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四月,梨花风起。是清明了。暮色四合,我打开木匣,里面静躺着一杆陈旧的铜质烟枪。许是多年未用,枪身已是锈迹斑驳。我一遍又一遍来回轻轻摩挲它,眼前仿佛出现了一幅熟悉的画面:祖父惬意地靠在藤椅上,左手捋一把胡须,右手执杆烟枪,快活地吞吐着烟雾,任凭袅袅青烟弥漫整间木屋。祖父只喜欢抽自家种的烟草。每年,祖母总会留下几株好的,洗净,
In April, the pear blossomed. It is clear. Twilight Sihe, I opened the wooden box, which lay lying inside an old copper pipe. Xu is unused for many years, the gun body is rust mottled. I rub it back and forth over and over again, as if a familiar picture appeared: my grandfather resting comfortably on a wicker chair, a beard in my left hand, a smoke gun in my right hand, swiftly breathing smoke, Smoke filled the whole hut. Grandfather only like to smoke their own kind of tobacco. Every year, my grandmother will always leave a few good, wash,