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那一年,我4岁。窗外,是纷飞飘扬的寒雪,朔风阵阵,卷起积雪飘向远方。地上几个浅浅深深的脚印,静静地述说着寒冷与寂寞。我趴在冰冷的窗台上望着天,今晚,不会有星星了吧?我望着身后这个熟悉又陌生的屋子,脑中再次闪现他的身影......我很小的时候,他有一把卷尺和一个本子。每次他总让我站在门囗那个鞋柜前,慢慢地把卷尺拉开,细心地读数。我总将脚轻轻踮起,他却揉揉我的头,让我站好。每次我长高点时,他似乎比我还欣喜,目光和嘴角,额头和眉梢,浸满了喜悦。他笑眯
That year, I was 4 years old. Outside the window, is the flying snow flying, the moonwatch bursts of wind, rolled snow drift to the distance. A few shallow and deep footprints on the ground, quietly talking about the cold and loneliness. I was lying on the cold windowsill looking at the sky tonight, there will be no stars, right? I looked behind this familiar and unfamiliar house, his mind flashed his figure again ... I was very young He has a tape measure and a book. Every time he always let me stand in front of the shoe that door, slowly rolled tape, carefully reading. I always gently kicked his foot, he rubbed my head, let me stand. He seemed delighted with me every time I was tall, eyes and mouth, forehead and brow, soaked with joy. He smiled