Wine and Gun

It's not Albariño's style, at least, Herstal doesn't think Albariño has a need for a safe at home. All the things he was really afraid of being discovered by others were piled up in that wooded hut, and wealth could be put into the bank, but Herstal never found out that he had a hobby of wearing precious watches and other accessories.

So Herstal stepped forward, knelt on the dusty floor, and took the key—

click.

The key was pushed tightly into the keyhole.

For some reason, Herstal's heartbeat suddenly increased, his fingers gripped the cold handle of the safe, and he pushed the heavy door open slowly, slowly. The action stirred up layers of dust that made him almost cough: Apparently, Albarino hadn't opened the safe in years.

The safe was largely empty, save for a solitary black leather box at the bottom.

- Now, the box was placed on Herstal's knees, shrouded in the blood-red sunset, and the dust on it had been carefully wiped away.

Herstal did not open him immediately after he got the box. On the one hand, he estimated that Albarino was about to wake up, and there was not much time left for him; on the other hand, he really did not know that Albari Why on earth did Ballino - Albarino at that time last Christmas, heartless little madman - choose a key as a Christmas present.

Is that a weird metaphor for Bluebeard, or just a simpler level? For example, in the field of psychology, the study of the clear direction between the key and sex. When his fingers landed on this box, he always felt that he would be disappointed next, but or, he would never be disappointed with Albarino.

At this moment, he was sitting in the bloody sunset, downstairs in the dilapidated clinic, where he once again left Albarino behind. His fingers flicked slowly over the lines of verse on the surface of the box, and he opened the box.

The box was covered with thick dark red velvet that looked almost like a bag of blood, and surrounded by the cloth lay a revolver.

Herstal frowned slowly. He didn't think Albarino would be keen on revolvers, and he wasn't quite sure what the moral of his choice of this gun for Christmas was. In confusion, he put his fingers on the handle of the gun and slowly took the pistol out of the box - then he suddenly realized that it was also a pistol that was some years old, and the barrel and the handle couldn't be grasped by the fingers. There are bits and pieces of dirt on it: the liquid that has dried up to brown-black splashes around the muzzle, and the metal-stained gun body is everywhere.

Herstal suddenly understood.

—On July 25, 2001, on a sunny summer night, Dr. Charles Bacchus committed suicide by shooting himself in the study of his then home.

It was a revolver, and Albarino himself preferred semi-automatic pistols, but his father was clearly the revolver type.

Herstal felt that his thoughts were a little confused... Of course, this was the Christmas gift that Albarino gave him, the weapon that took the life of the last relative he left in this world, this is of course Alba What Lino can do. But what is the meaning? What is the meaning of those twists that gardeners love? Why did Albarino's ultimate goal be to give him a gun, but he had to give him a key first?

So does he still care about his relatives? Or, does he actually "care" too? Albarino's house on the outskirts of the country no longer has any trace of his parents, but in fact he still keeps their relics?

Or does it mean "power", and with this gun, Albarino left to Herstal the power to deprive Charles Bacchus of the last bloodline left in this world?

Immediately afterwards, Herstal realized that if he had opened the present on Christmas Day, he could have asked these questions.

Then Albarino will answer. Although he likes to express himself in a variety of extraordinarily meandering ways, if Herstal asks, Albarino is likely to answer.

...but from the current point of view, I am afraid that this gun can not be used in any place that Albarino had previously envisaged.

Kabbah Slade stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Presidential Suite, admiring the sunset. There was still a ray of the sun's rich golden light at the end of the horizon, but the sky was very dark, and the clouds that had piled up in the sky were reflected in the twilight into a dark purple like blood, which looked like the skin of a lifeless corpse.

This is Slade's last night in Westland, and he's satisfied with the protection plan provided by the FBI. By dawn tomorrow, he'll be flying to a place in Westerland, which is cooler and dank. Lan's better place to live—perhaps the lovely seaside cities on the West Coast, where his assets allow him to live whatever life he wants.

...any life he wants, but doesn't include little boys and girls, well, there are always some concessions in life.

Consider how surprised he was when he first discovered that Herstal Armalette was Will, who might be the Westland pianist.

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