lways feel that you sound a bit hypocritical when you say things like that, but I can''t explain why."
They walked towards the center of the bridge.
"There''s still some time before real sunset. Here, you can paint for a while. The view from here is magnificent."
As the painter set up his easel, Edith leaned against the railing, gazing into the distance. The view from the top of the bridge was vast. At the far end, the grandest and most majestic castle could be seen. However, up close, the scene was chaotic:
Along the street and beneath the bridge arches on the opposite side, there were ragged children begging for alms, while disheveled bottom-tier pros-titutes flinged themselves at passersby.
Yet the wealthy with their swollen bellies hurried past, while ornate carriages carrying powdered and bewigged aristocrats rushed by, only turning a blind eye to the surroundings.
The rich and the poor, the beautiful and the ugly, the light and the dark, were all mixed together in a chaotic swirl of colours. This was the panorama that could be seen from high above this city.
Edith found this sight peculiar when she first arrived in the city. After two years, she had somehow grown accustomed to it.
"City is really weird!" yet mumbled the young girl once again.
"This city is riddled with scars, yet people shut their eyes to them! It''s as if a person with a face full of wounds stands in the middle of the road, the wounds festering and oozing, while passersby simply hurry past, some even ！pause to admire her beauty."
Edith turned to the painter in amazement. He spoke with a scowl and a slightly hoarse voice, his hands gripping the railing so tightly that they looked bloodless.
Andre seemed lost in his own thought. Only after a moment did he realize that Edith was staring at him.
"My apologies," he whispered to the child.