As I said before, this is my husband's idea about the story, so do not blame me if you found that the story is annoying. Let me repeat the last part of the last episode so you will not forget it. 
        In the kitchen, the ladies said, "O, how can we follow our promise?"
        "Don't mind about that," said the woman with blonde hair, "you won't be jinxed."
        "I know that, Kim, but how about Polly and Dawn? They don't know anything about that, and telling them to cancelled their invitation seems not a good idea," said Bernadette. 
        "That's the only solution," said Kim, "What are you doing now, Lara?"
        "You won't believe what solution I've made," Lara said, as colour of her face being like that of her hair, "That's the perfect solution!" 
        "Oh, you found the solution! Tell me about it. I can't wait!" said Kim. 
        "Solution about what?" asked both Bernadette and Delia. 
        Soon you will find that it is not quite good to divide a part as an author's note, so next time you see a one-paragraph-long divided part, I can tell you that it is an editor's note. 
        "Crocus!"

Dear Readers,

        Sometimes we got some nice words but nowhere to place, so we place them in a song, but it usually makes nonsense. I apologize if you find that unnerving.

With all due respect,
The Editor



                                Once there was a little girl,
                                Making people whirl and whirl.
                                She liked to picked some aconites
                                Along with her acolytes.

                                After that, she had pimples,
                                Although they looked very simple.
                                She thinked they're all made by acne,
                                Which healing aconite would do the acme.

                                She made some drugs out of an aconite,
                                But the solution seems not quite right.
                                Because she found she's feeling whirl and whirl
                                Like everyone mede by the girl.

                                She felt she's chilled,
                                She gonna be healed.
                                But no one took care of her,
                                Only her Ma'am, and Sir.

        "When he went to Vileville by a big ship that departed from Pierrot Pier, another boy on board surnamed Jupiter said to him: 'Hello, are you going to Vileville?'
        "'Sure I am. How about you?'
        "'I'm going to go to the hotel in Vileville. I think you are going to go to the hotel too because there are just a hotel and some closed shops in vileville. Why do you want to go to the hotel?'
        "'Because I want to be a chef,' he said
        "'Yeah... I go there to look for a job. What is the name of the concierge?'
        "'I dunno. I only know that the name of the man—'
        "'What's that?' Jupiter asked.
        "'I think the ships bumped to something,' the little boy who wanted to be a chef said slowly.
        "'No, I mean what's the name of the man you were talking about—'
        "Bump! I don't know anything happened afterward, but I can tell you what happened three years after the two boys went to the hotel in Vileville. At the time Fleurette was not the chef of the hotel anymore; she retired. Instead, the chef was Geoff."
        "I know that; Geoff told me," I said
        "Yeah, you should know that."
        "But he've never told me anything about his big trolley."
        "He told you part but not all."

        When you are telling a story that happened long long ago, and far far away, then the story would usually begin with a hackneyed opening speech: Once upon a time, there was or there were something, beginning to step into an adventurous voyage, a lonely trip, a horrifying exprience or a marvelous undertaking. These stories usually concerned dreamers or talking animals acting like human. Dreamers are the people who eager to have something, hope to get hopes, dream to dreams, not the daydreamers.
        "It has been a long story, so what is it?"
        "Once upon a time," Isaac began his story, "there was a little boy who eagered to cook, hoped to be a cook, and dreamed to be a chef. His mother gave him a trolley for the chef, and the little boy was very happy. He dashed with the trolley through his bedroom, to the dinning table, and crashed into the kitchen. The edges of the trolley was so acute that it scratched many things," he paused, and took a cup from the fourth window, gaving himself some brandy.
        "Ha! he scratched your coat?" I asked curiously.
        "I don't know that;" he paused a swallow a mouthful, "when I got the coat, it had been scratched already."
        "Oh... Keep on!"
        "Yes. When he crashed into the kitchen, the female chef, Fayette, slowly said to him: 'you look so smart; you will be a great chef in the future!'"
        "How do you know? He never told me!"
        "Wait a minute. I didn't said that the boy was Geoff. Fayett said: 'I have a sister called Fleurette in the hotel in Vileville. When you go there, there will be a concierge asking you who you want to find. You'll just say: "I come to meet Fleurette Clematis in the kitchen, by saying 'There is no dust in the cleaned and cleansed kitchen.'"'"
        "You used so many quotes. It's confusing."
        "Yes, 'Nothing is not confusing.'"

        The lady sat up after finished her brunch—a meal that is neither a breakfast nor a lunch, and paid and got outside of the café. At that time, Barry was driving the hansom and stopped. 
        "Ma'am, Ms. Daisy invited Ma'am to her party tonight."
        "What a coincidence," Poppy said, "Does she know that I invited him?"
        "Define, Ma'am," he replied, "but she knew it after she gave out the invitation."
        "O, we four sweared to accept each others' invitation, refusing anyone's means treachery," she said topplingly and unsteadyly, as her bird started to harsh.
        "Alas, what a topping toppling!"
        "Crocus!"