Chapter 25 twenty four queenie

Hurricanes are rare in Herefordshire, Hertfordshire, and Hampshire.My speaking teacher said the problem was that my mouth pulled into a smile too quickly when I spoke.Miss Baston, you'll never get into high society like this.Tulips, dandelions, buttercups, I got them all wrong.Bottles, cups, and saucers weren't much better.My mouth is too weak to be trained, and Miss Walter is the one to do it. You learn from her, you can't go wrong.Aunt Dorothy told me that if she thought you were a talent, she would bring manners.Head up, shoulders back, heel, instep, toe, heel, instep, toe, I've been walking wrong since birth.As soon as she started teaching me how to walk gracefully, I was stumbling around the classroom like a cripple.

I asked Aunt Dorothy: Why in high society, bath (bath) should be called barth, but fat (fat) should never be called fart (fart)? She smiled, but still warned me: just listen to her, and everything will be fine in the future. And bank (bank) is not barnk, Mansfield (Mansfield) is not Marnsfleld. Oh, Queenie baby, just do what you're told.She will see you marry the prince. At last I could say something in my breath, and blow out the candles, and Miss Walter told me, with tears in her eyes: I hope, Miss Baston, at least I hope there is a reason for saying it that way. Aunt Dorothy swears that that bit of pink on top of the coconut ice doesn't taste the same as the white.She knew everything about a refined upbringing.She serves coconut ice on a china plate, cut into neat cubes, and eats with a fork.She put her feet up and leaned back in what she called the French chair, next to her little poodle, Jumin, combed into a graceful privet fence, and I watched her gracefully put the Spoonful after spoonful of ice is stuffed into the puppy's oval mouth.

She inherited the candy store after her late husband Montgomery died during World War I.He didn't die on the battlefield, but was run over by a coal mine truck while running back to the barracks.Aunt Dorothy was still annoyed that half a pound of molasses taffy disappeared from his pocket when his body arrived at the hospital.She said: Who would do such a thing, Queenie?Would you believe it?All around us are savages. For years, she ran the store independently.It's all by trial, Queenie.That dog made everyone line up for me.Isn't it, my little darling?But getting up from the French chair, just for the sake of some little boy with bleary-eyed eyes and hair like iron shavings, who wanted to chew something for less than half a dime, began to test Aunt Dorothy's patience.Don't get me wrong, Queenie, but Montgomery doesn't want to see me like this either, because I'm his duchess.She had no children of her own to help with, and that was my opportunity to come in.In the big cities, Aunt Dorothy has started calling me Victoria. As a name, it's more elegant.I have my own bedroom, my own wardrobe, and a three-way mirror dresser.As long as the angles of those mirrors are adjusted correctly, hundreds of Queenies will appear, all smiling at their good luck.But not a single Victoria in that group waved to me.Don't worry, baby, we'll tell Queenie to wait until you're better educated.Aunt Dorothy took off her waistcoat the very day I came to live with her in London.Oh, Queenie, I'll let you catch up well.She said, tightening my vest.

Speech and manners lessons twice a week, and a new outfit every Saturday afternoon at Bornhollingworth or Selfridges.At first Aunt Dorothy would accompany me to Oxford Street, leaning on a seat in the store, telling the clerk how much I looked like a member of the woman's family, all the Li family were so elegant and refined.But when the clerk started scratching her head, removing buttons and unstitching seams to find something that fit her size, she stopped.She started shoving money into my hand, only willing to get up from the French chair, put the rest sign, and eat some more coconut ice.

I worked in the store and was woken up every morning by the Jumin, who tried to scare away the paper delivery man with the terrifying growl of the old man clearing his throat.The man was in a hurry to get to work, and glanced at my neat newspaper shelf with the headlines exposed, before he chose the newspaper he wanted to read that day with horror.After that, most of them are children, sweating with two or three copper coins in their palms, wanting some licorice and a hundred grams of candy.As I took the bottle down and shook their beloved treat into the bag, there was a pair of eyes that followed me that morning, loving me more than my own mother.

I noticed him at first because he went to the Post and then picked up the Times.Do you want The Times?I asked him.He looked around as if I'd just yelled at him from afar, making him blush like bacon. Are you using the right words, Queenie?asked Aunt Dorothy. You know, people who read The Times expect to be properly spoken to. The second time, I was ready to face him.Say in my best breath, Mrs. Walter's complacent breath: We have The Times, too, if you want. Like a stone dropped into a well, he sighed and said, "Thank you, I'll take The Times." what does he look likeAunt Dorothy wanted to know.

Tall and thin, not ugly. The next time, the aunt began to observe him. He tipped his hat to me as he left: It's a nice day. This convinced Aunt Dorothy: He's interested in you, Queenie.As soon as you said he blushed, I knew it. A lot of men come into the store trying to make me blush.Am I not caring enough for you?They would probably crack a little joke, blow me a kiss and wink, call me their sweetheart or darling, and suggest that if I go to the movies with them, they'll show me how sweet they are.Aunt Dorothy just shook her head at these courtiers.She told me: A sweet talker is a Cockney.You don't want anything to do with Cockneys either, they're just glib and having fun.No, that one is a gentleman.The Times is never read by idle or incompetent people.

He began to come twice a day: the Times in the morning, and half a pound at five quarters for other things.Aunt Dorothy therefore rose from her French chair early to observe my inappropriate attire.Where's that yellow low-cut cardigan, Queenie?You look like an angel in that dress.She'd check my face for newspaper smudges, spit on a handkerchief, wipe my forehead or the sides of my cheeks.Seeing the way she opened the door to the back room to let me in and winked at me like good luck, someone might think I was about to go on stage. He said: Good morning. I said: The Times? Thanks.the weather is nice today.Or full and cloudy, this season, this kind of weather is a bit harsh.Regardless of his weather forecast, I agree with it.His gabardine coat was always neat, with buttons and belts.His shirt collar was always white, and his hat held up, and his hair always shone like licorice in the brief moments between hello and goodbye.Aunt Dorothy thought the man was the closest she had ever been to a prince since the day Montgomery knelt down on one knee and looked up at her with adoring eyes.

Did he ask you?She teased me like a school buddy. Asked me what? You will soon find out.And it didn't take long for me to find out. A little boy named Sydney played with toy soldiers at the counter.These toy soldiers were all executed by Sidney's firing squad with his two fingers, a squint of one eye and a bang.My job is to tip the dead over. I didn't shoot him.You killed the wrong person! I was asking Sydney if his mother wanted him home for tea when the man came in.It wasn't morning or a quarter past five, and he wasn't wearing a gabardine.Sydney lined up his victims again.

It's time to go home, Sydney.You can come back tomorrow. I'm not done yet. I swept his nasty toy soldiers into the bag and threw in an anise candy.Let's go, let's go. After a sulking Sydney slammed the door and left, the man took a step forward.I wonder if you would like to take a walk in the park with me tomorrow afternoon.I'm sure the weather will be fine tomorrow.He cut to the chase, as if he had practiced for a long time, and wanted to finish in one breath so as not to tie his tongue.I had just opened my mouth in surprise, so it wasn't me who said yes, but Aunt Dorothy shouted from the back room.

OK, then I will pick you up tomorrow.After finishing speaking, he was about to leave, and said: Sorry, I don't think I have formally introduced myself yet.i'm bernard.Bligh. I said: my name is the first time he smiled and interrupted me to say: I know, it's Queenie. We dated for about four months, every Thursday evening and Saturday night.If the weather is nice, he'll go for a walk on Sunday, and I'm starting to hate the nape of his neck, so thin it looks like a heel of a high-heeled shoe, and his ears protrude like round ankles.A blood vessel in his temple squirmed like a worm when he ate.It's only a slight movement, but it's enough to make me put down the sandwich.We would take out sandwiches and eat them by a fountain in a park or under a tree.He had a way of wringing his face, as if trying to get the itchy hair off his nose.It was like that when he first met Aunt Dorothy.I have to ask her: Is this normal? And she just said: I didn't see it, baby. I don't know how she couldn't see it.It made him look so weird.And he is also very careful about small change.He pays for a pot of tea and two pieces of fruitcake at the Lyon shopping complex, checking each coin, lining it up on the dining table, counting it in his hand, and counting it again to make sure it's right.The waitress just stood looking at him as if he were an imbecile.It's the same in the movie theater, let others wait for him to rummage in his trouser pockets, trembling to hear the change, counting his little half and three cents.Someone from the back of the line complained that he and his wife were going to miss the opening song. But Aunt Dorothy said he was a gentleman.Most of the time when we were together at night, my aunt explained to me why he was a gentleman.Did he open the door for me?Only gentlemen will open doors for ladies.He walked on the outside of me when we were on the road.Aunt Dorothy told me: so you don't get splashed by the carriage. Auntie, who would be splashed by a carriage these days? Well, then the car, or the tram.And don't be glib. If I stood up, he stood up too, and didn't sit down until I sat down.For two months, he just shook my hand when we said goodbye.When he finally had the guts to kiss me, he pursed his lips so tight it felt like he was kissing a chick on the mouth. Auntie, he doesn't talk much. Well, you don't want to be a noisy person either. But, well, he lived in Earl Lane with his father, he was a teller at the Lowy Bank, and he liked the fresh air.But four months later, he must have more things to let me know, right? He spoke more often to Aunt Dorothy.When he came for tea for the first time, my aunt sat upright in a French chair and put on a waistcoat, but it didn't do much. The wishful red lips were painted far thicker than his own, and the gray hair was an inch long. Roots, giving the impression of other blackened hair just waiting to land.The three of us listened to the dog licking his pussy while Bernard told his aunt aloud how his great-great-grandfather changed the family name from Bright to Bligh in the hope of reversing a string of bad luck. Aunt asked: Is it effective?He laughed heartily.I just sit and open my mouth.The topics he talked to me have never been so interesting.The aunt asked him: Do you think war will break out?He spoke eloquently for ten minutes, expressing his view that, unfortunately, war was inevitable. My aunt assured me: honey, he will be shy in front of you, as he should be.You are really lucky.This man is reliable, and you will be safe and secure with him. So I asked her: Do you think we're in love? Of course you are in love.she told me. Is love just like this? Otherwise, what do you think? I've seen girls in love.They look at the world with dreamy eyes, their feet are fluttering and unsteady, they pick daisies most of the day, and sigh: He loves me, he doesn't love me, he loves me.While dancing, their lovers hugged them so close that there was no room for a piece of paper between them.And when they kissed, it was obsession that made their legs weak, and joy that made them taste the nectar.Girls in love think that their lover is shaped by God himself. I went to the vanity mirror to see what the other Queenies thought it was like to be in a relationship with Bernard.not so good.In response, the corners of their mouths drooped a little. Bernard, I'm still enjoying these little walks, but I don't think we should see each other again.I said from a park bench as the drizzle was trickling down on his coat.Like a baby who has just been spanked but doesn't know it will hurt, things happen so slowly.His face went from expressionless to puzzled, and then straight to pain.I always thought Bernard wasn't obsessed with feelings, but he did.Unmistakable, trembling lips, teary eyes.He was about to cry.It was his most inspiring act. No, Queenie, please don't say that.I already have a very fond feeling for you.Our walks mean a lot to me. I didn't know you could be so upset.I thought only women get emotional and men are too practical to care about such stupid things. Queenie, I really like you very much.I know I'm older than you and maybe not as lively as you.But for months he stopped and looked away.There it was again, the nape of his neck. Bernard, it was I who said again, but he turned back and took my hand in his. Please, please stop talking.Just give me one more chance.Please, please, Queenie, he's crying, just one tear, and still crying.I was hoping to convince you to get engaged to me. Oh shit, I thought, that's not what you're thinking when your Quarry proposes to you.Well, forget it.See you next Thursday, Bernard.I just said this.He also left. We walked along the river to Big Ben.It was late when Bernard and I reached the candy house.I couldn't open the door and thought it was just damp and stuck. It's been raining a lot lately.The door opened an inch, but couldn't move.There is something behind the door.Bernard shouldered it and I called Aunt Dorothy.When I was about to yell again, Bernard said: She's on the floor behind the door. I also teased him: there's such a rhyme to it, Bernard, you're a poet.Then I suddenly understood what he said. Auntie was paralyzed on the floor, clutching the rest sign tightly on her chest.I thought as long as I could put her back in the French chair and get back to her normal position she would be fine. I said: Auntie, get up?Bernard knelt beside her, felt for a pulse, and pressed his cheek to her nose. what you do?I asked him, but got no answer.It was only then that I noticed that Jumin's rear paws protruded from her body like a chicken's wishbone.Bernard jumped away, and I yelled at my aunt: "Auntie, you've run over the dog!" I didn't quite know what was going on at the time.But Bernard pulled me away from my aunt, took me into the back room, sat me in a French chair, and said two or three more times: Queenie, are you listening to me?Just stay here.It's fine.Just sit here until I come back.Through the window pane I could see him putting a blanket over Auntie by the door, leaving the store, and entering with the greengrocer next door, Mr. Green.I knew there were others who came in too, whispering and shaking their heads while Bernard tried to get me some spoiled sweet tea. What's up with her? An ambulance is coming soon. is she okay?What about the dog?Are you going to bring it here?But when they came, it would bark and bark. Mr. Green was kind enough to take the dog away.He said, then sat next to me and held my hand again. Aunt Dorothy is having a heart attack.They told me at the hospital she died instantly, and honestly, yes, she wouldn't have known she crushed the poor puppy when she fell.She just got up from the French chair, put up the rest sign, and ate some more damn coconut ice. During the funeral, her father and aunt's four brothers carried her into the coffin, and even the butchers, who were heavy-backed and fat-handed, were panting and sweating profusely.They had to convince Bernard to join.Without saying a word, Bernard took a step forward and lifted one end of the coffin on the thin shoulders of a bank clerk.We sang "Live with Me" accompanied by their wheezing, carrying Auntie up the aisle of the church.Aunt Dorothy laughed when she knew it.She would tell everyone that her Montgomery would have no problem lifting her because she was his Duchess. Mother's mourning dress appears to be the same one worn the last time King Ted or his late mother passed away.She put her hand on my arm, still clutching the wet, tear-stained handkerchief, and said: Don't worry, Queenie.You can go home now.There are many things you can do on the farm.I'm not sure I said it, because the speech class teacher must be feeling hopeless.But I know I'm thinking in my heart: Mother, don't think about it!You can't take me back.I looked over to Bernard, who was smoking with his father and a group of people. No, I told her, Mother, I have good news for you.I'm getting married, I'm going to marry Bernard.Bligh.