在薄暮的废园里,我刚放下书,她就缓缓地走来了。她身子小小的,佝偻着,一只手拄着光滑的木棍,另一只手提着瓦匠的小圆桶,步子迈得很小很小,落在方砖上,发出轻微的响声。她俯身把木棍和圆桶放在地上,扶着对面的石头,慢慢下坐。她身子往后仰了仰,坐定了,又朝前微倾过去,瘦弱的双腿并拢着,暗黄色的裤脚,打着黑色的补丁,正缓慢地起伏波动,好像风鼓在里头,在连绵地吹拂,而我却感觉不到风的存在。就这样默默地看着她 In the dusk waste garden, I just put down the book, she came slowly. Her body was small, shy, one hand leaning on a smooth wooden stick, the other hand carrying a small bucket of bricklayer, steps a very small and small, fell on the brick, making a slight noise. She leaned over to lay the sticks and drums on the ground, holding the opposite stone and slowly sits down. Her body leans back, sit down, and leans forward slightly, thin legs close together, dark yellow trousers, black patches patch, is slowly fluctuating, as if the wind drum inside, in the The wind blows, but I do not feel the wind. Just look at her silently