[Titanic] Ticket

The area around Long Island doesn't seem too quiet even in the middle of the night.

Deafening rock music and screams came from those big houses with steeple roofs, and the neon lights fell to the ground slowly and arrogantly. Gone them, but to be honest, not many people care about that.

Lester exhaled lightly—those cold things seemed to flow out of his respiratory tract. He felt somewhat better, but he was still a little top-heavy. stupid.

Lester's footsteps have always been brisk, and he landed silently-many people say that he is a patient and meticulous gentleman, but the fact is that ten years of tolerating Susan's not-so-cute mental illnesses did make him develop A good temper and a few thoughtful little habits, but that's about it.

Ash was half leaning on the lamppost to smoke a cigarette - his golden brown hair reflected a little and was divided into two distinct parts. He didn't seem to be doing well, his cheeks were terribly thin, and his eyes were hidden in the smoke. The skin was like a hard, lifeless alabaster plaster.

"You were waiting for me, weren't you?"

"Ah - what, oh, yes, yes, Lester, how are you - no, I mean, good evening..."

Ash frantically extinguished the cigarette, which probably burned his hands, and frowned fiercely, before greeting him in a low voice, as if very frustrated at ruining the meeting - they hadn't seen each other in months It was—the whole summer had seemed like one long, never-ending torture to Ash.

"Good evening, my friend." Lester nodded politely, then handed over a handkerchief, "I think you need this."

Ash sighed sadly, and rubbed his feet on the ground twice in embarrassment: "Lester, don't go back. Old Mr. Hockley is here, and Mrs. Bucket threatened to drive you out of the white cuckoo—" —I heard from May, you know that she always has some special ways around Miss Hockley."

Lester smiled sincerely, stepped forward and hugged Ash, the boy trembling unbelievably in his arms, and he tugged at his shirt like he was grabbing a piece of rags in the North Atlantic. Like a cupboard—he seemed ready to cry at the top of his lungs at any moment.

"Hey man, don't act like a pussy."

Lester spread his hands, Ash pushed him away looking a little annoyed, and wiped his eyes rudely and casually: "Pissoff, what do you say now? Jessica packed some things, but I miss you I absolutely don’t want to go like this.”

Lester put his arms around his shoulders with a smile, and complained sweetly: "Sweetie, no one knows me better than you, right. Guess what? I think I can fight old Mr. Hockley for five hundred rounds."

……

Mrs. Bucket poured old Mr. Hockley a cup of black tea with hospitality—three spoonfuls of milk, half a spoonful of sugar, and two drops of fresh orange slices for juice.Catherine sat on a high-backed chair, clasped her hands on her stomach, and showed a lazy sneer on her pretty face: "She seems to know her father's little hobbies from the bottom up—to me, she is more suitable for Huo than her daughter." Isn't the last name Kerry?"

Karl stirred the teacup with too much sugar, the white and greasy foam piled together disgustingly, there were some cold shadows in his eyes, he threw the teacup on the table with his hands, the red liquid was dizzy on the calico tablecloth Mottled stains opened, and the three people on the opposite side finally calmed down.

Mr. Hockley raised his eyebrows unhappily, and said in a repulsive drawl full of warning: "Carl, I don't remember your etiquette teacher ever teaching you this."

Carl rolled his eyelids in disgust—the blond, brown-eyed, dissatisfied boy next to Old Hockley suddenly fidgeted, and the rich man snorted contemptuously and made a wrinkled smirk : "You can teach him now—doesn't look too stupid, and I'm afraid he'll learn it pretty well before you go into the coffin."

"This is your younger brother." Old Hockley stood up like an enraged male lion, and the table and chairs made harsh tugging sounds. The boy quickly supported him and patted him carefully. chest.

Thank God Almighty, nothing could be more ridiculous.

"Then he's still Catherine's brother, my father."

Carl reminded him softly, the unabashed sarcasm on his face that left old Hockley confused and angry—he had never been so aware that Carl was a real adult, the full Hockley— — both shrewd and ruthless.

"You just want to negotiate with me about the inheritance, father."

Carl pressed the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief, and Catherine quietly held his hand, and he patted it with appropriate strength. There was nothing terrible about it, and he knew he would win—even if the road ahead was difficult and the time was long.

But he has had enough.

More than once before he met Lester he wished he was just a New Yorker—as long as it wasn't Hockley.

The rules and regulations of this decaying family are like devil vines that gnaw at his soul, and he dreams countless times of sea breeze, doves, and swaying laurel trees, but in the blink of an eye, it seems that he is in hell, and molten iron pours into his chest , breathing hot lava, until he opened his eyes and saw Lester's gray eyes and golden hair gleaming on that quiet night.

So far, life is alive and the world is warm.

"Looks like I caught a good show." The young man walked into the hall, Ash followed behind him, he even looked leisurely and composed, with just the right polite smile, and the usual - mean words.

Catherine smiled knowingly, and patted the chair beside her sincerely: "Come here, Lester—introduce to you, my father, Charlie Hockley—and his youngest son, an illegitimate son named Ben, or Benjamin, I guess."

Lester shrugged indifferently, and whispered to her: "This situation is much better than I imagined. If I could know, where is the progress?"

"In fact, at first, dear, you came back just in time."

Carl turned his head to give him a kiss, and Mr. Hockley almost jumped up on the roof for it, and shouted at him--in vicious and vulgar words that he would never say before: "Get out , bitch! Get out of my house!"

Lester replied calmly and gently: "Of course, I will go, just tonight."

His surprisingly calm attitude ushered in a silence, and Mr. Hockley seemed to have punched the cotton, and the raging anger stopped abruptly-this feeling was really uncomfortable, he choked on his own saliva, and soon Cough loudly.

Carl turned his head stiffly—he seemed like he couldn't believe what he heard—was it just a joke, how dare you, how could you do that?

Carl's eyes were filled with pleading, he held Lester's shoulder and said hoarsely, "... Lester..."

"I'm serious." Lester raised his right hand, his slender fingers brushed over the rich man's tough and handsome face, "Carl, I have to leave, I have something to do."

Lester's voice was so calm, it seemed to be talking about the weather, and Carl felt his stomach heavy as if lead, and the gloomy and cold things rushing out of his body one after another, which made him embarrassed, sad, and even wished The world is destroyed at this moment.

Carl staggered away, the high-back chair was knocked to the ground by him, the black tea dripped down the tablecloth, the expensive Persian carpet was messed up, Catherine sighed regretfully—I don’t know why , in short, it seems a bit out of date.

"So, I think we should talk?" Mr. Hockley looked sharply and indifferently at the blond young man desperately, with indescribable vigilance, disgust, anger, or some curiosity in his eyes. Karl undoubtedly regarded him as Treasure, but this sincerity has been ruthlessly spoiled.

Old Charlie would bet no Hockley had ever suffered such a loss.

Lester seemed to wake up from some uncontrollable thoughts, he blinked his eyes, there was even an obvious smile in his gray pupils, and he said quickly: "No, there is nothing to talk about, I just Come and get my dog. Catherine, I thought you could help me."

Catherine nodded prudently, and she took a breath—this clever little girl probably saw something, stood up and walked out calmly, she didn't say a single word, but her thin and straight back seemed to be Stubborn and charming.

Lester shook his head wearily, his bushy eyelashes drooping slightly: "Mr. Hockley, I chose to withdraw from Carl's life not because I fear your power, but just——I don't want his life to suffer too much. Frustration for me — this Ben or Benjamin, or whatever, shouldn't be in the White Cuckoo. Perhaps more frankly, he shouldn't be in any of the places that belong to Hockley."

Mr. Bastard’s face turned extremely pale all of a sudden. Mrs. Bucket shivered like a frightened quail curled up on the sofa from the beginning to the end. It's a small trick that you don't want to do, but you never dare to do something that will make your master lose face on such an occasion.

Charlie Hockley's eyes were complicated, but his tone was cold and gloomy: "This has nothing to do with you, young man. Your choice is wise enough, and a check will be sent to your house later-if you really can afford a house in New York. "

"I thought you knew me a lot." Lester rubbed his forehead, gave him a light glance, his eyes were meaningful, and he stood up with his lips pursed, "Have a nice night, Hockley gentlemen."

The author has something to say:

Small Theater [The secrets that cannot be told in the safe]

1. Carl hates that Lester always leaves indifferently, so he secretly hits the golden chain 2. Carl always carries a gun so that he can kill all Strauss surnamed one day 3. Carl Love Lester is more important than life, so that he even wrote a statement in advance to give up Hockley and change his surname to Roland 4. A Hockley believes that love is more important than money and will never change