cked up his belongings, and walked step by step towards the opened door of the carriage.

Backlund, No. 26 Kinster Street, Jowood District.
Benson took off his hat and coat and handed them to the maid. He looked at his sister Melissa who was concentrating on reading in the living room and said:
“The entrance exam is in June. You can finally understand the pain of studying hard before.”
Melissa didn’t raise her head, still reading the book and said:
“I study hard every day.”
“Be humorous, Melissa, be humorous. What’s the difference between a person who doesn’t understand humor and a curly-haired baboon?” Benson said with a smile.
Melissa glanced at him casually and said:
“You didn’t say that before.”
She did not dwell on the difference between humans and curly-haired baboons, but instead asked:
“Do government employees also finish work so late?”
“No, it’s just that there have been a lot of things recently. You know, oh, you don’t know. In such a big change, the handover of work and the straightening out of different relationships are very troublesome.” Benson glanced at the people in the living room. Looking at the mirror, I couldn’t help but raise my hands to straighten my hair, and said with an unhappy expression, “Although I am only a small employee of the Ministry of Finance, this does not prevent me from having a lot of work. The only thing that comforts me is, I have finally passed the damn internship period, and now I will have a weekly salary of 3 pounds.”
Melissa put down her book and said to Benson as she walked towards the restaurant:
/“It’s time for dinner.”
She paused and said seriously:
“I read in the newspaper before that there is something called Donningsman tree sap, which is very effective for hair growth.”
Benson’s expression suddenly became complicated.
With the sound of the whistle, the long steam train clanged into Backlund.
Carrying his suitcase, Klein once again set foot on the “City of All Capitals” and “Land of Hope”. He found that the fog was much thinner than before, and there was no longer an obvious yellowish color. The gas street lamps on the platform were Not lit up early to dispel the gloom and gloom.
After looking around, Klein left the steam train station, changed to the subway and carriage, and went directly to the Church of the Storm Cemetery outside the West End.
Then, he spent a small amount of money to put Edward Ronzel’s urn into a cabinet.
At this time, it had been more than 165 years since the Loen soldier left Backlund.
Taking a step back and staring deeply for a while, Klein turned the paper into iron and inscribed on the cabinet door:
/“Edward Ronzel.”
He closed his eyes and wrote again:
“Every journey has an end.”
Frankly speaking, this kind of travelogue-like content is still a bit difficult to write. It’s hard to create a character. Once you’re familiar with a place and you have a sense of the differences in customs, you have to leave and continue on the journey. It’s very challenging to quickly introduce interesting characters. The abilit