Unfolding the white paper along the crease, Adams found there was only a mysterious number written on the large surface—
"42?"
He tilted his head.
Couldn't understand what it meant.
But... it didn't matter, after all, it was just a piece of scrap paper, and indeed had no value.
After folding the paper back and placing it in his pocket, the young Adams rode his bicycle to the dock, ready to board the ocean liner to start his journey home:
"I'm so looking forward to it, my little baby."
Riding the bike against the night wind, Adams was humming a tune and laughing happily:
"What kind of person will you become when you grow up?"
...
Ten days later.
England, Cambridge, in a residential house.
Bang!
An excited Adams pushed the door open, laughing heartily:
"Here I come! Where's my son? Where's my son!"
The young mother on the sofa smiled:
