Christopher stopped moving.
He stared at that line of text for several seconds, his finger remaining on the cover without moving.
Normally, if he saw a new manuscript by Allen Wayne, he would probably have jumped out of his chair.
But this time he remained seated, his face devoid of the usual uncontrollable elation.
He placed the manuscript on the table, crossed his hands on it, and stared at the words on the cover. His brows furrowed slightly, and there was something indescribable in his eyes.
He was one of the first people to finish reading the first half when it came out.
After reading it, he told Barry that the writing style of this book was quite different from the previous two. The pace was slower, the plot was more scattered, and some parts seemed like the author was deliberately dragging things out.
He told Barry at the time, "You'll know when the second half comes out," but he didn't say it with much confidence.
Later, the literary reviews came out, and there was a barrage of criticism. He read Richard Henry's long article twice.
Although he felt that Henry had gone too far in some of his remarks, he privately had to admit that there was some truth to the criticisms about pacing and suspense.
The sales of the first half were indeed decent, but that was entirely due to the positive word-of-mouth from the first two films.
If the second half doesn't salvage the situation, or if it's not handled well enough, the book's reputation will be completely ruined, and the credibility built up by the first two parts will also plummet.
He reached out and touched the cover of the manuscript, running his fingers back and forth along the edge of the kraft paper.
"To look or not to look?"
He muttered something to himself, his voice so soft it was as if he were talking to himself.
Just then, the office door was kicked open from the outside.
Barry burst in, wrapped in a thick woolen overcoat with a few leaves stuck to the collar, his hair standing on end in the wind.
His nose was red from the cold, and his hands were tucked into his pockets.
"This awful weather!" he complained loudly as soon as he entered. "The wind in Russell Square was like knives; my ears almost fell off after walking all that way."
He stomped the mud off his feet, then barricaded the door with his shoulder and walked straight toward the fireplace.
On the way, he saw the copper kettle on the stove, his eyes lit up, and he reached out to grab the handle.
"You poured the tea? I'll have a cup."
Christopher didn't move; he simply picked up the manuscript from the table and held it up towards Barry.
Barry was pouring tea into a cup when he caught a glimpse of the words on the cover. He paused, almost spilling tea onto his fingers.
He placed the copper kettle on the stove, picked up his teacup, and walked over to sit down in the chair opposite Christopher. He put the cup on the table and his gaze fell on the cover of the manuscript.
"You've arrived?"
"They've arrived."
Barry stared at the cover for two seconds, then leaned back in his chair, his expression similar to Christopher's earlier—a mixture of anticipation and worry.
"Sometimes I really think this guy does it on purpose." Barry picked up his teacup, took a sip, hissed as it burned, and put the cup down again.
"Every time it gets stuck at the most crucial point, and then we have to wait a long time for the second half. And when we finally get it, we're afraid he'll mess it up."
"That's why I didn't open it." Christopher gestured with his chin towards the manuscript. "I was wondering if I should mentally prepare myself first."
Barry glanced at him, then suddenly chuckled, "When did you become such a coward?"
"This isn't cowardice," Christopher, putting his reading glasses back on his nose. "It's the caution of a literary agent."
"You've seen those comments too. If the second half doesn't turn things around, all our work over the past few months will have been for nothing."
Barry held his teacup in his hand, thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Let's watch it together then."
"Together?"
"Let's do it together." Barry dragged his chair closer to the table and moved next to Christopher. "You turn the page, and whoever sees something interesting first stops and tells the other person."
Christopher glanced at him, his lips twitched, and he couldn't help but chuckle, "Fine."
He turned to the first page of the manuscript, and the two of them put their heads together, their eyes simultaneously fixed on the paper.
[Chapter 12 Patronus ]
The fire crackled in the fireplace, steam still billowed from the copper kettle, and the wind outside grew stronger with each gust, but neither of the two people at the table moved an inch.
Christopher's fingers turned the pages faster and faster, and Barry's head moved closer and closer. The two would occasionally stop and glance at each other, but neither spoke, only urging the other to keep reading with their eyes.
When they turned to a certain page, Christopher's finger stopped moving on the paper, and Barry's breath hitched.
The two stared at the same line of text for several seconds, then Christopher slowly turned the page and continued reading.
The office was so quiet that only the sound of turning pages and crackling fire could be heard.
Turn the page again, and then turn the page again.
When they turned to a certain chapter, Barry suddenly reached out and pressed Christopher's hand down, his eyes still glued to the page. "Wait, let me look at this part again."
Christopher didn't rush him. He leaned back in his chair, took off his reading glasses, wiped them, put them back on, and waited for Barry to read the passage again.
After Barry finished reading it a second time, he let go of Christopher's hand, leaned back in his chair, and let out a long sigh.
"Keep watching," he said.
The two continued flipping through the pages.
When Christopher turned to the penultimate chapter, his fingers began to tremble slightly.
When Barry turned to the last chapter, he no longer cared about his own half of the column; he leaned over Christopher's shoulder, their heads almost touching.
Turn the last page.
Christopher closed the manuscript, and the two of them leaned back simultaneously, the chair backs creaking almost in sync.
The office was quiet for a while.
A section of firewood in the stove collapsed, making a rustling sound.
"An amazing twist." Christopher spoke first, his voice lower than usual, each word clearly enunciated.
"Unparalleled imagination." Barry sighed, picked up his teacup, and took a big gulp. The tea was mostly cold, but he still chugdled it down.
"Completely dispelled any doubts." Christopher took off his reading glasses and placed them on the table, picked up the manuscript, turned to a certain page, tapped a line on it with his finger, and then closed it.
"Each one is better than the last." Barry put down his teacup, a smile already playing on his lips.
The two turned their heads and glanced at each other.
Then they both burst out laughing.
" Richard Henry," Christopher said, repeating the name after he finished laughing.
" Philip Hansworth Martin Amis... I suddenly really want to see how they look when they read this book next week."
"Then you'll have to wait until next week." Barry wiped his eyes. "We need to get this book printed first."
He stood up, walked to the fireplace, poured himself another cup of tea, but this time he didn't drink it right away. He stood by the stove, holding the cup, and stared at the flames in the hearth for a couple of seconds.
Christopher.
"Um?"
"What on earth is this guy thinking?" Barry turned to look at him.
"The first half was deliberately written so slowly to annoy everyone, and then the second half suddenly delivers this surprise."
Christopher rearranged the stack of manuscripts, tapped them on the table a couple of times to straighten the edges.
"He didn't write slowly on purpose," Christopher said. "He did it on purpose to make us think he was writing slowly."
Barry raised an eyebrow.
"You'll understand if you look back at the first half." Christopher put the manuscript on the corner of the table and leaned back in his chair.
"Those parts in the first half that seem slow are all setting the stage for the second half. Ron and Hermione arguing? That's to get the Marauder's Map into Harry's hands."
" The Aunt Marge part? That was to get Harry running off Privet Drive so the Knight Bus could make its appearance."
"You think it's slow because you haven't seen how the buttons are fastened at the back."
He put his reading glasses back on, picked up the submission that had been buried at the bottom of the table, and opened it, his tone returning to normal.
"Alright. Now you go and arrange for the printing plant; we need to ship next week. I'll find a few people who can write book reviews and have them take a look at the manuscripts beforehand."
Barry walked towards the door with his teacup in his hand, then paused at the doorway.
"Don't you think those who criticized the first half will feel incredibly awkward later?"
Christopher looked up from the manuscript and glanced at him.
Do you think they care about feeling awkward?
Barry thought for a moment, grinned, opened the door, and went out.