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Nearly two miles off the Boulevard de Rabelot sits a house called Francais, with an incongruously modern telephone booth isolated on the sidewalk. In the final days of the Regency, the land formerly known as Francais was bought, and a plain white cottage was built in the middle, surrounded by tall, solid brick walls, with a large double iron gate as high as the front wall of the house facing the road. It bears no resemblance to a house built in the countryside: there is no farmhouse behind the house, no side door, and no passage to connect the surrounding fields. There were stables, and they were built according to the prevailing structure, at the back of the house, but on the inner side of the wall. It was so out of place with the rest of the countryside, so lonely and independent, like an outdated child's toy, abandoned by the roadside. Rob remembered that the house had belonged to an old man; but because the people of Francais always went shopping only in the village on the other side of Rabelot, called Hamglin, no one had ever seen them in Milford. It wasn't until Mary Ann Sharp and her mother inherited Frances from the old man that they began the habit of going shopping in the morning in Milford Town,wholesale plastic pallet, which became a regular sight there. Rob wondered how long they had lived there, three years? Or four years ? As for them, they haven't been accepted into Milford society. It's not surprising at all. Take old Mrs. Warren, who some twenty-five years ago bought the first of the elm-fringed cottages at the bottom of Market Street; she had moved to Milford from the sea, believing that the air would be good for her rheumatism. But even now, people still call her "the lady from the seaside". Besides,euro plastic pallet, perhaps the Sharp mother and daughter simply do not want to have that kind of dispensable social interaction with others. They are almost self-satisfied and enjoy themselves. Rob had seen the Sharps once or twice on the golf course, where they played (apparently as guests) with Dr. Porthwick. She can swing a long shot like a man and run her thin, brown wrists like a professional. And these are the impressions that Robert has of her. When he drove near the tall double iron gate, he found two other cars parked there. The one parked close by was easily identified as a Scotland Yard police car. When Rob got out of the car, he wondered if there was any country in the world where the police could have modest courtesy and unobtrusive gentleness? His eyes then fell on the car farther away. That's Hallam, the car of the local detective, who is not very hot on the golf course. There were three people in the police car: the driver, a middle-aged woman in the back seat, and a woman who was either a child or a young man. The driver looked at Rob in a gentle, absent way, but with the sweeping look of a policeman in his eyes. When he saw it clearly, he turned his eyes away; Rob could not see the face of the man in the back seat. The tall iron door was closed tightly, stackable plastic pallets ,plastic pallet bin, and Rob never saw the iron door open.  They stood up politely to greet the visitor, and Hallam and Rob nodded to each other. Well,collapsible bulk container, you know Detective Hallam? "Marion Sharp said." The other is Inspector Grant from headquarters. Rob was a little unaccustomed to the word "headquarters" and had some doubts. Does it sound like she's dealt with the police before; or does it not sound like she just doesn't like the word "Scotland Yard"? Grant shook hands with him. "I'm glad you're here, Mr. Blair.". Not only for Miss Sharp, but for myself. Yourself? ”。 cnplasticpallet.com