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平安夜的卖火柴少年NIKANYUNDOUHUILE阮辰光十五岁这一年,巴黎的平安夜飘起罕见的大雪。北风如割,滴水成冰。他蹲在一个几近全黑的桥洞中,哆嗦着手,试图从冻得硬邦邦的军绿色外套中搜出点口粮。和他一起在这避了三小时风的那只流浪猫见状忙挪了挪身体,用一双碧莹莹的瞳孔给他打光,顺便给出冷酷的威压:“人类,知趣点。这是哥的地盘,见者有份。”然而让一人一猫大失所望的是,掏遍了所有的口袋,找到的唯一物品是半包受了潮的香烟。阮辰光终于长叹一声:“就算让我当卖火柴的少年,好歹也有个打火机啊!”
Christmas Eve selling matches NIKANYUNDOUHUILE Ruan Chenuang fifteen years old this year, Paris, Christmas Eve float rare snow. Boreal wind such as cutting, dripping ice. He squatted in a near-full-black bridge hole, trembling, trying to find out from the frozen military green jacket point rations. With him, the stray cat, who had avoided the wind for three hours, was busy shifting his body and used a pair of Biyingying pupils to give him light. By the way, he gave a cruel coercion: “Humans, a point of interest.” This is the brother’s place, see who share. “However, let a cat disappointed, dig all over the pocket, find the only item is a half-baked tide of cigarettes. Ruan Chenguang finally sighed: ”Even if I sold the match boy, whatever the outcome, there is a lighter ah!"