Nolan Morrison only let them catch a glimpse of Matilda Jenkins' back of the head; he couldn't bear to let those crazy fans see her face.
He just wanted others to feel envy and jealousy, wanted to tell everyone that he had a wife, he was married; he was a man with a label.
Nolan Morrison stretched out a hand, waved at the lens: Farewell!
Just as a bunch of people screamed and wailed, sprayed their faces with blood, and strongly demanded to see her full face, the screen went black, the live broadcast ended.
Yes, it ended. When it says it's over, it's over; when it says he's leaving, he's leaving.
No hesitation, no lingering.
Nolan Morrison waved his sleeve, left with his wife, leaving behind a group of frenzied girls.
Hundreds of thousands watched the live broadcast, and after it ended, they were desperate to gather on the rooftop. On such a cold night, feeding so many with dog food, and with such explosive news underground, how could they sleep well this week?
