The Shadow of Great Britain

554: Chapter 286 What’s the Life of a Police Inspector Worth?

(7K2)_2 554: Chapter 286 What’s the Life of a Police Inspector Worth?

(7K2)_2 But at the end of the day, he was still too young.

As a youth, it was natural for him to have a certain youthful exuberance, or perhaps, a fiery temper.

Gladstone kicked at the campfire, burning embers and sparks scattering into the air, clouding his vision.

“Benjamin Disraeli!

Narrow-minded in politics, childish in thought, frivolous in actions, pretentious in speech, strutting around in yellow trousers, a green waistcoat, pointed leather shoes, a lace cravat, all smug and self-satisfied.

You bastard!

In what goddamned way am I inferior to you?

Is it just because you know how to cozy up to Mrs.

Sykes’ skirts?”

Oh, my God!

Can’t you open your eyes and see what kind of creature Kent County has elected?

It would be better to have elected a donkey; at least a donkey can bray and is smarter than him!”

Gladstone’s white shirt was torn open, his gilded copper buttons strewn about, and his robust chest heaved visibly, clearly infuriated.

Agares lay on his side on a branch, munching an apple and enjoying the spectacle: “Praying to God?

With that level of awareness, you deservedly failed the party’s preliminary selection.

You look down on both Disraeli and donkeys, yet you still implore a being less than them.

At least the two of them can bray, whereas God, even if you talk yourself into blisters, won’t even fart!”

Perhaps it was Agares’s murmuring that Gladstone heard, or maybe he realized he had misspoken.

He covered his forehead and, looking at the mess on the ground, shook his head and said, “God!

William, look at what you’ve done!

Don’t let anger control your emotions.”

Gladstone soon regained his composure, and with devout hands clasped a cross to his chest, he closed his eyes and prayed, “Dear Lord!

We need you, not for a moment can we be without you, only by clinging closely to you do our hearts find satisfaction and rest.

My Lord, we thank you!

For in these dark times, you are the only light.

We ask for your true light to drive the darkness within us away, that we may be holy, that we may become your precious vessels.

We know that all is impossible with men, but with you, what cannot be accomplished.

In the name of the Lord, we pray.

Amen.”

Seeing this, Agares just rolled his eyes and, with a flick of his hand, threw the core of his apple at Gladstone’s head: “The boy’s a lost cause.

All this nonsense you’re up to isn’t as useful as signing an agreement with me.

You’ll never be elected to Parliament, not even in the turn of Eld.”

As soon as Agares finished speaking, suddenly, there was a thundering sound of galloping hooves in the distance.

Gladstone turned to see several familiar young faces atop the thoroughbreds on the country lane.

They were likewise sons of wealthy gentlemen from Liverpool, among them some he had known since childhood.

Only, in recent years, Gladstone had been intentionally, and unintentionally, distancing himself from these friends.

The reason was simple: as a devout believer, he could hardly tolerate their drunken and lavish lifestyles and their cynical attitudes towards life.

“Good afternoon, William!

When did you get back to Liverpool?

Why didn’t you let us know?

If we had known you were back, we would have invited you hunting with us this morning.”

The young men slowed their horses and stopped in front of Gladstone, putting down their whips.

Gladstone saw the two foxes hanging from the saddles and smiled politely, “You know my hunting skills, or lack thereof; having me along would have been nothing more than a burden.

I wouldn’t want to dampen your spirits.”

The young men laughed heartily: “That’s no big deal; we have plenty of bullets.

With more practice, you’re bound to hit one shot.

Even if you missed the hunt, there’s no worry.

Since you’re back, we are organizing a wine salon tonight.

You must not have had many luxuries over your years at Oxford?

Too bad you missed the good times.

My brother had it easier when he was at Oxford.

But you were unlucky; you had to deal with that new Oxford University prostitution law.

Ha, I must say, the MP who proposed that bill is a damn genius.

Is he planning to manage Oxford students like prisoners?

I heard that since the law was enacted, the number of ladies in Oxford Town has been more than halved.

Three years of academics there must have turned you into a medieval monk!

Devoid of the company of beautiful ladies, all that was left was drinking.”

Gladstone, upon hearing this, corrected them seriously: “I occasionally drink a bit of wine, but mainly during the Eucharist at school.

I rarely drink in private.”

“Not much of a drinker?”

The young men exclaimed in surprise, “William, my good brother, these years must have been tough on you.

We must make up for the three years you lost tonight.

Six o’clock, venue to be decided; we’ll send a servant to your estate to notify you once we’ve arranged it.”

“William, do you remember Catherine?

The princess once surrounded by stars has grown into a striking young lady and can now attend social dances.

She’s always had a soft spot for you.

If you ask her to dance the first dance tonight, she surely won’t refuse.

How about that?

We’re good friends, aren’t we?”

Gladstone had initially intended to decline the invitation to the ball, but upon hearing the name Catherine, he cast aside God’s commandments to the winds.