#Chapter57
He dipped a pen's tip into the ink and began writing on a piece of paper. I sat beside me, watching him closely and he smiled at me whenever he paused. It was a language I didn't know. But I was eager to learn, and he was as eager as me to teach me. I soon learnt that Sylvester came from a superior class of people in a faraway land, who were mortal and lived a finite life. He came from the country of America and said he owned a huge plantation there. That he left for Poland, another land occupied by beings of his kind but in an unfortunate shipwreck engulfed all his fortune, and thus he was left on this deserted, desolate land in the Gulf of Finland. Left to die from starvation and cold.
/"Why would your own brother leave you to die?/" I asked him because I could never imagine any of my brothers leaving me behind,
/"They weren't my brothers,/"
/"Aren't you the same beings?/"
/"If seen like that, even you are my brother,/"
