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故乡,有一个老人惦记着,甚至,藏着破碎的饼干、融化的糖等着我,是我漂流在城市时那颗疲累的心的最后安慰,也是我每年回家的一个理由。1三婆,你离开这个世界,已经快半年了。拿起笔,我的眼前又出现了你的样子,摇着蒲扇,歪着小脚走着。每次回到乡下,你都会佝偻着身子走来,到我们跟前坐一会儿。在我们家族,你辈分最高。在我们村子,你年龄也最大。我和妻子忙站起来迎接,让儿子去搀扶你。你笑着抖开衣襟,里面是几颗红枣,给我们的儿子。儿子脸红了,接不是不接又不是,他已经是个大学生了,你还像过
Hometown, an old man kept in mind that, even with broken biscuits and melted sugar waiting for me was the last consolation of my tired heart while drifting in the city and one of the reasons I went home every year. A three-woman, you leave the world, almost six months. Pick up the pen, my eyes appeared again you look like, shaking the palm-leaf fan, walked crooked feet. Every time you go back to the country, you walk around with your body in front of us for a while. In our family, you have the highest seniority. In our village, you are the oldest. My wife and I stand up to meet, let my son to help you. You laugh and shake open the skirt, which is a few dates, to our son. Son blushed, pick not pick it up is not, he is already a college student, you still like