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炕桌摆上了,布苫上了。父亲把小袋子往外倒,一颗颗豆种精神饱满地从袋子里跳出来,调皮地打几个滚,转几个圈。胖乎乎的大豆在母亲眼前生动起来。从生活紧张时节算来,母亲还从未见过这么好的豆种。她的手在大豆上摩挲着,摩挲着。阳光透过结满冰花的窗子,穿过母亲忙碌的手指缝逗弄着那堆大豆。白白胖胖的豆种被母亲挑拣到袋子里,干瘪的挑到另一边,给我们炒着吃。尽管少,但总是让人喜欢。母亲手底下的豆子慢慢地少了,父亲立在旁边,攥着一只小布袋,不说话。
Kang table put on, cloth Shang on. Father dumped the small bag out of the bag full of beans to jump out of the bag, playfully roll a few roll, turn a few laps. Chubby soy vividly in front of his mother. From the stressful days of life, my mother has never seen such a good bean species. Her hands rubbed on the soybeans and rubbed. The sun shone through the ice-covered windows and stabbed through the mother’s busy fingers. White fat beans were picked into the bag by his mother, shriveled picked the other side, give us fried eat. Although less, but always make people like it. The beans under the mothers’ hands were slowly diminished, with his father standing by, clutching a small bag and not speaking.