To be honest, Roger Dickens' behavior today did seem a little... strange to me.
I tried to figure out what exactly caused me to feel that way. Was it his strange words about blood? Or the moment when he stood at the easel, mesmerized, adding red strokes to the canvas with an almost reverent tremor?
These thoughts kept bothering me, even though I tried to convince myself that I was overreacting. Maybe I'm just too impressionable, and the excitement from our last meeting still hasn't completely worn off.
After all, Roger has always been a person who devoted himself entirely to whatever he was involved in. Perhaps the same thing had happened with his creative work this time.
Besides, he said he was still suffering from headaches. Perhaps that was the reason for his unusual behavior — fatigue and loss of concentration. Yes, that must be it.
I sighed heavily, leaning back in the carriage seat.
