陌路人那年的秋天来得比往年都早,秋雨绵绵,枯叶凋零,上索省河畔笼罩着蒙蒙轻雾。我仍住在富尼埃尔山脚下的父母家里。我得找份工作干干。一月,克鲁瓦·帕凯广场附近的一家丝织品公司雇用我当了六个月的打字员。工资微薄,但我省吃俭用,假期我去了西班牙南部的托雷莫利诺斯度假。那年,我十八岁,生平第一次离开法国。在托雷莫利诺斯的海滩上,我结识了一个名叫米尔·马克西莫夫的法国女人,棕发女郎,非 Strangers come earlier that year than in previous years, autumn rain, withered leaves, the province on the shores of the province shrouded misty misty. I am still living in the parents’ house at the foot of Mount Bonnell. I have to find a job to do. In January, a silk company near Cluj-Napoca Square hired me as typist for six months. Meager wages, but I live frugally, I went to holiday in the southern Spanish resort of Torremolinos. That year, I was eighteen years old and left for the first time in my life. On the beach in Torremolinos, I met a French woman named Mir Maximov, brown-haired,