"I feel about the same. Let him come to my office," Sylvan Cheney checked his watch.
"Alright, Liamly Finley is already here."
Charles Mcintosh continued to report the situation to Sylvan Cheney.
He had worked overtime late last night. Initially, he wanted to drink a little, but fearing a headache in the morning, he dared not drink. He forcefully suppressed his emotions, relying only on smoking to alleviate some of it.
The morning road was somewhat congested, so Sylvan Cheney listened to Charles Mcintosh's report all the way.
In the middle of it, he received a call from Tomer.
Amidst the pattering rain, Tomer's voice sounded very old and tired.
"Mr. Cheney... Qingming Festival is approaching. I've been preparing the offerings these days. Every year at this time, I miss Miss very much." As Tomer spoke, his voice became hoarse.
"Let me know if anything is missing," Sylvan Cheney's voice was low, just like the rain outside, carrying a heaviness.
