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整理书柜,不意看到它,它静静地躺在那里,像一泓旧时光。初见时的欣喜,今日依稀可感。它斑驳不堪,却又那么雍容,硬纸壳和绿色的丝缎连接而成的书面,就像没落贵族的少妇,显示出细节里的华贵。这是一本1957年人民文学出版社的短篇小说选,书页泛黄,参差不齐,它已经伴我快四十年的光阴了。这是母亲年轻时的读物。那一年,家家户户在客厅搭起了防震床,衣柜挪动,藏在柜子里的书给翻了出来。我就像打开藏宝洞的阿里巴巴,惊诧家里还藏着这么多宝藏,在那个动辄“毒草”的年代,它们好多是不能见光的。我偷偷地躲在房间里,
Finishing the bookcase, unwilling to see it, it lay quietly, like a long time ago. Early delight, vaguely feel today. It is mottled, but so graceful, hard paper shell and green silk satin connection made of written, like a declining aristocratic young woman, showing the details of the luxury. This is a short story selected by the People’s Literature Publishing House in 1957. The pages of the book are yellowed and jagged, and it has been around for almost 40 years. This is the mother’s reading of a young man. That year, every household in the living room set up a shock bed, wardrobe moves, the book hidden in the cupboard turned out. I was like Alibaba to open the treasure cave, surprised at home there are so many treasures hidden, in that often “poisonous grass ” era, many of them can not see the light. I secretly hid in the room,