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妻子一直在控制体重,因此家里总是没有面包。特罗菲莫夫每天打开木制面包篮,看到里面又干又硬、发了霉又爬满了蚂蚁的面包片,他就觉得,这些面包片就像是他全部生活的缩影:惨淡无趣、难以下咽,在某种程度上还让人深感屈辱。妻子走进厨房,面带歉意地问道:“你自己就不能买吗?你也知道我不吃面食。”“可你不是一个人过日子。”特罗菲莫夫提醒道。“我就是一个人,”她轻轻地反驳说,“你眼里根本就没有我。”
His wife has been controlling weight, so the family always has no bread. Trofimov opened the wooden bread basket every day, saw the inside hard and dry, covered with ants and buns moldy bread, he felt that these slices of bread is like a microcosm of his entire life: boring boring , Hard to swallow, to a certain extent, is also deeply humiliating. His wife went into the kitchen apologetically and asked: “You can not buy it yourself? You know I do not eat pasta.” “But you do not live alone.” “Tofimov reminded. ”I am alone,“ she said softly. ”There is not me in your eyes."