晚上十点钟,我在灯下看书,离家不远的军营里的喇叭吹起了熟悉的调子。几个简单的音阶,缓缓地上去又下来,在这鼎沸的大城市里难得有这样的简单的心。 我说:“又吹喇叭了。姑姑可听见?"我姑姑说:“没留心。”我怕听每天晚上的喇叭,因为只有我一个人听见。

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问题     晚上十点钟,我在灯下看书,离家不远的军营里的喇叭吹起了熟悉的调子。几个简单的音阶,缓缓地上去又下来,在这鼎沸的大城市里难得有这样的简单的心。
    我说:“又吹喇叭了。姑姑可听见?"我姑姑说:“没留心。”我怕听每天晚上的喇叭,因为只有我一个人听见。
    我说:“啊,又吹起来了。”可是这一次不知为什么,声音极低,绝细的一丝,几次断了又连上。这一次我也不问我姑姑听得见听不见了。我疑心根本没有什么喇叭,只是我自己听觉上的回忆罢了。于凄凉之外还感到恐惧
    可是这时候,外面有人响亮地吹起口哨,信手拾起了喇叭的调子。我突然站起身,充满喜悦与同情,奔到窗口去,但也并不想知道那是谁,是公寓楼上或是楼下的住客,还是街上过路的

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答案 But this time the sound is very low somehow, which is an extremely faint sound, breaking off several times but being taken up once again. On this occasion, I won’t even ask my aunt whether she can hear it or not. I doubt there is no bugle at all, which is merely my memory of something I’ve heard. In addition to a sense of desolation, I also feel scared. However, at this moment, someone outside is whistling resoundingly, following the bugle’s tune casually. I abruptly get up and bound to the window with joy and empathy, yet having no intention to know who he is, no matter whether he is a resident living upstairs or downstairs in the same apartment block or a passerby on the street.

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