Chapter 609 Ch608 Bellos and Theresa

Chapter 609 Ch.608 Belos and Teresa

Mr. Taylor, who was called 'Old' Taylor, was not that old.

At least he thinks he's not old at all.

He eats two large pieces of beef, three bowls of soup, fried fish and prune cakes, and an omelette for one meal - he can work all day and night like a machine, and his bones are stronger than those of a sixteen-year-old boy. The little sentry who stands guard every morning is even tougher.

He is middle-aged at best.

Not old yet.

He thought about the trivial matters of business, got on the carriage, cursed the local government for the road that could never be repaired, and staggered back to the mansion.

There are all kinds of people on the pier.

The porter, who was as dark as pig liver, and the woman who was yellow and skinny, led the way and held a bunch of children of her own. Brown curly-haired men in robes were selling clay bowls from bamboo baskets on their carts. Fair-skinned gentlemen wearing wigs and tied legs were carrying wine bottles or cigarettes in groups, chatting at the end of the alley, pointing from time to time. Pointing, giving a short laugh.

Someone was playing poker around the barrel on the street, and there were a lot of coins piled on the plate on the ground.

The newsboys crossed the dirt road, and the rickshaw drivers who came and went cursed their parents in the most vicious words - the children were even more arrogant. They only cursed the rickshaw driver's wife, saying that half the men in Porto Porti had been there.

The crow of roosters, the clatter of chopping fish tails, the sound of axles, and the sounds of curses.

The mud was mixed with fish bones, phlegm, snot, used up socks from prostitutes, brass buttons, shoelaces, excrement, stones and torn poker corners.

This man-made swamp is like a whirlpool that is never picky about food. Only the slimmest and smoothest legs can be pulled out with help from others.

Bellows Taylor held his chin and watched them quietly through the glass as they moved away.

The carriage will leave the port and head towards the inner ring of Porti - a winterier place, a place where people's skin is fairer.

The houses on both sides of the road have no shutters, bricks and mud are in a mess, and the doors are crooked.

There were torn red cloths hanging at the door of some houses, which meant that they were engaged in some kind of undignified and insane job.

Many women were sitting at the door wearing sheets, spreading their legs and rubbing the mud from their ankles.

Her man was leaning against the doorframe, smoking.

Others were hung with black cloth, and foul-smelling black smoke seeped from the cracks in the unsecured doors. Beatings and screams of pain were often heard from such a house, and young men with sly eyebrows squatted at the door, drinking unlabeled wine and singing long, low tunes of sailors.

‘Jenny is a beautiful mare. ’

'But I never ride her. ’

'I have a whip to crack -'

‘Bah! Snap! Snap! ’

‘Bah! ’

'Kevin has a pair of arms of different lengths. ’

'They call him the clock, oh, your punctual lords. ’

'I click-click with his daughter every day! ’

Some laughed, some shouted.

Houses are getting denser and denser.

These low shacks, which are neither beautiful nor practical, are as scattered and chaotic as the "toy city" his Randolph built out of horse manure paper.

And the people living here are like houses, dry and cracked without any oil or water.

Bellows ignored the hell along the road and urged the driver to drive faster to heaven.

As the number of silver crosses gradually increased, the vomiting stench in the nostrils seemed to be blocked from that boundary. A cloying aroma wafted out of the window of the perfume shop.

Belos stopped the carriage, tapped his cane, and went inside to buy two bottles of the most expensive one, and one bottle of moderate quality.

"You are so kind to Madam."

The Taylor family's coachman was not young, not much different from Bellows in age.

"When she comes out of the house, I'm afraid there will be no such thing as 'perfume' in the world," Bellows snorted, mentioning his wife, but still couldn't help smiling: "Tell me, how do they smell so much with their noses?" Different flavor?”

He weighed the perfume bottles in his hands and chatted with the coachman.

"Yes, sir, a woman's nose is sharper than a hound's. I just went there once...and she smelled it out."

The coachman laughed at himself to please his master, imitating his wife's shrill screams:

"'You bastard! A heartless person! All the money you earn all day long goes to those stinky meats that have been silted up for a long time' - sir, like a poodle that roars like a lion..."

The strange noise of the coachman amused Belos.

He laughed while 'teaching' his servant.

"How can you go home unclean?" he said.

"I swear, sir, I wiped myself and walked around the pier." At this point, the coachman couldn't help but sigh: "It's a pity that I forgot the wet sock in my pocket..."

Bellows burst into laughter.

"That has nothing to do with the nose! You old thing!"

The coachman also laughed: "...she even smelled it, sir, oops, I can't say any more..."

A coachman will please his master.

Whether it’s your own story, or a dirty story about yourself and your wife—whether it’s true, heard, or made up, no matter who the owner of the story is.

Bellows knew this, but there was nothing wrong with a puppet pulling strings to please its master.

"Teresa made some nut rolls to take back to your wife and kids."

"Mr. Taylor..."

The coachman sniffed with emotion.

At least the loud gasp could be heard in the carriage.

Bellows smiled knowingly and leaned back against the cushions.

…………

…

Ms. Teresa can be called "Ms." because of her special status - she was Bellows Taylor's maid when he was young and before he became famous, ironing his clothes and taking care of his daily life.

No one dares to disrespect her.

Although her face was no longer as attractive as when she was young, her voice, which was left with little delicateness, had been damaged by the sea breeze and age and became increasingly hoarse.

Bellows Taylor still liked her.

"Get him a nut roll."

Bellows Taylor commanded Theresa, who in turn commanded the other maids.

The master and servant went inside.

"I bought you a bottle of perfume." Bellows looked ahead nonchalantly.

Teresa frowned: "...Mr."

"The dance is like a cesspit filled with dung balls. Men, women, children, their scents are mixed together, and some people can actually eat - to this day, my nose is still uncomfortable..."

"Sir," Teresa is a little younger than Bellows. Even if there are fine wrinkles when she curls her lips, she can still see the grace of her youth from her aging face, "How can a servant meet a real lady?" High or low?”

"I think they are not as good as you." Belos shrugged: "They can't wipe my butt."

Teresa turned her head quietly: "...Mr."

Belos laughed a few times and looked at the maid with a serious face: "Isn't it funny at all?"

"You must be careful to regulate your words and actions to avoid being imitated by the young master." Teresa warned her incoherent master: "Randolph is at this age..."

"He should have been like this a long time ago," Bellows waved his big hand nonchalantly, bypassing the maid who was about to step forward to serve, and threw his cane into Theresa's arms: "The children of the Taylor family are not like this. He If you dare to talk to me like a little girl trapped in a corset, I will hang you up."

"I'm afraid Madam will not agree."

"She agreed when I went to your room."

Teresa:…

The irritated maid had no choice but to chase after him.