Sick

Benedict James was still lying on the thin mattress, wrapped in an old faded blanket, Benedict James was curled up, sweat had long appeared on his forehead, and drops of water were seeping on his shoulders and shirt. His eyes opened to Basil Henry, the weakness, the weakness that had long been fully revealed in front of Basil Henry. Basil Henry walked over, his hand resting on Benedict James' forehead. At this time, Benedict James opened his mouth, his mouth was trembling, his soft breath emanating from a gentle breeze, his voice hoarse.

“You go to school first. I stay at the motel.”

“You are sick. Love, are you that weak?"

Benedict James didn't reply, lay still on the thin mattress, eyes closed.

"Okay. Today I open my heart to do good deeds and help you take care of your health. If you are rich tomorrow, don't forget my name."

Basil Henry continued to change clothes, he didn't like going to school anyway, for the things he didn't like he didn't force himself to do in addition, beside