"What's there to get used to? Anyway, killing that bitch Isabella Lindsey, even if I lost another leg besides my hand, I'd still be willing to do it!" Bertha Marley gritted her teeth fiercely.
"That child Isabella, I haven't had much contact with her, but she does resemble her father more, and actually, she's not bad-looking."
Vermes Marley sat on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other, holding a cup of hot snow lotus tea, sipping it slowly.
"Dad, why are you speaking for her? What do you mean by 'not bad-looking'? She's just average-looking, way worse than me." Bertha Marley said shamelessly.
"If your mother had been a bit prettier, perhaps your genes would have been even better. I alone couldn't give you such a perfect face."
Vermes Marley had a faint regret for not being with the most beautiful woman back then, but instead, ending up in this plight.
