The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 944: In the Workhouse
The workhouse, or the workhouse (since the new Poor Law was introduced, which abolished all financial support for the working people, the workhouse was also called the "workhouse"), was mostly the "structure" in front of Roland.

Surrounded by box-like high-rise buildings, the poor people who "need help" are trapped like livestock.

The most common arguments on the market are:

'The poor need to be tortured.'

It's very simple.

If a poor person has a hard or even unbearable life here, he will definitely try his best to find a paid job for himself: he will pray to the society to give him a job and will never give up on himself - as long as they live here miserably enough.

The workhouse was such a place.

The living conditions were terrible and the labor was heavy, which kept away the most vicious people.

And those who were ordered to work (without any pay, or occasionally with a penny or two by miracle) were mostly physically disabled (perhaps with their brains), young children, and sick women - their bodies belonged to the directors and supervisors here, and their souls belonged to the faith of the directors and supervisors.

Usually the father of all things.

Before today, Kingsley had heard many stories about the workhouse: such as the kind but overly compassionate director and the poor girl who fell in love with him, the vicious discipline and a clueless murder, or the tolerant administrator, or the evil and cruel "country within a country" involving politics and humanity.

No matter what position he takes or what story he tells, Kingsley seems to be able to see the world through pulp paper.

But the real life is much heavier than he imagined.

——It is equivalent to putting a weight on that thin piece of newspaper.

A weight that paper cannot bear.

“Why is it dark grey?”

Kingsley raised his palm to his brow and looked up.

The tower-like dilapidated building is crumbling, and the exterior walls are unlike those in the West District - even the poor people in the East District like to paint the outside of their houses with colorful paints or hang some accessories - there is nothing here, just bare, gray walls.

"They don't need it."

Roland tapped his cane and walked towards the gatehouse.

The old man who received them had two eyebrows as long as a beard and a foul smell in his mouth.

"Show us the child."

Roland got straight to the point.

soon.

The manager of this free prison came trotting over.

He was wearing a 'dress' that looked particularly gorgeous even in the West End, with a golden pocket watch chain and silver buttons on both sides of his boots shining.

"Good day, gentlemen. You may call me Richard, or Belloc, or Old J. Where are you from? Do you want me to arrange for someone to look after your carriage?"

Kingsley showed little interest.

"…Show us the baby. I need a manservant."

He didn't plan to hire someone to take care of him (either a butler or a maid) as Roland said. He could take care of his life by himself - the "messy" room in Halida's eyes was in line with Kingsley's living habits: if he could find what he wanted quickly every time, why would he hire someone to disturb his life?

"Of course! We have children! There are so many children! Please come in! Quick! Go and inform the children! Let them get ready!"

Kingsley did not like the man's flattery.

Don't like his fake smile either.

"What do you want? No, no, sir, I mean--there are many poor people here--who wouldn't want someone to--"

The sound of flies flapping wings gradually faded away from Kingsley.

He followed Roland and Richard, subconsciously focusing on the "square": the men and women tamping the wheels on the bare ground: most of them had defects that could be seen at a glance, such as missing an arm or a leg.

The women were pale, some even had no hair, and after shaving their hair they had less decent short hair than the men. They exposed their arms and bellies, and held small hammers, smashing things around.

The men didn't even look at it.

Their expressions were uniformly indifferent, like wax figures melting in the scorching sun.

Ding. Dong.

Ding.

thump.

The knocking sound was transmitted to the cochlea.

They had no clothes to cover their shame.

"Feel sorry."

Kingsley interrupted the conversation between Richard and Roland and pointed at the group of wax figures: "Where are their clothes?"

Richard hesitated for a moment, looked at Roland, and when he saw that the 'leader' didn't say anything, he whispered to Kingsley:

"It's summer, sir."

He said something as a matter of course in a matter-of-fact tone - so, will they have clothes to wear in winter?
Kingsley wanted to ask this, but was afraid of getting another answer.

"These are all people with disabilities, sir." In just a few words, Richard figured out the identities and personalities of the two nobles - the handsome Golden Eyes was an 'old hand' who had seen big scenes.

The long face behind him looked like one that had never seen the world.

All nobles behave like this.

While sighing for the hard life of the grape farmers, he silently shook the red wine.

"Disabled...how long will they work?" Kingsley certainly knew the arguments against the poor in the market, and just asked how long they would work.

"how long?"

Richard looked at him and blinked a few times, unable to react: "How long? You mean, how long have they been here?"

“How long do they have to work each day?”

"Oh, oh, of course, they work for a short time, eighteen hours a day." Richard gestured: "We leave enough time for them to rest. These lazy guys still have time to play poker, sing songs, etc..."

Eighteen hours?
Kingsley frowned.

The workers in the factory wouldn't work that long... Maybe? Frankly speaking, he didn't know the workers, he just knew they probably had to get up before dawn...

But there is always salary?

"I think they should have been taught a lesson."

With just a brief glance, Kingsley began to think that the managers here were too harsh on those with physical disabilities.

The Queen's decree was intended to relieve the poor and share the burden of fiscal expenditure in a better way than by allowing these people to be abused.

Otherwise, why not send them to the battlefield?

"Come in, gentlemen."

Richard first led Roland and Kingsley to the first building: the one with the largest door. The children had heard the good news and had been ready in the restaurant, waiting for a lucky opportunity.

Kingsley said nothing as he stepped into this huge space paved with marble... marble?

How much did this building cost?

popping.

Richard clapped his hands twice.

The crisp sound made all the children sitting on the long benches stand up quickly and bow to Roland and Kingsley.

Three or four years old, seven or eight years old, all the way to those who look fifteen or sixteen and are about to become adults - the children in the restaurant are big and small, all wearing the same style of uniforms.

Their expressions are different from those of the wax figures repairing wheels on the land outside.

Kingsley saw hope in the faces of these children.

(End of this chapter)