John. Carson didn't have that much courage, and the reason why he dared to resist "Don" was only because he hadn't seen what kind of behemoth was standing in front of him. This is a common problem of inland people, who grow up in a peaceful and prosperous environment, have no worries about food and clothing, and have everything, and the biggest trouble may be just a pimple on the tip of the nose; When he becomes an adult, even if he is free from the protection of his parents and family and lives like an "ordinary person", he still lives under the protection of the so-called common sense, law and morality. For them, crime is speeding, credit card arrears and marijuana smoking, and rape and murder tend to only happen within twenty blocks of them, which is too far away, like something that happened on another planet.

Chegalle made him feel fear, but not to the point where he was fully conscious.

This was intentional, Sasha was not Anthony, and he had received too little information to deduce the plan of "Don" for the time being, he only knew that John. Carson will not end well - in the "Ghoul", that is, his father, Anthony. In Hopkins's memory, there are not a few such characters, they are not bad, and their IQs are not low, the problem is that they are mostly naïve and greedy, and often know that they cannot do it; Able to see danger, but always entrusting his life and even his soul to something that he cannot grasp, just for the slightest glittering but worthless little fancy gadget - Catherine's former boss is one, the policeman who wants to betray the ghoul to his enemies is one, the gangster on the train is one, the priest in the town is one, John. Carson is also one of them.

There are laws in the world, and if you lose, you will gain something, and you will lose what you gain.

The golden-red natural light from the small windows at the top was replaced by a soft artificial light source, and the sparkling bath was lit by a luminaire with smart sensing functions like moonlight instead of daylight, and the children's skin began to swell and fold, and they climbed out of the bath, dried off and put on the clean clothes that old Andreana rested on a wooden bench.

Sasha flatly rejected Beelzebub's invitation—he had had enough of Beelzebub's collection—and some of them were too strange even for the Hopkins, such as a dagger with a highly compressed air canister hidden in the hilt, controlled by a knob that pierced the body of a human or animal, and then pressed the knob, and an ultra-high-pressure stream of air erupted along the tiny pipes in the blade...... Then there is a "snap", and perhaps the wound that was not very important will be held up to the size of a basketball...... The devil knows what kind of boring guy would design such a stupid and terrible thing.

Little Hopkins, like Big Hopkins, has some bad things inherited from blood and family names. They love the traditional and the old, they don't like to change and try something new, and they tend to be more critical of what is too presumptuous, or more precise, flashy, sensational. Until now, Anthony. Hopkins still used a few firearms, preferring knives and daggers, or crossbows, and as the case requires, he would also use surgical tools such as small electric craniotomy saws and hollow bone drills, but nothing more.

The boy crept silently up the spiral staircase that swirled along the inside of the fort like a pale golden-furred Poman cat, and as guests they were placed on the upper floor, where the room was wide and well-lit, and had a platform on which a steep and narrow stone land bridge connected to the wide parapet wall that could be used by two men five hundred years ago, and from where the people of the fort had carried hot oil and water through the dangerous road to the soldiers guarding the fort, who had poured them down, Attack the enemies surrounding the walls.

Now they have lost their original function, because of the strong sunlight, the strong sea breeze and the salty moisture it carries, some of the stones have begun to weather, and the edges are crisp, and the slightest touch will fall a large patch.

Anthony. Hopkins would occasionally walk along the crumbling path to the wall, and at other times he would be lost in thought, standing motionless at the end of the wall about to collapse, his body thin and long, and at first glance he looked like a lonely seabird perched on an unnatural cliff.

On a clear night, he plays tunes on this lonely platform with a sturdy and heavy Flemish two-layer harpsichord from Antwerp, Belgium, from the mid-18th century.

The harpsichord is similar in shape to a modern grand piano, but the strings are plucked with a feather plucked rather than struck with a hammer. Each string is plucked by 1 feather pipe or hardhide plectrum fixed to a wooden pillar at the end of each key. At the top of the other side of the pillar is a small piece of felt that acts as a damper, which is pronounced only when the key is actually pressed, and does not continue to sound after the key is released. In addition, although it was born in the 18th century, the harpsichord still has no pedals, which means that its players have to take their hands off the keys when they want to adjust the buttons, and the volume cannot be adjusted by means of the Venetian amplifier pedals.

Not many people (except professionals) can play the harpsichord as skillfully these days, its tone is clear, pure, and metallic, but it has been replaced by the new percussion instrument, the piano, as early as the second half of the eighteenth century, because the strings are plucked only with feathers and leather picks, the volume is thin, and the variation is weak.

Its maintenance and repair were also problematic, and not everyone knew how to make a new plucking out of crow feathers like Hopkins did - in Florence, the ghoul once got a good old harpsichord, but unfortunately he left in too much hurry to take it with him.

One of Chegalle's subordinates managed to get it from some hapless collector, it was very well maintained and beautiful, the basswood resonance box was still hard and firm over the centuries, and the eight black spiral legs held the colorful body depicting the scenery of the country ball. Hopkins sat in front of the harpsichord, the collar of his shirt slightly open, revealing his pale skin, his loose linen trousers blown aside by the sea breeze, his waist straight, his bare feet, his toes on the black bracket, his fingers as thin and sharp as spider's legs moving merrily on the keys that were no longer so black and white, and he saw Sasha standing in the doorway, without speaking, and winked at him.

The Great Hopkins plays a simple, crisp polyphonic piece with only six irregular ascending notes on the theme, which Sasha has heard, Slakati's G minor, Kitten Fugue.

"Come here, dear." Anthony. Hopkins shouted softly.

Sasha took off his shoes as his father did, and walked barefoot from the bedroom to the rooftop, the stone floor was a little cold, the sand brought by the sea breeze, and the residue left by the weathering creaked on the soles of his feet, Sasha didn't notice this at all, he walked over, Anthony. Hopkins shifted to make room for his son.

There was very little space in front of the harpsichord, but fortunately it was not Chegalle and Beelzebub who were sitting here, but another father and son, Hopkins stretched out his arm and put his arm around his son's waist, Sasha raised his arm and grabbed the shirt on his back, the boy's body temperature was higher than that of an adult, and the big Hopkins felt like he was embracing the sun that had fallen into the deep sea, and the heat was constantly radiating from the child's body, seeping into the body that was clinging to it.

Big Hopkins put his right hand back on the keys, he made a head, and Sasha swung his left hand and played it along the beginning of the piece—the first part of Bach's Gothenburg Variations was much more soothing than the cheerful and rapid Kitten Fugue, and Big Hopkins followed almost nonchalantly.

Sasha's fingers can't reach Anthony for the time being. The length of the hopkins, however, didn't bother much, the harpsichord originally only needed three or four fingers, and the thumb rarely came in handy.

The bright moonlight unsparingly gilded the stones, the sand, and the sea with a layer of brilliant silver, and the largest, most structured, and greatest variation in the history of music echoed through the chest of the stone fortress, and Chegalle, who was sitting by the window, shrugged his nose, "Bring me another plate of cheese and wine." He commanded, "And ice cream, what's the ice cream today?" ”

"Chocolate, mint and rum, you can add raisins and biscuits, or olives and honey." Old Andreana replied respectfully.

"......" Chegalle thought for a moment: "Okay," he waved his fat palm, "all plus." ”

Beelzebub, who lived on the top floor with Chegalle, wailed, hid in a blanket and wrapped his head in a feather pillow.

Big Hopkins closed his eyes slightly, he loved the Goldberg Variations, whether it was harpsichord or piano, he had listened to and played it many times, and the two most vivid memories were the last time he escaped from prison and when he killed Sasha's mother, the young and beautiful Catherine.

The beautiful music makes him feel happy, his mind is stable, he is full of interest, and he can concentrate his mind well.

He didn't need to look at the harpsichord to play smoothly, so when the music shifted to lyricism, he tilted his head slightly and looked at his child.

Sasha, who was engrossed in the performance, didn't notice, or rather, it didn't matter, Anthony. Hopkins had been staring at him lovingly since he was a child, at first with a little nervousness, hesitation, confusion, and other indiscernible things, but as Sasha grew, the dark and dangerous parts became less and less in favor of obvious peace of mind and joy.

Dr. Hopkins suddenly caught a smile, a subtle but apparently inhibitable smile, and Sasha seemed to think of something so ridiculous that he couldn't bear it.

"I just thought of Beelzebub." "You know, the school had a piano room and a very nice piano, and then one day our music teacher played a piece in there, and he asked me what it was, and I told him it was Ludwig van Beethoven's Fifth Symphony," Sasha said. ”

"And then," said Sasha, "he said, he finally understood—why Beethoven was deaf." ”

(To be continued)

In fact, I have been hesitating because the development of the story is going to force me to make a decision, which some adults may not find good, but this development is inevitable......

Notice:

A slightly cold finger reached into the sandy mouth, and Hopkins examined each tooth very closely, gently squeezing and shaking them, each one fine, the molars, the molars, the front teeth, and the sharp canines.

"Do something for me," Hopkins said, "son." ”