The elegant black swan weaves its way between men with easy steps, as if a beautiful waltz is written on a smooth marble floor.

The corners of her mouth are slightly upturned, and her sex appeal is hopeless. The steps are graceful like a cat's movements, and the sweetness of the perfume begins to spread and ferment in the air.

The atmosphere becomes ambiguous and subtle, and everything is wanted and desired.

A smile fluttering in the wind, with the smell of roses. The charm of jasmine sent a provocative signal to the men present, who thought they were hunters in love, but did not realize that they were just prey caught in the net.

When the real hunter pushes the door and enters the brightly lit hall, everything is just like rosemary.

Mrs. Balanchi stopped and looked at the man standing in the doorway, while the others also noticed the two of them looking at each other and stopped talking.

They stared at the meeting gloatingly, and it would be better if one person would be severely humiliated by the others present to redeem his gaffe in front of the black swan.

In addition to getting acquainted with the elegant black swan Lady Agatha, they also had a purpose of watching the two meet-for-tat, but when they saw the elegance of Lady Agatha, they agreed in their hearts that if the two really had a dispute, the men would all stand on Agatha's side.

Mrs. Balanchi stopped, and she stood under the bright crystal lamp, staring intently at the man who was slowly walking towards her. The rush pouring down like heaven enveloped the woman with a beautiful face, like the delicate and perfect face of the dignified and holy Venus, which made people breathless and contemplative.

Garion slowly walked down the steps to Lady Agatha, and both of them smiled knowingly, then nodded and smiled, "Bonsoir, Madame." ”

And she greeted the man in front of her in French, "Bonsoir, Monsieur." ”

The literati around were looking forward to a wonderful tearing drama, but instead of tearing up, the two sides exchanged cordial and friendly exchanges. Make them think that the other person is not on the same channel as themselves.

People who don't understand French are still very puzzled and ask the people around them, "Wait, are French people arguing so harmoniously?" ”

The person next to him gave him a blank look, and said disdainfully, "What kind of quarrel, they are communicating cordially and friendly, I think Conan Doyle has properly pulled everyone's hatred tonight, I'm afraid that he will be set on fire by the men present." ”

"Wait, aren't they enemies?"

"Who knows, hey, remember Stendhal's description of a woman in love? They are all blind. She may be arrogant, intelligent, well-born, graceful in her actions, dismissive of the men around her, and even laugh at those who are caught up in emotion. Once the main god she ordained came, this person, perhaps in the eyes of others, was mediocre, frivolous, and full of shortcomings. She did not allow others to say that he was not good at all, and as long as someone objected at all, she immediately ridiculed him with all her wisdom, thinking that others were "ill-intentioned". A woman's nature is that her entire life is emotionally focused, which dooms a woman who falls in love to infinitely magnify her lover's advantages with her fantasies. A woman, if she is in love with someone, it is better to say that she is in love with her imagination. ”

"I'm afraid it's Conan Doyle in front of me, it's all Lady Agatha's beautiful imagination."

"I can't see it, I'm really quite knowledgeable."

"That's it."

Although Stendhal was right when it came to love, he was equally clumsy in his own treatment of feelings.

Everyone was very emotional in private, but Galian and Ballanz chatted more enthusiastically, as if they didn't care about the eyes of the people next to them, which made the men who were eager to try it very puzzled. Why do they look less like enemies and more like an intimate couple?

"As you said, they are no different from ordinary men, at least when it comes to women, although there are some veterans of the Fengyue Field, they are still too tender."

Balanchi deliberately took Garion's hand in front of everyone and asked with a smile, "Mr. Conan Doyle, are you free tonight?" ”

"I'm always available if Lady Agatha wishes."

As soon as this sentence came out, the others present were not calm. What kind of routine is this? After making it clear the rhythm of the tryst after the party, the grief-stricken London literati couldn't understand why the elegant black swan immediately lowered his noble head as soon as Garion appeared.

Oh no!

Could it be that this is a veteran of the love scene from the European Literature and Art Center, and he doesn't even need to do it himself?

The distant back of the muse makes them heartbroken, and even develops a gritted tooth of jealousy towards Garion. This made the literati with a sense of superiority realize for the first time the gap between themselves and the French literary and artistic circles. Why can this man win the favor of the goddess, but they get a mockery in exchange?

The short hiccup passed quickly, and at this time, the organizers of the banquet were also entering the venue one after another, not because they were not together, Thornton and Russell were always separated by some distance, and they did not even nod their heads in acknowledgment.

The distance between the two was not too far before, like a chasm.

On his first day in office, the editor-in-chief Thornton secretly made up his mind to target the Times and make the Daily Telegraph the best-selling newspaper in Great Britain.

So now he has to press the other party in the literary section, and he can't raise his head.

However, now Lady Agatha's limelight has completely overshadowed her elaborate "Conan Doyle", which makes him very helpless. The publicity in the early stage was not in place, but it made them fall behind when they seized the opportunity.

Thornton clenched his fists and took a deep breath, this is a grand literary celebration, not a place to quarrel. At the very least, he still has to ensure a friendly relationship on the surface.

After entering the conference hall, he was surprised to find that it was already crowded, and the crowd was discussing the topic of the small circle in twos and threes, and among the many black dresses, only a figure wearing a skirt was extremely conspicuous. She stood with her writer Trotsky, talking and laughing, not paying any attention to the gazes of others around her.

The editor-in-chief of Thornton had an ominous premonition in his heart, and he subconsciously looked at Russell not far away, only to see Russell looking at himself with a look that seemed to be smiling but not smiling, and the corners of his mouth outlined a mysterious arc.

Since he was standing here, the editor-in-chief Thornton had to verify his inner thoughts. Walking towards Trotsky and Lady Agatha, he walked up to them and abruptly interrupted the conversation.

"Excuse me, are you Lady Agatha?"

Balanchi nodded slightly, and said with a smile, "Yes, can't the editor-in-chief Russell recognize who I am?" ”

Thornton was stunned for a moment, and Mrs. Balanchi had drawn a delicate makeup, which he didn't recognize directly at first. It was only when I saw his wonderful figure that I suddenly realized where I had seen a familiar back.

Balanchi giggled and prompted, "We've met, Editor-in-Chief Thornton. I came back from grocery shopping that day, carrying a basket of vegetables, and you asked at the door if my husband was home. ”

The editor-in-chief in front of him suddenly changed his expression, and he finally remembered that the woman in front of him was the wife of "Trotsky" whom he had met before.

"It's you! Lady Agatha is you! ”

The editor-in-chief of Thornton gasped, as if fate had played a big joke on him, and could no longer control the horror in his heart, and said with wide eyes, "Lady Agatha is actually you!" ”

"That's me."

The people around them didn't understand why the conversation between Thornton and Lady Agatha suddenly became startled, and of course, if they knew that Agatha and Conan Doyle were originally the same author, they would have dropped their jaws in surprise.

"Your Excellency Trotsky! You have to explain to me, what's going on? ”

The editor-in-chief of Thornton looked angrily at the new editor, and he always felt that he was being played by the husband and wife in front of him. However, Garian raised his hands very helplessly and said, "Editor-in-Chief, I can't be blamed for this. You can't say that my wife is plagiarizing my work, right? ”

Thornton was choked with nothing to say, and finally said something indignantly.

"Then you can't let her go to our competitors!"