At the first step upon the cold surface, Buck's feet sank into a white mushy something very like mud. He sprang back with a snort. More of this white stuff was falling through the air. He shook himself, but more of it fell upon him. He sniffed it curiously, then licked some up on his tongue. It bit like fire, and the next instant was gone. This puzzled him. He tried it again, with the same result. The onlookers laughed uproariously, and he felt ashamed, he knew not why, for it was his first snow. (查看原文)
篇头小诗: Into the Primitive "Old longings nomadic leap, Chafing at custom's chain; Again from its brumal sleep, Wakens the ferine strain." 杰克·伦敦是个天才,他的《野性的呼唤》是一本伟大的书。当然,这是一个关于叫做“巴克”的狗的故事,不过读了之后,你...
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还没人写过短评呢