The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 409 Ch.408 Night Talk and Touch

Then Yam paid two pennies extra—extra for the bartender.

Glass bottles are not allowed to be taken away.

But old Collins insisted on taking it away.

He insisted.

and so…

Before Roland was beaten, he laughed with Rose all the way - while walking, he glanced at Collins who was chatting with Yam with a smile on his face, and at his fat finger stuffed in a glass bottle and slung behind his back like a tail.

In the night, four people walked under the dim lights and bypassed the reflective puddles.

Like a family that has never been apart.

Then, when they returned to their residence, Roland was twisted on the ear by Yam - it took a lot of effort to break the glass bottle, and she had to make sure that the broken glass would not cut Mr. Collins' fingers.

Meanwhile, I had to do this right away, find the cloth and the hammer, before the big man suddenly said something like 'I'm a man' or 'I can do it myself' and then swung his arm and smashed the glass bottle on the door frame.

Let the debris splatter everywhere.

"I haven't decided whether to leave yet, Roland."

After making the bed, Yam suddenly said this.

When it came time to leave, she chickened out.

Because she had the same concerns as old Collins, but slightly different concerns.

London, the big city.

What can she do there?
'We have a perfume shop and a herbal medicine shop.'

Yes, but she didn't know how to do anything, so she inevitably became a burden that couldn't be thrown away. Ever since she brought Roland home, she knew all too well how much trouble this "burden" would cause to the people around her.

Roland has grown up.

He is a man.

And I am old.

She will become an invisible burden who has done great favors, cannot be bad-mouthed, and has the upper hand in morality.

James Jones wanted to leave with Roland, immediately.

But she was a little hesitant.

Because Roland is at the right age to date girls, just like Vansittart today.

He should be busy every day, drinking and having fun with others, spending money on hunting dogs, cigarettes and expensive watches.

It's time to go to the pub and curse, show off your chest, and tell dirty jokes.

You should chat with those important people, dress neatly, and attend various banquets.

With his looks, there will definitely be people who love him. In fact, he can live a better life than anyone else.

He gradually gained a foothold in London, and his unbearable past disappeared like night fog over time.

He should shine in the sun.

But once James Jones, once he appeared.

Then, someone should ask.

'Who is this woman?'

'Oh, she looked after you in the workhouse?'

'So you were born in a workhouse?'

'You came out of the workhouse?'

'What a pity.'

Yam Jones knew that Roland would never hide his origins.

At the same time, she had also slightly lifted a corner of the place where flowers were blooming, and smelled a hint of the decadence and debauchery there. Of course, she knew how cruel human nature was in poverty and how vicious it was in wealth.

Therefore, her arrival would not bring any good to Roland, but would add burden to him——

She was more concerned about whether this would darken the future of an outstanding young man with great promise than the financial burden.

This was not a quarrel, there was no mediator.

In the room rented by Yam, the three people who came from afar looked at each other.

Frankly speaking, compared with the relationship between Yam and Roland, old Collins himself knew that he was not close enough to this lady, and some advice could not come out of his mouth.

In the end, he just sighed, smoked a cigarette with the half-burned candle, and staggered back to the room that Yam had prepared for him.

"Go to bed early, Roland. Maybe we can think of other solutions."

He left the cramped living room, leaving the girl and nephew, who had changed into casual clothes.

"What on earth is your 'mom' thinking?"

Rose was wearing a men's shirt, but she didn't wear proper trousers. Instead, the shirt was like a skirt, not covering her waist and thighs. In the candlelight, it vaguely concealed a secret that could be pried into. So she blushed a little.

It might be hot, after all, winter is almost over.

"…Yam, probably, is worried about my reputation."

Rose couldn't understand it at all: "With such a good opportunity, to be with you and to enjoy life in London - I don't understand why she hesitated. If it were me, I would not even want the things in this house and leave with you overnight."

She was holding a cold French fry in her mouth for a midnight snack. Her wet short hair was curled to the sides, revealing her slightly upturned ears.

It's like a green-eyed elf that always comes to visit at night.

Roland held his chin and responded incoherently, trying to figure out how to get Yam to sit in the carriage obediently - because the room was too dark, and the two of them were sitting at the same table, guarding the same overtime fire, with their faces facing each other, neither could avoid the other.

So, Rose was a little bored.

She didn't say anything, but leaned back very boldly, her movements as slow as a creeping cat, and raised her soft limbs, the one that was hot from being looked at, on the table at an amazing angle... to show off.

The more slender whitefish allowed her to land silently.

Although its smaller shape makes it less patient, it is more agile.

A layer of flaming life was sprinkled on the straight line, with a faint golden hue.

She was softer and more delicate than the girl in the circus who could fold herself into a box, and the flickering light moved, and her bewildered shyness and innocence was mixed with a temptation that was enough to pollute her innocence.

Beg for men's temptation with tongue, teeth and spring.

This is something that comes from the bones and is an innate instinct.

Her brain told her to sit still.

Her instinct told her that it was time.

The cat licked its lips, twisted its waist, and the white thing disappeared under the table before I could see it enough.

She quickly bent up and held her face like the person opposite her.

"Are you going to touch me with it, Roland?"

The emerald gemstones were spinning in her eye sockets. This clever and nimble wildcat would not be easily caught: "There were girls in the gang who talked about this... They said that many men like this."

Both of them knew what "this thing" was.

The creaking wooden chair rocked, just like she was rocking someone's heartstrings.

If you want to test the strength of a glass, never smash it again and again.

For example, the man in front of her who had strange blood and was in his prime, or the chair under her butt that had not been used for a long time.

——Crack.

The girl reacted quickly, as agile and sharp as a cat. She turned over on her stomach and fell to all fours before the wooden chair broke, almost falling directly onto the hard mud ground.

But after a click.

The turbid, salty and fishy smell suddenly cleared up.

The old wooden chair was broken into several pieces, like the bones of Mince-Chloe.

Roland wanted to laugh but didn't dare to.

"…Tomorrow I'll say you broke it."

Rose grumbled, tugging at her oversized shirt, looking discontented.

She finally managed to grasp a sense of wonder, but was unable to find it again because of the broken chair.

"Rose."

Roland suddenly stood up and turned to leave.

"Wait for me at home."

"Roland?"

"I've got an idea." He walked straight to the door, took off his coat and put it on, hung up his cloak, picked up his cane and hat, and said, "Wait for me at home, about half an hour - don't sleep, understand?"

"Oh…"

"And your shirt buttons."

Rose looked down.

The collar is tight.

“I didn’t say that.”

Bang.

A shirt can't be made into a skirt, it's not that strong...

It also makes more sense than a skirt.

(End of this chapter)