雪里,雾中,几个黑影在明亮的通气窗前撅着屁股,是五个孩子,跪伏着,——真凄惨!眼巴巴地望着面包师做沉甸甸的黄面包。那粗壮的白胳膊转动着,灰色的面包,送进通红的炉膛。他们谛听着烧烤面包的吱吱声,面包师得意的油嘴里哼着古老的小调。他们拥做一团,动也不动,透亮的气窗里扑出 Snow, fog, a few dark shadow in front of the bright vestibule ass, five children, kneeling - really miserable! Looking at the baker doing heavy yellow bread. The thick white arm turned, gray bread, into the red hearth. They listened to the squeak of the toasted bread, and the baker smoothed the old trumpet in his mouth. They hold a group, motionless, translucent window saved