Bone? Bronte found it amusing. Didn't he think about spine too? Of course, he could bear the consequences, but in the end, it was the deliveryman who had to bear them. With this thought, Bronte felt he couldn't do that to that person—it was too cruel.
The frustration in his heart was like sharp knives repeatedly slashing at it, razor-sharp, relentless bleeding.
Even though Bronte was often by Steve Harris's side, seemingly humble, he never felt such suffocation. But his current job truly made him feel desperate.
He couldn't endure it at all, yet these were that person's day-to-day experiences—unimaginable.
Hmph—
Mrs. Ella snorted with disdain, and when she left, Bronte felt almost delirious—had he done something so outrageous? Could it have made her stand on high ground to reprimand him?
The soft noises around him soon dissipated. Bronte couldn't hear anything anymore, and it was only then that he realized—he had not yet found David!
