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某个昏暗的傍晚,当我这个负重的动点正以3米/秒的速度两点一线朝家的方向移动时,突然一根早有预谋的铁链跑到我的脚下,重重绊我一跤。我在父亲的“护驾”下来到医院,漂亮的女医生只瞟了一眼X光片,便给出了“手已骨折”的论断。无奈何,我只得眼睁睁地看着她将涂满了石膏浆的纱布密密匝匝地绕在我可怜的右手上。见到我满眶的泪,父亲不安地问:“很疼吗?”其实倒不是骨断处的疼痛牵动了神经,而是我在担忧:这极不自在的玩意儿是否会影响中考呢?父亲知道了我的心思,轻轻地把他温暖的大手放在我肩上,微笑着拍了拍。
On a dim evening, when my weight point was moving toward the home at the speed of 3 meters per second, suddenly a premeditated iron chain ran up to my feet and yelled at me. wrestle. I came down to the hospital with my father’s “protection drive.” The beautiful female doctor only glanced at the X-ray film and gave a statement that “the hand has broken”. With helplessness, I could only watch as she wrapped the gauze plastered with plaster into my poor right hand. Seeing my full tears, my father asked uneasily, “Does it hurt?” It wasn’t the pain in the bones that touched the nerves, but I was worried: Is this extremely uncomfortable stuff affecting the test? The father knew my heart and gently put his warm big hand on my shoulder and smiled and patted.