And so he came to the end of his life. Pen | fun | pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 Info had nothing to think about, and nothing to worry him about. It's just a nuisance, useless consciousness, and there's nothing else to do. But there seems to be another stupid and blind thing.

He hadn't made up his mind to kill himself, and he hadn't thought much about it. It's an obvious and inevitable thing. He didn't even think explicitly about what method he wanted to kill himself, but what mattered was to get it done as quickly as possible - and then forget about it. There were no weapons in his room, not even a knife. But it doesn't matter – a towel is all it takes, or a sheet that is torn to shreds.

There was a big nail on top of the window. That's it, but it has to be strong enough to withstand his weight. He stood on a chair and tried the nails, which were not very strong. He jumped out of his chair again and grabbed a hammer from a drawer.

He struck a few nails, and was about to tear a sheet from the bed. Then it occurred to him that he had not prayed. Of course, a person should pray before he dies, and every Christian prays before he dies. There is a special prayer for a dying person.

He walked into the shrine and knelt down before the cross. "Almighty and merciful God—" he prayed aloud. At this point he paused and said no more. The world is indeed getting boring, and there is nothing to pray for or curse.

What did Christ know about this trouble? What did Christ, who never suffered from this trouble, know? He was just betrayed, like Bora. He did not betray anyone because he had been deceived.

Arthur stood up, still customary to draw a cross on his chest. He walked over to the table and saw a letter on it. The letter is in Montagneri's handwriting, addressed to him. The letter is written in pencil:

My dear child: It is a great disappointment for me not to see you on the day of your release. But I was asked to visit someone who was dying. I won't be back until late. Come and see me tomorrow morning. Rush grass. Lawr.

He sighed and put down the letter, it seemed that this incident had really hit Padre hard.

How the people in the street laughed and chatted, and nothing had changed since he was born. At least the trivial daily things around him will not change because a person, a living person, dies. Everything is as it used to be. The water in the fountain was still splashing, and the sparrows under the eaves were still chirping. Yesterday it was like this, tomorrow it will be like this. To him, he was dead—a hundred dead.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands crossed and grasping the railing at the head of the bed, his forehead resting on his arm. There's still a lot of time. And his head hurt terribly - it seemed to hurt a lot in the center of his brain. Everything is so boring, so stupid - it's really not interesting at all......

The bell rang at the front door so quickly that he was taken aback and almost breathless. He grabbed his throat with both hands. They had returned—he sat here thinking about what was wrong, letting precious time pass—and now he had to see their faces, and hear their cold voices—and they would have scoffed and talked—how good it would have been for him to have a knife......

He looked around in despair. His mother's basket for needlework was in the small cupboard, and of course there would be scissors in the basket. He can stranch an artery. No, sheets and nails are safer, if he has time.

He lifted the bedspread from the bed and tore off a piece of cloth like crazy. Footsteps rang out on the stairs. No, this cloth is too wide. Knotting it with it will not be strong, and be sure to leave a lasso. As the footsteps got closer, so did his movements. Blood hit his temples and buzzed in his ears.

Hurry up—hurry! Oh God! give me another five minutes!

There was a knock on the door. The torn strip of cloth fell from his hand, and he sat there motionless. He listened with bated breath. Someone twisted the doorknob, and Julia shouted, "Arthur!"

He stood up, gasping for air.

"Arthur, please open the door. We're waiting. ”

He picked up the torn bedspread, stuffed it into a drawer, and hurriedly smoothed the bed.

"Arthur!" this time it was James calling for the door, and someone was twisting the doorknob impatiently. "Are you asleep?"

Arthur looked around the room, saw that everything was hidden, and opened the door.

"Arthur, I have something to say. You should at least do as I ask and wait for us to come back. Julia burst into the house and said angrily, "You seem to think we should wait at the door for half an hour—"

"My dear, it's four minutes. James gently corrected. He followed his wife's pink satin dress into the house. "Of course I think, Arthur, you're not doing much—not very decent—"

"What do you want to do?" interrupted Arthur. He stood there, holding his hand to the door. He's like a trapped animal, sneaking a peek at this, and then at that. But James was unresponsive, and Julia was angry again, so neither of them noticed the expression on his face.

Mr. Burton pulled a chair for his wife and sat down himself. He carefully straightened his new pants at his knees. "Julia and I," he began, "feel it is our duty to have a serious talk with you—"

"Not tonight, I-I'm not very comfortable. I have a headache - you have to wait. ”

Arthur's voice was somewhat strange and muffled. He was in a trance, and he didn't say anything before or after. James was taken aback and looked around.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked anxiously, suddenly remembering that Arthur had come from that hotbed of infectious diseases. "I hope you're not sick with something. You look like you have a fever. ”

"Nonsense!" Julia interrupted him sharply. "He's just posturing because he's ashamed to face us. Come and sit down, Arthur. ”

Arthur walked over slowly and sat down on the bed. "Huh?" he said tiredly.

Mr. Burton coughed a few times, cleared his throat, stroked his sufficiently neat beard, and then began to speak again the prepared words: "I feel it my duty - I have a painful duty - to speak to you seriously about your deviant behavior, and to associate with - uh - those who are lawless and murderous, and - well- those who are of bad character. I believe you, maybe just in the mud, not that you've fallen - uh - "