It was raining.
Kallen stood at the billiard table in his pajamas, holding a glass of ice water and watching the curtain of rain outside.
The scenery was actually beautiful.
But Kallen glanced at the book he had read halfway through that afternoon, now lying facedown on the coffee table: York City in the Rain.
It was the work of a realist writer, and its protagonist was a child laborer;
At first, he loved rainy days and thought of rain as the notes of freedom;
Then he began to grow numb to rainy days. The grueling work, day and night, had robbed him of his awareness of changes in the weather, along with holidays and even... day and night.
Finally, after his mother died of illness, he screamed and roared in the mud amid the pouring rain;
The author depicted a cold York City, especially in heavy rain. Rainwater washed the grime off the towering buildings, giving those standing above "freshness" and "tranquility," but that grime did not disappear. Instead, it all fell beneath the feet of those at the bottom, becoming the mire in which they struggled.
Kallen felt that this was exactly where he stood now.
His bedroom had something like underfloor heating, and the cold breeze blowing through the open window was just enough to offset the excessive heat.
When the rain could neither drench your hair nor soak your shoes, of course you would find it beautiful.
"Some fruit?"
Eunice came in carrying a plate of fruit. Today, she wore a long white dress.
"Sure."
Kallen stepped down from the billiard table and sat on the sofa.
The apples had been peeled, sliced, and fitted with toothpicks. Kallen put a piece into his mouth. It was very sweet.
"Are you reading this?" Eunice noticed York City