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它(这栋房子)不仅是个物质的而且是个精神上的庇护所。它一直是个身份的守护者。多少年来,它的主人去了又来,他们在房子里兜过一圈后,就会想起他们原本是谁。一条林荫道上的一栋联排式房屋。今天早些时候,这栋房子跟孩子哭大人叫的声音一起鸣响,不过自从最后的住户几小时前背着书包离开后,就剩它独自细品晨间况味了。阳光已经越过对面建筑的山墙,落地窗眼下正沐浴其中,屋内的墙壁涂上了一层浅黄,粗糙的红色砖墙里面也被晒得暖洋洋的。偶尔,信箱会嘭地打开,接纳一份可怜的活页广告。
It (the house) is not only a physical but also a spiritual sanctuary. It has always been a guardian of identity. For years, its owners have come again, and after they’ve lapped in the house, they remembered who they were originally. A townhouse on a boulevard. Earlier today, the house sounded with the cry the boy cried, but since the last household left schoolbag a few hours before leaving, it left alone in the morning. The sun has crossed the gables across the building, bathed under the windows, and the interior walls are covered in a pale yellow, rough, red brick wall that is also sunblown. Occasionally, the mailbox opens, accepting a poor leaflet.