Blackwell felt a chill in his heart: "Forget it, better find a barber shop and tidy up first. Not sprucing up, what kind of appearance is this?"
Just as Blackwell was about to set off, he heard the sound of hoofbeats approaching, the sound growing nearer. He looked in the direction of the sound and suddenly saw a Phaeton car appear at the corner of the street.
"19th Century Typical Phaeton Car"
The Phaeton creaked closer, its body so old it looked like it would fall apart, its canopy mottled, with a temporary patch sewn on one corner, and its iron-rimmed wheels clattered as if they might fly off any moment.
Blackwell instinctively frowned: "God! Which transporter is this, it's a bit too shabby..."
As he was about to look away and pick up his suitcase to find another place, the ragged car suddenly stopped in front of him, and the driver lowered his voice and shouted: "Henry? Is that you?"
