Although Zhang Fat's voice was so low that he could barely hear and he didn't laugh out loud, Sai Ashang still arbitrarily told him to keep his mouth shut and get to work.

Fat Zhang shut up. He pulled out his lamp, placed it on the ground, and pressed his head against the wall under the window, and stood firmly on his knees with his hands, using his back to form a step.

As soon as the steps were erected, Sai Ashan climbed up, gently selected Yongchang's feet into the window, and steadily lowered him to the ground, but did not let go of his collar.

"Take this lamp," said the fat man, looking into the room, "do you see the stairs in front of you?" ”

Yongchang was so frightened that he easily said "I saw it". Zhang Fatzi pointed at the gate of the street with the muzzle of his gun, and briefly reminded Yongchang to pay attention to the fact that he was always within the range of the pistol, and if he cowered, he would be killed immediately.

"This will be done in a minute," Zhang Fatzi's voice was still very low. "As soon as I let go, you go. Listen! ”

"What's wrong?" The other guy whispered.

They listened nervously.

"It's okay," Zhang Fatzi said, letting go of Yongchang. "Go ahead."

In this short period of time, Yongchang regained consciousness. He made up his mind that he must rush upstairs from the foyer and call the police, even if he would die if he did so. Having made up his mind, he immediately walked lightly forward.

"Come back." Fat Zhang suddenly shouted, "Come back." Come back. ”

The deathly silence around him suddenly broke, followed by another shout, and the lamp in Yongchang's hand fell to the ground, and he didn't know whether he should step forward or run away.

The shouting rang out again—there was a little light in front of him—and a phantasmagorism floated in front of him, two panicked on the top of the stairs. The disheveled man—a flash of fire—a loud noise—smoke—a boom, something shattered somewhere—he stumbled back.

Zhang Fatzi was gone, but he came out again in an instant, and grabbed Yongchang's collar while the smoke had not dissipated. He opened fire with his pistol at the people behind him, and the two men stepped back, and he quickly dragged Yongchang up.

"Hold your arms tighter," Zhang said, dragging him out of the window. "Give me a scarf, he's been shot. Fast. This kid has so much blood to flow. ”

A loud bell mingled with gunshots. The shouts of the people came, and Yongchang felt that someone was carrying him on the uneven ground like a gust of wind. The noise in the distance faded into obscurity, and a cold feeling crept up into the child's heart, and he couldn't see or hear anything clearly.

It was a very cold night. The snow pads on the ground and condenses into a thick layer of hard shell. Only the clumps of snow scattered on the paths and corners felt the howling wind, and the wind, finding such a trophy, seemed to exert its lust more and more violently, grabbing the flakes of snow and throwing them into the clouds, stirring the snow into an innumerable whirlpool of white and scattering it all over the sky.

The night, the bleakness, the darkness, the biting cold. On nights like these, well-fed and well-clothed people sit around the roaring fire and thank God for the comfort of their homes. Homeless.

The hungry and cold are doomed to die on the side of the road. At such times, how many homeless people who are suffering from hunger close their eyes in those empty streets and alleys. Even if they deserve it, let it be their own fault; Anyway, they will never open their eyes again to see a more miserable world.

It's just a sight outside the door. Right now, Mrs. Ke, the head lady of the Nursery Hall, was sitting in her small room, facing the jubilant and jumping fire.

This nursery is where Yongchang was born, and it has been introduced to readers before. Mrs. Ke glanced at a small round table, with a complacent look on it, on which lay a tray that was very commensurate with the round table, and the stewards were satisfied with everything they needed for a meal.

In fact, Mrs. Ke was about to drink a cup of tea to relieve her boredom. Her gaze swept over the round table and fell over the fireplace, where a jug could not have been smaller singing a little in a small voice, and the pleasure in her heart was evidently sweetened—indeed, Mrs. Co laughed.

"Ah," said the housekeeper, leaning her elbows on the table, looking thoughtfully at the fire, and began to speak to herself. "I can vouch for the fact that we all have a lot to be grateful for. It's a pity that we don't know. Yes. ”

Mrs. Coe shook her head sadly, as if she regretted that the ignorant poor people did not understand this, and she put a silver spoon into a teapot and began to boil it.

Really, a trivial thing is enough to break the peace of a fragile heart. The black teapot was so small that it was easy to spill out, and Mrs. Ke was discussing moral issues, and the tea in the pot overflowed, and Mrs. Ke's hand burned slightly.

"Damn teapot!" The respectable stewardess cursed and hurriedly placed the teapot by the stove. "Stupid gadgets, you can only hold two cups, and it's useless for anyone to hold them." Mrs. Ke paused, "Except for a lonely woman like me. Oh my! ”

The stewardess slumped down in her chair and rested her elbows on the table again, her miserable fate welling up in her heart. The small teapot and the unpaired teacups evoked in her heart a sorrow for Mr. Kony, who had passed away for more than twenty-five years, and she could not bear it.

"I can't find it anymore," said Mrs. Coop with a strange whim, "and I can't find it again—something like that." ”

No one knows whether he is referring to the husband or to the teapot. It must have been the latter, for Mrs. Ke had been glued to the teapot as she spoke, and then she had picked it up. She had just finished her first cup of tea when she was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

"Oh, come in." Mrs. Ke's voice was very sharp. "According to my guess, those old women are going to die. They always pick me to die while I'm eating. Don't stand there, put the air conditioning in, really. What's the matter, huh? ”

"It's all right, ma'am, it's all right." A man's voice replied.

"Oooh." The stewardess let out an exclamation, and her voice became much softer. "Is that Mr. Boole?"

"We're here to help." It was Mr. Bull who spoke, and he had just wiped the mud off his shoes and shook off the snowflakes off his coat outside the door, when he walked in with a three-cornered hat in one hand and a bag in the other. "Do you want to close the door, ma'am?"

The lady was a little embarrassed, and did not answer for a long time, and it was somewhat unseemly to close the door to meet Mr. Bull. Bull closed the door while she was hesitating for further instructions, and he did freeze to death.

"The weather is amazing, Mr. Bull." The female steward said.

"Well, ma'am," replied Mr. Bull, "the weather is not good for the parish, ma'am." On this damn afternoon alone, we'll take it out, Mrs. Ke, we'll take out twenty steamed buns, and their poor ghosts aren't enough. ”

"Of course not enough, Mr. Bull, when have they ever been satisfied?" The stewardess took a sip of tea as she spoke.

"When, ma'am, that's it." Mr. Bull replied, "No, there is a man right now, considering that he has a wife and a large family, and he has received steamed buns, and the portion is quite sufficient." Did he say thank you, ma'am, did he say thank you? It's really not worth even a copper plate. What is he doing, ma'am, and asking for a few pieces of coal, he said, just a small handkerchief full of it. Coal. Does he want coal? Used to roast his steamed buns and then came back to ask for more. Madam, these people are always like this, today they were given an apron full of coals, and the day after tomorrow they will come and ask for another apron, their skin is so thick, like plaster. ”

The stewardess said she fully agreed with the brilliant analogy, and Mr. Bull continued, "I have never seen anything so dark. The day before yesterday, there was a man -- Ma'am, you are from here, I can tell you about it -- there was a man who came to my house almost naked, and was inviting someone to dinner, Mrs. Ke, and he said that he had to get some relief. He refused to leave, and the guests were very angry, so I gave him a bag of steamed buns. This ungrateful scoundrel actually said, "Oh my God, what's the use of this little thing?" Why don't you give me a pair of iron-rimmed glasses."

I was half angry and wanted to take things back. "You don't want to get anything else."

The scoundrel said, "Then I'm going to die on the street." ”

I said, "Oh, no, you won't. ”

"Haha!" The stewardess interjected, "Mr. Bull, what happened later?" ”

"Madam," replied Mr. Bull, "he was gone, and died in the streets. There are always brainless poor ghosts, what can you do. ”

"I can't believe it." The Lady Stewardess emphasized. "But, Mr. Bull, don't you think that street relief is a very bad thing to do? You are a very knowledgeable person, you should know, you say. ”

"Mrs. Ke," the men felt the smile they often had when they were superior in knowledge. "The first principle of street relief is to pick up what the poor don't need and give them what they don't want to come again."

"Oh my God!" Mrs. Ke shouted. "Well, it's a good thing!"

"Yes, ma'am, it is fine for you and me to talk to each other," replied Mr. Bull.

"Don't freeze you along the way, Mr. Bull." The stewardess said.

"The wind is strong, ma'am," replied Mr. Bull, turning his collar up. "It can cut off people's ears."

The headmaster's gaze shifted from the teapot to the parish officer, who was walking towards the door. Bull coughed, and was about to say goodnight to her, when the stewardess blushed and asked, could it be that - didn't he even drink a cup of tea?

As soon as he finished speaking, Mr. Bull flipped down his collar again, put his hat and cane on one chair, and dragged the other to the table. He sat down slowly in his chair and glanced at the lady. Her eyes were fixed on the tiny teapot.

Mr. Bull coughed again, and smiled slightly.

Mrs. Ke stood up and took another pair of cups and saucers from the closet. When she sat back in her chair, she met Mr. Bull's affectionate gaze again, and her face suddenly turned crimson, and she hurriedly buried herself in making tea for him.

Mr. Bull coughed again—much louder than before.

"You like to drink sweeter, Mr. Bull?" The female steward asked, holding the sugar jar in her hand.

"I love sweet, really, ma'am." Mr. Bull's eyes were fixed on Mrs. Corney as he said this.

The tea was finished and handed to his hand silently. Mr. Bull spread a handkerchief over his knee so that the crumbs would not stain his beautiful leggings and began to make refreshments.

He let out a long sigh from time to time in order to make the pleasures more varied, but this did not affect his appetite, on the contrary, the tea and bread seemed to be more and more smooth.

"I find out you have a cat, ma'am," said Mr. Bull, who saw at a glance that one of the cats was surrounded by her family, and was snuggled up in front of the stove to keep warm. "I dare say, and kittens."

"You can't imagine how much I like them, Mr. Bull," replied the stewardess, "and they are so merry, so mischievous, and so endearing, that they have become my companions." ”

"What a lovely little animal, ma'am," agreed Mr. Bull, "so tame." ”

"Oh, not really." "It's a great pleasure for them to have so much affection for their home," said the stewardess, with such affection for their home. ”

"Mrs. Co, ma'am," said Mr. Bull slowly, counting the time for himself with his teaspoon. "I mean, ma'am, big cats and small cats, can live with you, ma'am, I don't have any feelings for this family, ma'am, that must be a stupid donkey."

"Oh, Mr. Bull." Mrs. Ke protested.

"Not in spite of the facts, ma'am," said Mr. Bull, waving his teaspoon slowly, with a look of affection and solemnity, which made a doubly impressive impression. "I would be honored to drown such a cat myself."

"You are a hard-hearted man," said the housekeeper vibly, as she reached out to take Mr. Bull's teacup. "I have to add, hard-hearted man."

"Hard-hearted, ma'am, hard-hearted?" Mr. Bull handed the teacup over, and without further speaking, Mrs. Coe took it, and he pinched her little finger, sighed heavily, and slapped his two palms on his piping vest, and moved the chair away from the fireplace a little.

Mrs. Co and Mr. Bull were seated opposite each other, separated by a round table and a fireplace in front of them, and the distance between them was not very large.

It is conceivable that Mr. Bull was now receding from the fireplace, still next to the table, thus increasing the distance between him and Mrs. Cove—a gesture which would undoubtedly have been applauded by some thoughtful readers, as a remarkable act of merit on the part of Mr. Bull.

Mr. Bull was now more or less tempted by time, place, and opportunity, and it seemed that some kind of tender and sweet nonsense was about to be blurted out, as if it would be a great loss of decency.

Whatever Mr. Bull's intentions may be, and unfortunately the table is round, as has been mentioned twice before, Mr. Bull moves his chair little by little, and in a short time the distance between himself and the stewardess begins to shorten, and he continues to move along the outer edge of the circumference, losing no time in placing his chair against the chair on which the stewardess sits. Indeed, the two chairs collided, and at the same time, Mr. Bull stopped.

At this time, if the lady moved her chair to the right, she would be on fire, and if she moved to the left, she would surely fall into Mr. Bull's arms, so she sat still and handed him another cup of tea.

"Mrs. Ke, are you hard-hearted?" Bull said as he stirred the tea, raised his head, stared at the face of the female steward. "Are you hard-hearted, Mrs. Ke?"

"Oh my God!" The stewardess exclaimed, "Such a strange question, you can ask even a bachelor, Mr. Bull, why do you ask this?" ”

Mr. Bull drank not a drop of tea, ate another slice of bread, shook off the crumbs from his knees, wiped his mouth, and kissed the stewardess unhurriedly.

"Mr. Bull," cried the thoughtful lady in a low voice, the panic so great that she could barely speak. "Mr. Bull, I'm going to shout." Bull did not reply, but in a slow but dignified gesture, he stretched out his arm and put his arm around the waist of the stewardess.

Just as the lady claimed to be shouting—for such presumptuousness, she rightfully did—a sharp knock on the door made the intent superfluous.

At the sound of a knock at the door, Mr. Bull jumped aside with great agility and began to dust the wine bottle vigorously, and the housekeeper asked in a sharp voice who was there. It is worth mentioning that her voice has completely regained that uncompromising official tone, which is a wonderful example of how sudden accidents can effectively counteract the effects of negative fear.

"Madame, take your hands," said a shriveled, ugly-looking woman with her head poked in through the doorway. "Lao Sha is almost done."

"Yo, what does it have to do with me?" The female steward was furious. "He's going to die and he can't keep her, right?"

"Yes, yes, ma'am," replied the old woman, "there is no one to keep him, and he will not be cured at all." I've seen a lot of people die, little babies, strong men, I've seen them, and I know what it's like to die. But he couldn't let go of his heart, it was hard to swallow one breath, he said that he had something to say, you have to listen to it. Madame, if you don't go, he will never live or die in peace. ”

Hearing this, Mrs. Ke muttered, and scolded those old women, they had to deliberately disturb their superiors to close their eyes, and then hurriedly grabbed a thick scarf and wrapped it around their bodies, and asked Mr. Bull to wait for them to come back before leaving, saying that they were afraid that something special would happen.

Mrs. Ke instructed the old woman who had told the news to be more nimble so as not to spend the night on the stairs, and then followed the old woman out of the room, with a very gloomy face and a scolding voice.

Mr. Bull's behavior after he was left alone is quite puzzling. He opened the closet and rummaged through Mrs. Co's things. Satisfied with all these curiosities, he put his three-cornered hat crooked on his head, and danced in a serious manner, circling the table in four different circles. The extraordinary performance was over, and he took off his hat, turned his back to the stove, and lay out on his back in his chair, as if he were making a list of furniture in his head.