Chapter 481:

In the corridor of power this is old: no life, no help.
Burgess was in poor health and his running quickly became a walk. Walking steadily along the dark paneled corridor, his feet were almost silent on the trampled carpet.
He didn't know what to do. Obviously, he was blamed for failing to plan for all possible events, but he believed he could justify his escape. He will give them everything they need as compensation for his lack of vision. Ears, feet; he has no other choice but flesh and blood.
But he must plan his defense carefully, because they hate wrong logic. Putting it in front of them with a half-determined excuse is more worthy of his life.
There is a chill behind him. He knows what it is. Hell followed him along these quiet corridors, and even entered the belly of democracy. However, as long as he doesn't turn around, he can survive: as long as his eyes are on the floor or his thumbless hand, it won't hurt him. That was the first lesson in dealing with the gap.
There is frost in the air. Burgess' breathing is visible before his eyes, and his head aches from the cold. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely to his followers.
His voice was softer than he expected.
"this is not your fault."
"No," Burgess said confidently in a reconciled tone. "This is a mistake, I regret it. I ignored Kindman."
Hell said: "That was a mistake. We all made them." "Still, in a hundred years, we will try again. Democracy is still a new cult: it has not lost its superficial charm. We Will give it another century, and then have their best." "Yes."
"but you-"
"I know."
"Gregory, you have no power."
"No."
"This is not the end of the world. Look at me."
"If you don't mind, not yet."
Burgess kept walking, step by step. Stay calm and stay rational.
"Look at me," grumbled.
"From now on, sir."
"I just want you to look at me. Just a little respect."
"I will. I will, really. Later."
The corridor is divided here. Burgess took the left fork. He thought that symbolism might please. That is a dead end.
Burgess was still standing facing the wall. The cold air was in his bone marrow, and the stump of his thumb was indeed beating for him. He took off his gloves and sucked hard.
"Look at me. Turn around and look at me," said the polite voice.
What is he going to do now? It is best to go out of the corridor and find another way. He just needs to walk around in circles until he leaves him for his followers to demonstrate his views well enough. When he was standing, juggling the other available options, his neck hurt a little.
"Look at me," the voice said again.
His throat was tightened. Strangely, his head was grinding, and there was a bone-piercing sound. It felt like a knife stuck at the bottom of his skull.
"Look at me," Hell said for the last time, and Burgess turned his head.
Not his body. The one standing on the dead wall facing the dead end.
But his head bends on the elongated shaft, ignoring the cause and anatomy. Burgess shrank his esophagus like a rope, twisted his vertebrae into powder, and turned the cartilage into a fibrous paste before staying. His eyes were shining, his ears suddenly opened, he was dead, looking at the sunny, unforgotten face.
Hell said: "I told you to look at me." Hell walked in pain, and let him stand there. This is a good paradox, allowing the Democrats to find a chance to enter the Palace of Westminster. .
She thought, my God, it's impossible to live. Day after day, bored, bored, helpless. She prayed to my Christ, let me go out, set me free, crucify me if necessary, but free me from pain. In order to replace his euthanasia, she removed a blade from the razor. One day in late March was very bored, locked herself in the bathroom, and her wrist slipped a little.
Through the movement of her ears, she faintly heard outside the bathroom door.
"Are you there, dear?"
"Go away," she thought to herself.
"I'll be back early, dear. Traffic is bad."
"Please go away."
The effort of trying to speak made her slip from the toilet seat to the white tiled floor, where the blood was already cooling.
"darling?"
"go."
"darling."
"far."
"Are you okay?"
Now he is ringing at the door, rat. Did he not realize that she can't open it, won't open it? "Answer me, Jackie."
She chanted. She could not stop herself. The pain was not as severe as she expected, but there was an ugly feeling, as if she had been kicked on the head. However, he couldn't catch up with her in time, not now. Even if he broke the door.
He broke the door.
She looked at him with a strong death anger, and could cut it into thin slices.
"It's too late," she thought she said.
but it is not the truth.
She thought, my goodness, this won't commit suicide. I'm not dead. The doctor I hired for her was perfect. He promised that only the best is the best for my Jackie.
"It's nothing," the doctor assured her, "we can't correct it with a little modification."
Why doesn't he come out? she thinks. He shouldn't die. He didn't know what it was. He said frankly: "I have dealt with a lot of these women's problems." "There is a high proportion of epidemics in a certain age group."
She is only thirty years old. What is he telling her? Is she premature menopause?
"Depression, partial or total withdrawal, neurosis of all shapes and sizes. Trust me, you are not alone." Oh, yes, I think, she thought. I'm sitting here alone, you don't know what it is like.
"We will shake you with two sheep's tails." I am a lamb, right? Does he think I am a lamb? Thoughtfully, he looked up at his frame qualification, then at his manicured nails, then at the pen on his desk and notepad. But he didn't look at Jacqueline. Except Jacqueline, anywhere else.
"I know," he said now, "what have you experienced, it's already painful. Women have certain needs. If they don't have the answer-"
How much does he know about the needs of women?
She thought, you are not a woman.
"What?" he said.
Did she say it? She shook her head: refused to speak. He went on to say; find his rhythm again: "I won't let you receive endless treatment. Don't you want that? You want to rest assured, and want something that can help you fall asleep at night."
He is very upset with her now. His self-esteem is very deep and there is no bottom line. The omniscient, omniscient father; that is his performance. It seems that he was lucky enough to gain some miraculous insight into the essence of a woman's soul.
"Of course, I have tried to provide treatment courses for patients in the past. But between you and me-"
He patted her hand gently. Father's palm on the back of her hand. She should have been flattered, relieved, and even attracted.
"-There are too many topics between you and me. Endless topics. Frankly speaking, what good is this? We all have problems. You can't tell them away, can you?"
You are not a woman. You don't look like a woman, and you don't look like a woman-"What did you say?" She shook her head.
"I thought you said something. Please be honest with me at any time."
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