The Shadow of Great Britain

757: Chapter 360 Revelation 757: Chapter 360 Revelation In the study, it was like a corner deep in the years, quiet and melancholic.

Outside the window, a torrential rain was pouring furiously, as if a tragic symphony had started between heaven and earth.

The raindrops swept up by the fierce wind ferociously battered the window, emitting bursts of mournful howls, as if time was striking the final chapter of life.

On the desk sat a dimly lit kerosene lamp.

The once robust old man now appeared particularly frail and exhausted.

He was covered with a camel hair blanket and seemed to sink into the faded leather armchair.

The face sculpted by years was filled with deep, ravine-like wrinkles.

His profound eyes shimmered with the glimmer of past days yet revealed an undeniable frailty.

Those hands, once drafted countless law lecture notes and political platforms, now rested powerlessly on his knees, their skin lax and veins bulging like the bark of a tree weathered by wind and rain.

The downpour reflected the even greater stillness inside the study.

The wind seeping through the window cracks made the wick of the kerosene lamp flicker unsteadily, and the water sliding down the window glass followed a path like the sand in an hourglass marking the passing of life.

The sound of horseshoes striking the ground from the staircase outside, firm and strong, penetrated the roaring storm, as if counting down for the hourglass.

Arthur appeared at the door, clad in a dripping wet black trench coat with raindrops trickling from his large-brimmed hat.

He gently pushed open the half-closed door, his gaze immediately fixed on the old man, the scene as if frozen in time.

He hardly recognized the old man before him.

Just a year ago, his health had not been so poor.

He was still capable of passionately writing for “Westminster Review” and on sunny Sunday afternoons, could find time to deliver witty and humorous lectures at the University of London.

Bentham struggled to lift his drooping eyelids and slightly raised his head to give Arthur a forced smile, “Arthur, long time no see, you look more mature.”

Arthur gently pulled out a chair, leaned forward, and took the old man’s cold hands, gently rubbing them, but could hardly warm them much.

He turned his head to the butler and instructed, “Please bring two more blankets, this dreadful weather is just too cold.”

Hearing this, Bentham smiled lightly and shook his head slowly, “No need to trouble Andrew, he has worked for me his whole life; it’s time for him to rest.”

The butler, standing at the door, became visibly moved upon hearing this.

His grizzled hair trembled, “Mr.

Bentham, please don’t say that.

It is an honor to serve you.

I may not be learned and cannot do many great things.

Being able to manage your daily life is all I can offer.

It’s as if…

as if I can also share some of the honor from your greatness.”

Bentham couldn’t help but shake his head, “Andrew, you underestimate yourself.

You could be managing your own career like Mil and Ricardo.

Even the youngest, Chadwick, is now the secretary in the Lord Chancellor’s office.

You are no less than them; you just lack the courage to take that crucial step.”

Andrew removed his hat and held it against his chest, pretending to laugh cheerfully, “Mr.

Bentham, an old dog can’t learn new tricks.

I’m old now, and all I want is to perform my current duties well and help you recover.”

Hearing this, Bentham smiled gently, “Well, at least in the role of a butler, I couldn’t find anyone better suited than you.

Andrew, could you pour a cup of tea for Arthur and me?”

“As you wish, Mr.

Bentham.”

Andrew took a deep breath, bowed his head slightly, and left the room.

After Bentham heard his footsteps fade away, he turned to Arthur and asked, “He’s quite a foolish man, isn’t he?”

Arthur smiled slightly, “Though I shouldn’t be talking back to you while you’re ill, I disagree with you, just as I used to argue with you about Kant.”

“Oh?” Bentham seemed very interested in this topic, even the light in his eyes flickered, “What’s your view?”

Arthur replied with a smile, “The principle of utilitarianism: human actions are motivated entirely by pleasure and pain.

An action is right if it promotes happiness; it is wrong if it results in pain.

Mr.

Andrew feels happy serving you, so for him, that’s enough.”

Bentham lay in his armchair, staring at the pouring rain outside, and murmured softly, “Yet with Andrew’s talents, he could clearly contribute more to the collective happiness of society.

Staying by the side of an old man like me, what can he really accomplish?

This transaction is ultimately too costly.”

Arthur spoke up, “You’re too pessimistic.

You’ve just caught a minor illness.

You’ll recover soon.

When that time comes, you’ll still have to help Andrew pay back his social dues of happiness.”

At this, Bentham turned his head and stared into Arthur’s eyes, laughing heartily.

If his body had allowed, he might have even laughed aloud.

“Arthur, are you trying to comfort me?”

“Not at all,” Arthur replied calmly, “I always speak the truth.”

“You’re lying.”

Bentham bluntly exposed Arthur’s lie, but he didn’t seem to blame the young man.