Mrs Jeon is a crybaby [ON HOLD]

Chapters 791-800

Chapter 791: A Sonnet

She would die if she did not eat dessert for half a month!

"Lisa, this is not a negotiation, it's an order."

Jungkook picked up the book again. Lisa pouted and looked at the cover.

It was a Shakespearean sonnet.

The rain fell on the glass of the greenhouse with a tapping sound.

Lisa said unhappily, "Then you're not allowed to come to my room for half a month!"

She raised her eyebrows smugly and gave herself a thumbs up on the inside.

I'm so smart.

But a moment later, Jungkook's big palm landed on her head, suppressing her pride.

"Deal."

There was more than one room in Huo Manor.

Lisa: "..."

How infuriating!

She flailed a few times in Jungkook's arms, and her waist was grabbed. The man's tone was calm, with a magical power that made people involuntarily obey him.

"Be good, I'll read you a poem."

"Poem? Shakespeare?"

Lisa was stunned. She rested her head on the man's collarbone and turned her head to look.

The original text was densely written in English.

The thick book was unfamiliar yet nostalgic to Lisa.

Before she died, her brother had just bought her a book by Shakespeare.

The book with the maple leaf in it was still by her bedside. However, she would never have the chance to open it with her own hands again.

Flowers surrounded her, and the air was filled with a faint fragrance.

Jungkook used his hands to comb her hair, gently stroking it.

Lisa's heart suddenly calmed down.

She rubbed against his neck and looked up at the round raindrops on the transparent glass. Her thick eyelashes fluttered slightly, like a butterfly that was about to fly away.

The sound of the rain mixed with the man's deep, magnetic voice, creating a special romantic atmosphere.

Lisa hadn't read this poem yet. It was strange and novel:

"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips' red;

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damasked, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go;

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare."

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