当前位置:天然小说>女生耽美>Love at dawn> Is she an angel?
阅读设置(推荐配合 快捷键[F11] 进入全屏沉浸式阅读)

设置X

Is she an angel?(3 / 5)

e into several portions and distributed them among the little paupers under the bridge.

The scraggy children awakened one another, consuming the provisions with a mix of caution and voracity.

Edith accompanied the young painter in silent contemplation of the scene.

---------------

"You said just now that you were penniless," Edith teased with studied casualness as they strolled slowly toward the river.

"This is the payment I received for a milliner two days ago for designing a promotional card. Plus the change your aunt Mrs.Percy gave me for the sketch yesterday," replied Andre."It was just enough to cover my board expenses for the next few days, maybe a bit would be left to supplement some paint."

Edith grew silent for a moment.

"You are truly an oddball," she muttered.

"I feel guilty towards them," Andre said, his eyes downcast with a pained expression.

This surprised the young girl.

"Why would you feel guilty? If anyone should feel guilty, it''s those aristocrats. I once saw a noble lord publicly whipping a little girl who blocked his way. As for the lady wh-o just gave her alms, I''ve also seen a lot. But I''m well aware that it''s not a miracle. When they stoop down to hand money to those children, it''s nothing different from their carefully choreographed movements when dancing at a ball, just to show off their dainty figures." With a childish voice, she spoke these words.

The painter lowered his head to meet the girl''s gaze, his eyes filled with a myriad of emotions.

Was he amazed by her intelligence or her soul? He couldn''t tell.

"You''re right. What these children need, must not be pity," he turned his head and murmured.

"But I used to think a girl of your age would yearn for that kind of upper-class life. Don''t you ever envy them?"

"Me?" The petite tossed her head lightly. "I don''t envy anyone. I am just Edith, I only want to be Edith."

"And I envy you, Edith," it was the first time she heard Monsieur le painter speak in such a tender tone.

The girl''s chestnut hair was still mixed with puerile blonde strands, one mischievous lock flew onto her cheek. The artist gently pushed it behind her ear.

It was a g

上一页 目录 +书签 下一页