又是一个寒冷冬日,北风呼啸,让人从心底泛起一丝凉意。作业本发下后,学生们便纷纷开始写字。我环视了一圈,发现只有婷婷没有动笔。我走过去,轻声问道:“怎么啦?是不是钢笔没有墨水了?”她没有作声,只是摇摇头。我又问:“哪里不舒服吗?”她仍旧只是摇头。最后,在我不断追问下,她只好伸出右手,轻轻取下手套——天啊!那是一只红肿的手,上面被冻伤的地方已经发黑,而且有溃 Is a cold winter, the north wind roar, people from the bottom of my heart a trace of coolness. After the homework, the students started to write one by one. I looked around and found that only Tingting did not work. I walked over and softly asked: “What happened? Is not the fountain pen no ink?” “She did not say anything, just shook her head. I asked again: ”Where is not comfortable?" She still just shook her head. Finally, as I kept asking, she had to stretch out her right hand and gently remove the glove - my God, it was a red-swollen hand, where the frostbite had been black and black