and more holy love. Ruth- —Sorry, I meant Mrs. Hockley, she looks different, educated—you know, books are the ladder of human progress, and the more she knows, the more she thinks."

Lester lowered his eyes and couldn't help but sneered at himself.

It's more beautiful to say than to sing!

Love, what is that?Is it better than a cheap down jacket in severe winter?

Just like his mother, a whore from the red-light district, wanted to pursue those so-called loves like the ladies, and ended up freezing to death on the streets of New York—naked when she died, like a cod on a chopping board.

Lester never believed in love, it was the most boring and extravagant thing in the world, it was poison, it was a beast, and the rich man in front of him who fell into a strange circle was undoubtedly an extremely pathetic idiot in his eyes.

How can you count on the upper limit of the IQ of these rich people?

It's all about surviving, just living.

Carl was silent for a while before asking: "You are right. Come with me, Mr. Roland, I think I need some help from you."

"My honor, Mr. Hockley." Lester raised his glass and drank the vodka in one gulp.

Cal Hockley was indeed a generous rich man, but also delicate and considerate. He did not take Lester into the world of rich people in the first class rashly, but took him directly back to the room.

"Lovejoy, prepare a dinner for me and Mr. Roland." Carl strode into the room, loosened his tie, took off his suit, and gave orders to the housekeeper.

The loyal old butler took the suit and bent slightly: "Yes, master. What about Miss Bucket, don't you need to prepare one for her too? Tonight's caviar is very good."

Carl sneered: "Don't worry about her, it's enough for her to have her Freud."

"Yes, master, please wait a moment." The old butler bent down again and exited the room respectfully.

"Please sit down wherever you want, Mr. Roland." Carl waved his hand and leaned into the sofa. He looked a little tired—it seemed that Ruth really had a great influence on him.

Lester sat with his back straight on an armchair inlaid with scarlet velvet, and rested his hands on the edge of the round table with golden reliefs.

The living room is warm as spring. He is only wearing an antique white shirt with a medieval style. The color is a little old and yellowish, but it looks of extraordinary texture. There are faded embroidery on the wide cuffs and neckline - the British always prefer these Flashy sophistication.

Lester's hair is not pure gold, it looks more like a cluster of platinum moonlight, his eyes are a beautiful light gray, and his features are soft and beautiful-especially when he smiles, and frankly, even Carl Hockley had never seen a better looking man.

For unknown reasons, the anger and anger that he had simmered for a while because of Ruth dissipated a little.

Surely he'd have a good dinner time, Karl thought with some glee.