在严冬之中,北风呼呼地刮着。光秃秃的树木在这肃杀中似乎也颤抖起来。冷清的大街中,只有那么几个行人。与其说他们是在走,不如说他们是在跑。步履匆匆的他们仿佛在和风赛跑,赶着去干什么似的。突然间,一阵急促的电话铃声从一间低矮黑暗的小平房中传出来了。那急促的声音,像是父母对游子的呼唤,像是小孩子向父母的叫喊,催促着那寒风中的未 In the winter, the north wind whirring. Bare trees seem to tremble in this chill. In the deserted street, only a few pedestrians. They are not so much to go as it is that they are running. They seem to rush in the wind race, hurry to do something like. Suddenly, a hurried phone ring came from a low, dark little bungalow. That rapid voice, like the call of parents to wanderer, like a child crying to their parents, urging that the cold is not