It was for these things—for these hypocritical and servile people, for these ignorant and soulless gods—that he suffered all kinds of humiliation, passion, and despair. Pen | fun | pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 info He was going to hang himself with a rope, seriously, because a priest was a liar. He's a lot smarter now. All he had to do was shake off the poisonous insects and start living again.

There were so many cargo ships at the docks that it was easy to hide in one of them and sneak away by boat to Australia, Canada, the Cape of Good Hope - wherever it is. Wherever you go, as long as you are far away. As for life there, he can look at it, and if it doesn't suit him, he can go somewhere else.

He pulled out his wallet. There were only thirty-three millilis, but his watch was still worth a little money. It's going to help him get through for a while, and it doesn't matter anyway - he's going to get through anyway. But they will look for him, all these people will look for him. Of course they will go to the dock to inquire. No, he had to cast suspicions on them - to make them believe that he was dead. And then he was free - free. He couldn't help but laugh to himself at the thought that the Burton family would be looking for his body. What a farce that would be!

He took a piece of paper and wrote down a few words that came to mind:

I have believed in you, just as I have believed in God. God is a clay thing, and I can smash it with a hammer. But you have deceived me with a lie.

He folded the paper and wrote the words Montenelli himself. Then he took another piece of paper and wrote a line of words: "Go to the Dasena Pier to find my body." Then he put on his hat and walked out of the room. As he passed by his mother's portrait, he looked up and smiled, shrugging his shoulders. She deceived him too.

He crept through the hallway, latched the door, and walked up the marble staircase. The staircase is large and dark, capable of making an echo. As he descended, the staircase seemed to open wide, like a shadowy trap.

He walked across the courtyard, carefully slowing his steps so as not to wake Gian Batista. He slept on the first floor. The cellar behind which the firewood was stored had a small window with a fence facing the canal, no more than four feet above the ground. He remembered that the rusty fence had broken, and with a slight push he could make a hole and drill it out.

The fence was strong, his hands were scuffed, and the sleeves of his coat were torn. But it doesn't matter. He looked up and down the street, but saw no one. There was no movement in the dark canal, and the ugly trench was flanked by long, straight and slender embankments. The unexperienced world may be a disappointing black hole, but it simply cannot be more dull and ugly than the corner he threw away.

There is nothing to regret, nothing to be nostalgic for. It's a nasty little world, stagnant, full of lies and clumsy deception, and a stinking gutter that is so shallow that even a man can't drown.

He walked along the canal embankment and came to the small square next to the Medici Palace.

It was in this place that Jomma stretched out her arms and ran to him with her beautiful face. There is a damp stone staircase leading to the moat, and the eerie castle is just across the filthy creek. He had never noticed how vulgar and banal the creek was before.

He walked through the narrow streets and reached the dock of Dassena. There he took off his hat and threw it into the water. When they salvage his body, they will, of course, find it. Then he walked along the river, frowning as he thought about what to do next. He had to try to slip to a certain ship, but it was difficult to do so. His only chance was to walk up to the huge, ancient Medici breakwater, and then to the end of the breakwater. In that sharp corner there was an inferior tavern, where he might well have found some sailor who could pay bribes.

But the dock gate was closed. How can he get past and get past the customs officer? He didn't have a passport, and they would ask for a hefty bribe if he let him go, but the money he had with him was far from enough. In addition, they may recognize him.

As he passed the bronze statue of the "Moore Four", a figure emerged from an old house across the dock and walked towards the bridge. Arthur immediately slipped into the shadow of the bronze statue, then crouched in the shadows, discreetly peeking out from the corner of the base.

It was a spring night, the night was soft and warm, and the sky was full of stars. The river lapped against the dockyard's stone embankment and formed a gentle whirlpool around the steps, making a sound like a low laugh. Somewhere nearby, a chain shook slowly and creaked. A huge iron crane loomed over it, tall and desolate. Under the starry sky and light blue-gray clouds, the figure of a slave in pitch black was reflected. They stood there struggling in vain with chains, and viciously cursing a miserable fate.

The man staggered along the river, singing an English ditty at the top of his voice. He was apparently a sailor, and he had a drink from a tavern and then headed back. I couldn't see anyone else around. As he approached, Arthur stood up and walked to the middle of the road. The sailor stopped singing, cursed, and stopped.

"I want to talk to you," Arthur said in Italian, "can you understand me?" ”

The man shook his head. "It's useless to tell me this kind of nonsense." He said. Then he turned to broken French and angrily asked, "What do you want to do?" Why didn't you let me pass? ”

"Come here from the light, I'd like to talk to you."

"Ahh Would you like to change it? Come from the light! Do you have a knife with you? ”

"No, no, man! Can't you see that I just want your help? I'll pay. ”

"Huh? What the? Pretending to be a boy, and—" The sailor involuntarily spoke in English. He had now moved to the dark, leaning against the railing of the statue's pedestal.

"Well," he said, repeating his ugly French. "What do you want to do?"

"I want to get out of this place—"

"Aha! Sneaking! Want me to hide you? I think something happened.

Knives on people, eh? Just like these foreigners! So where do you want to go? I don't think you want to go to the police, do you? ”

He laughed drunkenly and winked an eye.

"Which boat are you on?"

"The Carlota - from Livorno to Buenos Aires, to carry oil, then back to leather. It just stopped there," - he pointed in the direction of the breakwater - "a dilapidated old ship! ”