Ask for a referral ticket!

The conversation ended in displeasure.

Blanqui put on his coat and left his dilapidated apartment, the creaking sound of his descent down the stairs as if to say goodbye to his departure, like the ripples of stones falling into a lake, and then returned to calm.

Before leaving, Blanqui stood on the crowded street, glancing back at the second-floor window behind him. only to see Garion also looking at himself through the window.

Didn't speak.

Then the middle-aged man with a scruffy beard stretched out his left hand, wrapped his shabby jacket tightly, and walked forward without looking back, and finally disappeared into the vast sea of people. What happened last night seemed to be just a small episode in life.

All that was left of the room was the smell of disinfectant and blood, which filled the air. Garion turned, cleaned up the table, and yawned.

He had to pack up and destroy all the evidence he had left behind. And after today's class, I will go to Baudelaire's literary salon tomorrow.

Communicating face-to-face with the great writers, thinking of this, Garion still took a deep breath, and hurried out after cleaning up, locking all the secrets in the room behind him.

St. Anthony's Street is as calm as ever.

The smell of rosin fills the corner shoe shop, mixed with leather fills the air. In the street market, which is gradually becoming lively, the peddlers and pawns are laying green vegetables and melons and fruits on the stalls, and the sound of the butcher's knives falling from the meat stalls comes from the meat stalls, mixed with the smell of livestock, rushing towards people.

Miral had just finished his early morning visit and dragged his tired body home.

He had just walked downstairs when he saw a crowd of people huddled in front of the bulletin board and pointing. Curious, Dr. Miral stepped forward to find that the police station had just posted a wanted list.

When he looked at the portrait on the wanted list, his face changed instantly.

The person in the portrait is the same one he had surgery on yesterday!

"Name: Blanqui, revolutionary, a thousand francs on offer."

When Miral saw a thousand francs, he looked in the direction of Madame de Ferrorand's house with a complicated expression.

Miral was also a fanatical revolutionary in his youth, but with the overthrow of the Second Republic and the dictatorship of Louis Bonaparte, all that was left to look back at the past was the reluctance to look back at the past.

One last glance at the poster, Miral clutched a few francs in his pocket and left the bulletin board and walked in the direction of the stairs.

He carried the mottled escalator upstairs, covered in filthy stains that had penetrated into the texture over the years, as if it had become one with the wooden escalator.

Walking up the stairs to the end, a tired Miral knocked on the door. There was a clattering sound of metal clash from inside, and then a scathing, high-pitched voice, approached the door.

He could even imagine the unbearable scene when he opened the door.

When he opened the door, a bloated and fat woman stood in front of him, with a face full of flesh and long greasy hair, making Miral feel like he was facing the poet Dante's hell.

Against the backdrop of an obese woman, the thin Miral looked extraordinarily weak.

As soon as he walked in the door, before he could put down the toolbox in his hand, a chatter sounded from behind him.

"Miral, the landlord has come to collect the rent again, let's hurry up and pay last month's rent, we are already in arrears for a week."

"A few more days, dear."

Miral had no strength, sat down in his chair, rubbed his eyes tiredly, and said softly, "Let him forgive for a few days, and I will pay." ”

"Useless guy, can't you even pay the rent now?"

The wife glared at her and walked in the direction of the kitchen.

Then he came up with the meal, a pot of stewed potato broth, and a few slices of bread that had lost his appetite, and the simple dishes were placed in front of Miral's table.

He sat down and picked up the plate, suddenly thought of the notice posted downstairs, and said casually, "The police station came to post the wanted list again this morning?" ”

"Why do you care so much?"

The wife said angrily, "Even if you want to catch it, can you catch it?" ”

Miral, who was immersed in soup, raised his head and whispered, "Actually, I saw this wanted person yesterday, but I didn't expect him to be a member of the revolutionary party. ”

"What, you see?"

The wife suddenly raised her head, shook her greasy hair, and said excitedly, "Where did you see that?" ”

"In the building not far from us, I think Madame de Ferroland was a tenant, and the revolutionary was wounded, and he asked me to stitch up his wounds."

"So what are you waiting for, hurry up and report him! My God, that's money! ”

"Nope."

For the first time, Miral shook his head in front of his fierce wife, and he said solemnly, "He's a revolutionary, I can't do that." ”

"Is the Revolutionary Party your father? You shit! ”

Miral's wife's eyes radiated a greedy look, she moved her big ass, pointed at the cowardly man in front of her, and said, "That's a thousand francs!" How long will it take you to get a thousand francs? I've been married to you for so many years, have you ever had any luxury? Have you ever bought a piece of jewelry? Now we can't even pay the rent! If you report someone secretly, you will get a thousand francs! ”

In Paris in 1860, the purchasing power of 1,000 francs was equivalent to about 50,000 yuan now, and in Miral's eyes, 1,000 francs was his income for almost a year!

The fat woman continued to reprimand him, and Miral gritted her teeth and remained silent. He has spent more than ten years in such an environment, and he no longer wants to defend anything.

"Waste, useless waste!"

The woman shook her face and slapped the spoon on the table, her eyes glaring, but the swollen face stuffed with fat set off her eyes extraordinarily small.

The thin doctor who doesn't say a word, the fat woman who chatters, is a stark contrast in the shabby room.

"It's been eight lifetimes of mold to expect this kind of waste from you, I was blind to marry you in the first place."

She slammed her ass back, flipped the chair to the ground, pulled off her apron around her fat waist, and walked towards the door.

Knock knock.

With each step, the wooden floor began to deform slightly as if it could not withstand the strong pressure. She tied a headscarf around her head, tried to wrap the poor flower cloth around her fat head, and when she was done, she walked in the direction of the door.

The doctor finally turned around and asked, "What are you going to do?" ”

Miral's wife turned her head, looked at him with indifferent eyes, and said slowly, "I'm going to the police station, since you don't dare to report it, then I'll go." ”