Chapter 17 seventeen

About five years after this incident, I decided to go to Paris for a while.I'm so tired of London; doing almost the same thing every day bores me like hell.My friends lived the same old, routine lives that no longer aroused my curiosity.Sometimes when we meet, I know what they are going to say before they speak.Even their love affairs are boring and old-fashioned.We people are like a tram running back and forth from the starting station to the final station, and even the number of passengers can be estimated to be close to ten.Life is arranged too orderly.I think it's just horrific.I got rid of my small house, sold the few pieces of furniture I had, and decided to start another life.

Before leaving, I went to Mrs. Strickland's to say good-bye.I haven't seen her for many days, and I found that she has changed a lot. Not only has she become older, thinner, and has more wrinkles than before, but even her personality has changed.Her business prospered, and she now opened an office in Chancery Street.She didn't type much herself, and spent her time proofreading the typescripts of the four female typists she employed.She tried her best to type the manuscript very carefully, using blue and red tapes in many places, and binding the typed manuscript with various light-colored rough paper, which at first glance looks like corrugated silk.She is famous for her neat and precise manuscripts, and her business is not small.But even so, she thinks that she has lost her dignity in making a living, and she always feels a little bit embarrassed.When talking to others, she never forgot to confess her noble origin to the other party, and she frequently mentioned some people she knew to let you know that her social status has not been lowered at all.She was ashamed to talk about her courage and insight in the typing industry, but she always beamed when she mentioned that she would have dinner with a royal counsel who lived in South Kensington the next night.She would love to tell you about her son's studies at Cambridge; she always smiled smugly when she told how her daughter, who was just entering the world, was overwhelmed by balls.I feel like I asked a stupid question while chatting with her.

Does she want to do something in this typing office you opened? Oh no, I won't let her do it, replied Mrs. Strickland, she is very pretty, and I think she will make a good marriage. That will help you a lot, I should have thought of that. It was suggested that she be put on stage, but of course I would not agree.I know all the famous dramatists, and if I open my mouth, I can give her a part in the play, but I don't want her to mix with the motley crew. Mrs. Strickland's narcissistic attitude gave me a chill. Have you heard anything from your husband? No, heard nothing.Maybe he was dead.

I might meet him in Paris.If I know something about him, do you want me to tell you. She hesitated for a moment. If his life is really poor, I am still ready to help him.I will send you a sum of money, and when he needs it, you can give him little by little. But I knew that it was not out of kindness that she promised to do it.It is not true that misfortune ennobles man; what makes men noble sometimes is happiness, and misfortune, in most cases, only makes men narrow-minded and vengeful.