Mr Rostwood was now in his office. He had a lot of work to do and his day hadn't started well. He sat in front of a small and crammed desk, full of untidy papers with hastily scratched notes here and there and all sorts of open books and notebooks. There was a small watch somewhere in the middle of the mess and a coffee right next to him. All of it was under a dusty desk lamp, that would be turned on when it would get dark outside and would throw its pale, yellow shadow on the desk and on the man's cold face. No matter what time you visit this office, you would always find one or two screwed papers in the floor beside him, despite the fact that the trash can was there, in the corner of the room.
He started working totally concentrated. The only living thing who dared to interupt him was a small bird, that decided to sit on his window bench and started knocking the glass with its mouth. It looked at the inside of the office and found funny how people could stay for hours without moving in an indoors place, while the nature outside was inviting them to admire Her beauty. The Human raised his head and looked at it angrily.
'Well, as if I want to waste my time watching you' thought the bird and flew to the nearest tree, forgeting at once the incident.
It was afternoon when Mr Rostwood stopped working. He took out his pipe and started smoking sceptically. He was a very focusted person, but today his thought was upon the young boy he had met. He said he lived in the orphange. He didn't believe that they were treating children good there. The fact that this kid had to steal to get food said a lot by itself.
He was walking back home his head spinning with thoughts. From the hill he was now standing, he could see the orphanage. An imposing building with lit rooms here and there,a dark forest surrounding it. He stood there, in silence with both of his hands in his cloak's pockets thinking...
The next day he woke up early, even though he had not to go at the office. He got up, got dressed,took his coffee and went out. He bought a newspaper, sat on a bench to read it, threw it away, got to his feet and started walking randomly. He passed the bakery, passed the market and walked down the hill. He passed the central square walked at the beach, went back to the square and back to the beach. After an hour of this comedy, he was standing outside the orphanage.
A wide, faded wooden door was to welcome him. The looming shadow of the building, now, covered him.
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