A man's voice was heard from the phone, faintly proud and elegant: "Is she really drunk?"
"Yes, very much so. She keeps complaining about feeling bad, probably because she drank too much."
The car was quiet. Norris Moore was curled up, her groans of confusion filtering through the phone. Treton Smith's voice turned slightly cold. "Bring her here as quickly as possible."
"Understood."
The woman responded softly, urging the driver to speed up. She glanced at Norris Moore lying by her side, her face covered in cold sweat. She touched Norris's face, found it a little cold and asked the driver to turn on the heater.
She fetched a brown woolen blanket and wrapped it around the shivering Norris, cradling her delicately. After about ten minutes, the car stopped in front of a five-star hotel.
"Miss Moore, we're here." The woman helped Norris get out of the car. "Wake up, let me take you to your room."
