The little hero

Mrs. M was tall, soft and slender, but a little slender. She seems to have no laws, while slow, gentle, even a bit serious, sometimes like a little child agile, and at the same time, her gestures and reveal some timid deferential, a seems to be afraid of have no alternative, but she doesn't beg anyone for help, nor shelter.

I have already said that the unlaudable scheme of the honey-toned blonde shamed me, stabbed me in the heart, and caused me great pain. But there was another reason, secret, strange, absurd, which I hid and shivered over like a miser. Even when I am alone, when my disturbed mind thinks of it, hidden in dark, hidden corners, out of sight of the examining, mocking eyes of any blue-eyed swindler, the very thought of it makes me embarrassed, ashamed, frightened, and almost breathless. In short, I fell in love, which is to say, let's assume I'm talking nonsense, because it's impossible. But of all the faces around me. Why is it that only one face catches my attention? Why was it that my eyes were so fond of following women, in spite of the fact that I did not look at them at all, and did not know them at all? This happened most on a rainy night, when everyone was in the room, and I hid myself somewhere in the corner of the hall, looking about aimlessly, unable to find anything else to do, because few people spoke to me, except a few ladies who made fun of me. I feel so lonely on such nights that I can't bear it. I scrutinized the people around me and listened in on their conversations, but often I could not understand a word. Is at this time, calm eyes, gentle smile, and m (because it is her beautiful face, god knows why, have always been my attention, fascinated me, and I am a strange impression, is indelible, although it is unclear, but it's an incredibly sweet honey. I can't seem to leave her for hours at a time. How strange it was to know that I had memorized every gesture, every movement, and listened carefully to every vibration of her silvery but slightly subdued voice! From all my observations, in addition to the shy, sweet impression, there was a strange curiosity, as if I were digging up some secret.

What pains me most is when people laugh at me in front of Mrs. M. These taunts and funny jokes, in my opinion, are even insults to me. Sometimes, when everyone laughed about me, and even Mrs. M involuntarily joined in, I felt so desperate and miserable that I wrenched myself from my oppressor and ran upstairs, where I spent the rest of the day hiding, afraid to show my face in the hall. But even I do not yet understand my shame and excitement. This process happened to me, completely unconsciously. I had hardly spoken to Mrs. M, and naturally I dared not speak to her. But one evening, after the day had passed that I could not bear, I fell behind the others in my walk. I was so tired that I took a shortcut home through the garden. In the secluded avenue, I found Mrs. M sitting on a bench. It was as if she had chosen such a secluded spot to sit alone. She dropped her head on her chest and unconsciously rubbed a handkerchief between her hands. She was so absorbed in thought that she did not notice me approaching her.

When she spotted me, she quickly got up from her stool and turned her head. I saw her hurriedly wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. She was crying. After drying her eyes, she smiled at me and walked home with me. I can't remember what we talked about now. But every now and then she kept me away on various pretence: now to fetch her a flower, now to see who was riding in the other avenue. As soon as I was gone, she put her handkerchief to her eyes again, and wiped away those disobedient tears, which would not leave her, and which kept rising again and again in her heart, and then kept flowing out of her poor eyes. The frequency with which she sent me away made me see that I was obviously very bad for her, and that she was aware herself that I saw everything, but that she could no longer control herself. This made me feel all the more sorry for her. At this moment, I almost hate myself, I curse their bungling inefficiency, the mind is not flexible, don't know how to skillfully fell behind her, don't let her know that I found her pain, but side by side with her together, with a melancholy surprise, even panic mood, completely panic, not looking for a word, in order to maintain our hard to continue the conversation.

I was so taken aback by this encounter that I kept my eyes on Mrs. M all evening without taking them away, with greedy curiosity. But twice she caught me watching her, confounded me, and the second time she gave me a little smile. It was the only time she smiled all evening. She was very pale now, and the gloom had not gone from her face. She had been talking in a low voice with an elderly lady. She was a vicious, nagging old woman, disliked by all for her privacies and gossip, and feared by all, so that every one had to do whatever it took to please her, whether you liked it or not...

Around ten o 'clock Mrs. M's husband arrived by car. Up to now I had been watching Madame so intently that I never took my eyes off her face. And now, suddenly, my husband came in, and I noticed that she trembled all over, and that her face, which was already very pale, had suddenly turned grayer than a handkerchief. It was so obvious that everyone else noticed it. Standing on the side, listening to fragments of conversation, I guessed that poor Mrs M was in a bad way. Some say that her husband is very black and jealous, but not out of love, but because of face. First of all, he is a European who is fascinated by European civilization, a modernist figure who has certain new ideas and flaunts them. In appearance, he was a tall, dark-haired, and exceptionally strong gentleman. With his European-style sideburns, his rosy, triumphant face, and his upper and lower rows of teeth, white as sugar, his gentlemanly manner was impeccable. People call him Cong Ming Ren. In other circles, this is what is said of a special class of people who are fattened up by others, who do nothing and will not do anything at all, whose heart has been reduced to a fat piece of flesh by long periods of indolence and idleness. From time to time, you hear the bizarre theory that they have nothing to do because complex circumstances are working against them, "killing their talent," so it's "sad" to watch them. It was their motd're, it was their code and their slogan, it was the tune of my well-fed, well-fed people all the time, and it was beginning to get tiresome, because it was notorious hypocrisy and empty talk. However, some of these could not find things to do (in fact) they never spoke to clown is hope people think, their heart was not fat drip oil, not a piece of fat, on the contrary, generally speaking, their heart is have something deep, carved,, but what is, even the first-class surgeon, don't know, That's a polite way of putting it, of course. These gentlemen have risen to prominence in the world because they have devoted all their power to rough derision, to short-tempered scolding, to unrestrained exaltation. They have nothing to do but find and constantly blame the weaknesses and mistakes of others. As they have the same gentle temper as oysters, it is not difficult for them to be quite discreet in their relations with people under such insurance measures. They were very smug about it. They almost believe, for example, that almost the whole world has to do their work and pay their rent for them, that the whole world is like an oyster in their hands, and that everyone except them is a fool, and that everyone is like an orange or a sponge, and they can extract the juice whenever they want it. They are the masters of all things, the masters of all things. The whole praiseworthy order has arisen because of the existence of men of such intelligence and character. While they are extremely proud, they can't bear to be called flawed. They were like the usual kind of swindlers, natural Darduffers and Falstaffs, and they even went so far as to believe that it was necessary to cheat, that is to say, to cheat in order to survive.