The flickering candlelight in the corridor cast a dim glow on the wooden walls, and the man's brows were tinged with worry. In her memory, he was always dressed in dark clothes, yet today he wore a white shirt, making him appear a bit younger.
Carey seemed to have been hesitating at the door for a long time, as if preparing a speech. But upon seeing the girl's face as white as paper, he abandoned his well-prepared draft.
"Why do you look so pale?"
"I…ah, Mr. Carey, you'd better not come into my room." The girl's voice was weak, and she slightly raised her delicate arm to block the man's attempt to enter the room.
There was a look of disappointment in the man's eyes, and he backed away. His voice was lower than Charles Anderson's gentle tone, but there was an undeniable similarity: "I only heard that you haven't been well lately, so I brought you some tonics. I meant no other intentions."
