She turned around, folded the black coat she had just taken off, placed it on the sofa, and then, as if unconsciously trying to delay time, she tidied up the bag she brought back. Only after that did she open the door and slowly walked to that person's room door.
The vermilion solid wood door, with a golden handle polished countless times to a shine, was now as smooth as a mirror, reflecting her current solemn expression.
Charlotte Smith gently reached out her hand and pushed the door open without difficulty.
The lighting inside the room was dim, with only an orange wall lamp on beside the bed. Charlotte saw the man leaning against the headboard, an open French book in his hand—a book she had found at an old library a few days ago.
She knew the preferences of this man, Robert Stephens wasn't very interested in much, but he liked to skim through various kinds of books, and this interest of his had even influenced others…
