gave quite an Undertaking air to that part of the procession in which he walked.

His son obeyed, and the crowd approached; they were bawling and hissing round a dingy hearse and dingy mourning coach, in which mourning coach there was only one mourner, dressed in the dingy trappings that were considered essential to the dignity of the position. The position appeared by no means to please him, however, with an increasing rabble surrounding the coach, deriding him, making grimaces at him, and incessantly groaning and calling out: `Yah! Spies! Tst! Yaha! Spies!' with many compliments too numerous and forcible to repeat.

Funerals had at all times a remarkable attraction for Mr. Cruncher; he always pricked up his senses, and became excited, when a funeral passed Tellson's. Naturally, therefore, a funeral with this uncommon attendance excited him greatly, and he asked of the first man who ran against him:

`What is it, brother? What's it about?'

`I don't know,' said the man. `Spies! Yaha! Tst! Spies!'

He asked another man. `Who is it?'

`I don't know,' returned the man, clapping his hands to his mouth nevertheless, and vociferating in a surprising heat and with the greatest ardour, `Spies! Yaha! Tst, tst! Spi-ies!'

At length, a person better informed on the merits of the case, tumbled against him, and from this person he learned that the funeral was the funeral of One Roger Cly.

`Was He a spy?' asked Mr. Cruncher.

`Old Bailey spy,' returned his informant. `Yaha Tst! Yah! Old Bailey Spi-i-ies!'

`Why, to be sure!' exclaimed Jerry, recalling the Trial at which he had assisted. `I've seen him. Dead, is he?'

`Dead as mutton,' returned the other, `and can't be too dead. Have `em out, there Spies! Pull `em out, there! Spies!'

The idea was so acceptable in the prevalent absence of any idea, that the crowd caught it up with eagerness, and, loudly repeating the suggestion to have `em out, and to pull em out, mobbed the two vehicles so closely that they came to a stop. On the crowd's opening the coach doors, the one mourner scuffled out of himself and was in their hands for a moment; but he was so alert, and made such good use of his time, that in another moment he was scouring away up a bystreet, after shedding his cloak, hat, long hatband, white pocket handkerchief, and other symbolical tears.

These, the people tore to pieces and scattered far and wide with great enjoyment, while the tradesmen hurriedly shut up their shops; for a crowd in those times stopped at nothing, and was a monster much dreaded. They had already got the length of opening the hearse to take the coffin out, when some brighter genius proposed instead, its being escorted to destination amidst general rejoicing. Practical suggestions being much needed, this suggestion, too, was received with acclamation, and the coach was immediately filled with eight inside and a dozen out, while as many people got on the roof of the hearse as could by any exercise of ingenuity stick upon it. Among the first of these volunteers was Jerry Cruncher himself, who modestly concealed his spiky head from the observation of Tellson's, in the further corner of the mourning coach.

The officiating undertakers made some protest against these changes in the ceremonies; but, the river being alarmingly near, and several voices remarking on the efficacy of cold immersion in bringing refractory members of the profession to reason, the protest was faint and brief. The remodelled procession started, with a chimney-sweep driving the hearse--advised by the regular driver, who was perched beside him, under close inspection, for the purpose--and with a pieman, also attended by his cabinet minister, driving the mourning coach. A bear-leader, a popular street character of the time, was impressed as an additional ornament, before the cavalcade had gone far down the Strand; and his bear, who was black and very mangy, gave quite an Undertaking air to that part of the procession in which he walked.

`I warn't doing no harm,' Young Jerry protested, rubbing his cheek.

With his straw in his mouth, Mr. Cruncher sat watching the two streams, like the heathen rustic who has for several centuries been on duty watching one stream--saving that Jerry had no expectation of their ever running dry. Nor would it have been an expectation of a hopeful kind, since Ball part of his income was derived from the pilotage of timid women (mostly of a full habit and past the middle of life) from Tellson's side of the tides to the opposite ore. Brief as such companionship was in every separate instance, Mr. Cruncher never failed to become so interested the lady as to express a strong desire to have the honour drinking her very good health. And it was from the gifts towed upon him towards the execution of this benevolent purpose, that he recruited his finances, as just now observed.

Time was, when a poet sat upon a stool in a public place, and mused in the sight of men. Mr. Cruncher, sitting on stool in a public place, but not being a poet, mused as little as possible, and looked about him.

It fell out that he was thus engaged in a season when crowds were few, and belated women few, and when his affairs in general were so unprosperous as to awaken a strong suspicion in his breast that Mrs. Cruncher must have been `flopping' in some pointed manner, when an unusual concourse pouring down Fleet Street westward, attracted his attention. Looking that way, Mr. Cruncher made out that me kind of funeral was coming along, and that there was popular objection to this funeral, which engendered uproar.

`Young Jerry,' said Mr. Cruncher, turning to his offspring, `it's a buryin'.'

`Hooroar, father!' cried Young Jerry.

The young gentleman uttered this exultant sound with mysterious significance. The elder gentleman took the cry so ill, that he watched his opportunity, and smote the young gentleman on the ear.

`What d'ye mean? What are you hooroaring at? What do you want to conwey to your own father, you young Rip? This boy is a getting too many for me!' said Mr. Cruncher, surveying him. `Him and his hooroars. Don't let me hear no more of you, or you shall feel some more of me. D'ye hear?'

`I warn't doing no harm,' Young Jerry protested, rubbing his cheek.

`Drop it then,' said Mr. Cruncher; `I won't have none of your no harms. Get atop of that there seat, and look at the crowd.'

The Honest Tradesman

Be comforted!' he said, `I am not worth such feeling, Miss Manette. An hour or two hence, and the low companions and low habits that I scorn but yield to, will render me less worth such tears as those, than any wretch who creeps along the streets. Be comforted But, within myself, I shall always be, towards you, what I am now, though outwardly I shall be what you have heretofore seen me. The last supplication but one I make to you, is, that you will believe this of me.'

`I will, Mr. Carton.'

`My last supplication of all, is this; and with it, I will relieve you of a visitor with whom I well know you have nothing in unison, and between whom and you there is an impassable space. It is useless to say it, I know, but it rises out of my soul. For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. If my career were of that better kind that there was any opportunity or capacity of sacrifice in it, I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. Try to hold me in your mind, at some quiet times, as ardent and sincere in this one thing. The time will come, the time will not be long in coming, when new ties will be formed about you--ties that will bind you yet more tenderly and strongly to the home you so adorn--the dearest ties that will ever grace and gladden you. O Miss Manette, when the little picture of a happy father's face looks up in yours, when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you!' He said, `Farewell!' said a last `God bless you!' and left her.

CHAPTER XIV

The Honest Tradesman

TO the eyes of Mr. Jeremiah Cruncher, sitting on his stool in Fleet Street with his grisly urchin beside him, a vast number and variety of objects in movement were every day presented. Who could sit upon anything in Fleet Street during the busy hours of the day, and not be dazed and deafened by two immense processions, one ever tending westward with the sun, the other ever tending eastward from the sun, both ever tending to the plains beyond the range of red and purple where the sun goes down!

`Thank you. And again, God bless you.'

Don't say that, Miss Manette, for you would have reclaimed me, if anything could. You will not be the cause of my becoming worse.'

`Since the state of your mind that you describe, is, at all events, attributable to some influence of mine--this is what I mean, if I can make it plain--can I use no influence to serve you? Have I no power for good, with you, at all?'

`The utmost good that I am capable of now, Miss Manette, I have come here to realise. Let me carry through the rest of my misdirected life, the remembrance that I opened my heart to you, last of all the world; and that there was something left in me at this time which you could deplore and pity.'

`Which I entreated you to believe, again and again, most fervently, with all my heart, was capable of better things, Mr. Carton!'

`Entreat me to believe it no more, Miss Manette. I have proved myself, and I know better. I distress you; I draw fast to an end. Will you let me believe, when I recall this day, that the last confidence of my life was reposed in your pure and innocent breast, and that it lies there alone, and will be shared by no one?'

`If that will be a consolation to you, yes.'

`Not even by the dearest one ever to be known to you?'

`Mr. Carton,' she answered, after an agitated pause, `the secret is yours, not mine; and I promise to respect it.'

`Thank you. And again, God bless you.'

He put her hand to his lips, and moved towards the door. `Be under no apprehension, Miss Manette, of my ever resuming this conversation by so much as a passing word. I will never refer to it again. If I were dead, that could not be surer than it is henceforth. In the hour of my death, I shall hold sacred the one good remembrance--and shall thank and bless you for it--that my last avowal of myself was made to you, and that my name, and faults, and miseries were gently carried in your heart. May it otherwise be light and happy!'

He was so unlike what he had ever shown himself to be, and it was so sad to think how much he had thrown away, and how much he every day kept down and perverted, that Lucie Manette wept mournfully for him as he stood looking back at her.

`Will nothing of it remain? O Mr. Carton, think again! Try again!'

`If it had been possible, Miss Manette, that you could have returned the love of the man you see before you--self-flung away, wasted, drunken, poor creature of misuse as you know him to be--he would have been conscious this day and hour, in spite of his happiness, that he would bring you to misery, bring you to sorrow and repentance, blight you, disgrace you, pull you down with him. I know very well that you can have no tenderness for me; I ask for none; I am even thankful that it cannot he.'

`Without it, can I not save you, Mr. Carton? Can I not recall you--forgive me again!--to a better course? Can I in no way repay your confidence? I know this is a confidence,' she modestly said, after a little hesitation, and in earnest tears, `I know you would say this to no one else. Can I turn it to no good account for yourself, Mr. Carton?'

He shook his head.

`To none. No, Miss Manette, to none. If you will hear me through a very little more, all you can ever do for me is done. I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul. In my degradation I have not been so degraded but that the sight of you with your father, and of this home made such a home by you, has stirred old shadows that I thought had died out of me. Since I knew you, I have been troubled by a remorse that I thought would never reproach me again, and have heard whispers from old voices impelling me upward, that I thought were silent for ever. I have had unformed ideas of striving afresh, beginning anew, shaking off sloth and sensuality, and fighting out the abandoned fight. A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down, but I wish you to know that you inspired it.'

`Will nothing of it remain? O Mr. Carton, think again! Try again!'

`No, Miss Manette; all through it, I have known myself to be quite undeserving. And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire--a fire, however, inseparable in its nature from myself, quickening nothing, lighting nothing, doing no service, idly burning away.'

`Since it is my misfortune, Mr. Carton, to have more unhappy than you were before you knew me--

`Say, then, my Gaspard, what do you do there?'

Its abiding place was in all things fitted to it. A narrow winding street, full of offence and stench, with other narrow winding streets diverging, all peopled by rags and nightcaps, and all smelling of rags and nightcaps, and all visible things with a brooding look upon them that looked ill. In the hunted air of the people there was yet some wild-beast thought of the possibility of turning at bay.

`Say, then, my Gaspard, what do you do there?'

The fellow pointed to his joke with immense significance as is often the way with his tribe. It missed its mark, and completely failed, as is often the way with his tribe too.

`What now? Are you a subject for the mad hospital?' said the wine-shop keeper, crossing the road, and obliterating the jest with a handful of mud, picked up for the purpose and smeared over it. `Why do you write in the public streets? Is there--tell me thou--is there no other place to write such words in?'

In his expostulation he dropped his cleaner hand (perhaps accidentally, perhaps not) upon the joker's heart. The joke rapped it with his own, took a nimble spring upward, and came down in a fantastic dancing attitude, with one of his stained shoes jerked off his foot into his hand, and held out A joker of an extremely, not to say wolfishly practical character, he looked, under those circumstances.

The wine-shop keeper accordingly rolled his eyes about, until they rested upon an elderly gentleman and a young lady, who were seated in a corner. Other company were there: two playing cards, two playing dominoes, three standing by the counter lengthening out a short supply of wine. As he passed behind the counter, he took notice that the elderly gentleman said in a look to the young lady `This is our man.

`What the devil do you do in that galley there?' said Monsieur Defarge to himself; `I don't know you.'

“Well, what’s your excellency?

 “Well, what’s your excellency? Your excellency! Your excellency! But what that means, your excellency, nobody knows.”

“Your excellency, that’s Dolohov, the degraded officer,” the captain said softly.

“Well, is he degraded to be a field-marshal, or a common soldier? If he’s a soldier, then he must be dressed like all the rest, according to regulation.”

“Your excellency, you gave him leave yourself on the march.”

“Gave him leave? There, you’re always like that, you young men,” said the general, softening a little. “Gave him leave? If one says a word to you, you go and …” The general paused. “One says a word to you, and you go and…Eh?” he said with renewed irritation. “Be so good as to clothe your men decently.…”

And the general, looking round at the adjutant, walked with his quivering strut towards the regiment. It was obvious that he was pleased with his own display of anger, and that, walking through the regiment, he was trying to find a pretext for wrath. Falling foul of one officer for an unpolished ensign, of another for the unevenness of the rank, he approached the third company.

“How are you standing? Where is your leg? Where is your leg?” the general shouted with a note of anguish in his voice, stopping five men off Dolohov, who was wearing his blue overcoat. Dolohov slowly straightened his bent leg, and looked with his clear, insolent eyes straight in the general’s face.

CHAPTER V

`A likely thing, too!' replied the strong woman. `If it was ever intended that I should go across salt water, do you suppose Providence would have cast my lot in an island?'

This being another question hard to answer, Mr. Jarvis Lorry withdrew to consider it.

The Wine-shop

A shrill sound of laughter and of amused voices--voices of men, women, and children--resounded in the street while this wine game lasted. There was little roughness in the spot and much playfulness. There was a special companionship in it, an observable inclination on the part of every one to join some other one, which led, especially among the luckier or lighter-hearted, to frolicsome embraces, drinking of healths, shaking of hands, and even joining of hands and dancing, a dozen together. When the wine was gone, and the places where it had been most abundant were raked into a gridiron-pattern by fingers, these demonstrations ceased, as suddenly as they had broken out. The man who had left his saw sticking in the firewood he was cutting, set it in motion again; the woman who had left on a door-step the little pot of hot ashes, at which she had been trying to soften the pain in her own starved fingers and toes, or in those of her child, returned to it; men with bare arms, matted locks, and cadaverous faces, who had emerged into the winter light from cellars, moved away, to descend again; and a gloom gathered on the scene that appeared more natural to it than sunshine.

The wine was red wine, and had stained the ground of the narrow street in the suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, where it was spilled. It had stained many hands, too, and many faces, and many naked feet, and many wooden shoes. The hands of the man who sawed the wood, left red marks on the billets; and the forehead of the woman who nursed her baby, was stained with the stain of the old rag she wound about her head again. Those who had been greedy with the staves of the cask, had acquired a tigerish smear about the mouth; and one tall joker so besmirched, his head more out of a long squalid bag of a night-cap than in it, scrawled upon a wall with his finger dipped in muddy wine-lees--BLOOD.

“Your excellency …”

“What next? what’s this!” he shouted, stopping short. “Captain of the third company!”

“The captain of the third company to the general! The captain to the general of the third company to the captain!” … voices were heard along the ranks, and an adjutant ran to look for the tardy officer. When the sound of the officious voices, varying the command, and, by now, crying, “the general to the third company,” reached their destination, the officer called for emerged from behind his company, and, though he was an elderly man and not accustomed to running, he moved at a quick trot towards the general, stumbling awkwardly over the toes of his boots. The captain’s face showed the uneasiness of a schoolboy who is called up to repeat an unlearnt lesson. Patches came out on his red nose (unmistakably due to intemperance), and he did not know how to keep his mouth steady. The general looked the captain up and down as he ran panting up, slackening his pace as he drew nearer.

“You’ll soon be dressing your men in petticoats! What’s the meaning of it?” shouted the general, thrusting out his lower jaw and pointing in the ranks of the third division to a soldier in an overcoat of a colour different from the rest. “Where have you been yourself? The commander-in-chief is expected, and you’re not in your place? Eh? … I’ll teach you to rig your men out in dressing-gowns for inspection! … Eh?”

The captain, never taking his eyes off his superior officer, pressed the peak of his cap more and more tightly with his two fingers, as though he saw in this compression his only hope of safety.

“Well, why don’t you speak? Who’s that dressed up like a Hungarian?” the general jested bitterly.

“Your excellency …”

II - Fan Jie autumn

II - Fan Jie autumnFAN Xiao Jie to when I was eating. Fish into the bucket and said, mom, my dad today to catch big fish, called to take a few to you.Really good, my mother bent down to look at that tomorrow I give Star pickled fish you eat.Fan Jie said I do not come home to eat fish.And Van small Jie born the same day, accurate to say I am older than her hour 26 minutes. The parents met in the ward, talk to know the two are only separated by a few alley, and have the surname Fan. So think very nice ring, after they have been exchanges, and better than relatives. Fan small Jie and I called my parents followed by the other party. Big people say this intimacy, children with.FAN Xiao Jie to me very happy because she will help me wash the dishes. In order to remind her, I said small Jie Wait a minute, I wash the bowl and left. She really said that, I wash it, you clumsy. My mom to see through the trick, the point of his finger in my head said, you only lazy, opportunistic.Pack up finished genius just dusk. Only one street light bright alley, many small flies around in the dim light around the circle. Floated not far from the brewing factory sour taste, not unpleasant, not good news.I say go, watching movies?My dad is exemplary Street cinema projectionist, a movie is not the money. I often go to the movies with students. A girl can be counted as my girlfriend. However, when high school is actually very simple addition to sending postcards to hold my hand silly fart did not know. Our school is a vocational high school, this control is lax. Parents does not seem concerned about this matter. Sometimes my dad will be from the screening room, we bought popsicles or peanut seeds.Fan Jie shook his head and said to the five-star garden around it.About half an hour later we went to the city center. Twenty years ago, this place is not bustling, even showing a bit deserted at night. And small Fan Jie sat on the stone steps outside the People's Bank, after cars and pedestrians looked sparse.FAN Xiao Jie is not very lively tonight, like anything on her mind, long time no speak.I took out the one stolen from his father that the smoke point. FAN Xiao Jie said do not smoke, you are less than 18 years of age. I said you can do when traitor to report my mother, I just smoked a play.After a while, Fan Jie suddenly asked, Do you know the arts and crafts classes poetry ink?Of course I know the Fan Poetry ink, he is in fact one student, to test the Academy of Fine Arts, it is sometimes to our school to professional courses. He was dressed in sportswear, riding a mountain bike, wearing a Walkman, chewing gum, one came to our school has become the eye-catching figure. That guy was cool, and painting to paint it. Anyway, it should be an idiom: to stand out.I put the cigarette bomb to across the street, you ask him to do, he was interested in?Fan Jie said, a lot of girls in our school to write to him, he is no one to ignore.I said, Is there anything strange people are the focus of high school, and we disdain company.Fan Jie no longer speak, staring at the night sky around the fingers to play.I feel like I somewhat understand her mind. I said, you not like him?Fan Jie out of the way my eyes, just, just want to know him.I found Fan Jie face red panic shy Mo Yang is cute. I could not help but laugh, deliberately laugh meaningful. FAN Xiao Jie hand to twist my arm.I jumped down from the stone stairs to escape. I said Jie, brother to help you, but you have to ask me to play the game.I said the game is washed off the early years of the kind of play on a TV game.FAN Xiao Jie said, I invite you to play one day., Find a range of poetry Mexican bike conspicuous mountain bike the next day to school, I fled to the classroom building, looking at no one, severely kick up. Then I went to the arts and crafts classes, went to the seat next to the Fan Poetry ink, he was sitting there reading, such as the place unhindered.I said to the students, you are not black mountain bike. He nodded. I was prostrate, and you go and see.Car not a big problem, but still need repair.I said that I know of a garage, away from the school to close, and cheap. Fan Poetry ink to say thank you, you are what classes. I said, My name is Star Fan, electrical and mechanical maintenance classes. He said surnamed Fan, called the range of poetry Mexican, I was in one of the students, sometimes in the fine arts here.Quickly the Fan poem ink and I became friends. On weekends, we went to the Jialing River side stroll, or go to the movies roller blading. Exchanges, I found that Fan Poetry ink is not an unattainable jerk. Later, I took FAN Xiao Jie. FAN Xiao Jie out of each are packed very clean, but she never go against the range of poetry ink, either Aye me, or else fall behind us.There are times I want to tell the mind of the range of poetry Mexican Fan Jie. But Fan Jie firmly to agree, she said you have to dare we cut off the relationship, I do not recognize your brother. I finally hold back, I want to just naturally also not a bad idea.The end of the semester fast, Fan Jie made a surprising decision, she wanted to transfer to go read the S & P high.The parents were extremely surprised, and said to read, good to turn what school. Fan Jie said that I would like the university entrance exam. The big people are more surprised, in fact, they never expect to much and FAN Xiao Jie, can be safely even mediocre on the line. Skills, vocational school after graduation to help themselves is also good. Perhaps they were also mortal sake of their children is not high. FAN Xiao Jie's idea is not realistic, one such transfer is too difficult, and second, homework can not keep up.Fan Jie has been bent, she said she went to one in high school and start from scratch.I was the only clear small Fan Jie transfer must be in order to Fan Poetry ink. I am very puzzled, and quietly said to her, why should you go to one, now is not the same and range of poetry ink contacts it.Fan Jie seriously staring at me, then it? I graduated only when a weaver, Fan Poetry ink to go to college, I will move farther and farther.That was the first time in my life think that girl or a woman's mind is really meticulous and careful, elusive. FAN Xiao Jie stressed that, brother, if that, after him will forget me, I do not deserve him.I listened to feel really makes sense, of feeling short-sighted.Fan Jie to go after school one reading. With the capability of our parents was not accomplishing this major event, it is simply impossible to accomplish the task. All goes well, because the Fan Poetry ink father to help, he is the dean of the School of Medicine of the City.I mention small and Fan Jie fish to go home and thank him for. It is a temperament refined middle-aged, amiable attitude. He said young people should be ambitious, not to shrink from. He smiled and said to me, of course, is not to say read vocational listen to ink ink that Star can be someone else to fix things, you are all good. As long as we study hard, life will become more fulfilling OK.Meet that left me with a very deep impression. And small Fan Jie liked poetry ink father, he is one and our parents are not the same elders.A later date is very plain, or common surface of the three individuals.The second year, and poetry ink into the third year, the Fan Jie Reading High School.One night, I was out to kick down the game home and saw FAN Xiao Jie in the alleyways. I say all the time, you do not go to study up.Fan Jie said, brother, poetry the Mohist accident, jumped to his mother.What? I opened his mouth, do not believe this would happen.I said you made a mistake, anybody actually?Fan Jie said that our schools are spread, and poetry ink afternoon did not come to class.I casually scratched his head, and do not know how to deal with.Fan Jie said, we went to his house to see it. I said, brisk walking.Along the way we think of the mind did not speak. I was panic, secretly looking forward to this is a rumor.Quarters downstairs to the School of Medicine, and sure enough, in twos and threes gathered there to talk the morning thing. And FAN Xiao Jie listened for a while, probably clear what had happened.The Fan Poetry ink father and the School of Medicine, a girl had an affair. Fan Poetry Mexican mother knew, the two had a big fight. Such as the the Fan Poetry ink father go to work, the mother of poetry ink jumped from the fifth floor down, no rescue came.Fan Poetry ink mother, we have seen last year in her home when she was very warm, cut fruit and FAN Xiao Jie. As a beautiful and gentle aunt, how will suddenly died.I looked up and looked at the poem the Mohist the windows, no light. Stood for a moment. I pulled Lafan Jie, said go.I do not know how Anwei Fan Jie small, in fact, I can not tell the discomfort and confusion.The last time the three of us met in the two weeks after. Fan Poetry ink came to me first, and then we go get a range of small Jie.No one said where to go, came to the side of Jialing River. Is already late autumn, the wind and some cold. We sit down in the hard, cold stone, felt very hot chill. Surrounded by hazy mist, several mass of light do not know the other side or in the river. I think everything seemed to have floating in the thick darkness.Sound of silence, only the river flow. I took out the cigarette, and handed the poem ink a. Cigarette lighter, I felt his hands were slightly shaking. Kindle the fire of the moment, I saw a FAN Xiao Jie. She looked at a distance, Wind River grappling and her long black hair.Cigarette smoked.Fan Poetry ink, next month I want to transfer back to Hangzhou home.Hangzhou, I know this place, another city in another province. Remote and beautiful, I've seen in books and magazines.May not to bid you farewell, but I will give you later write. Fan Poetry ink voices are hoarse, and you are my best friend, my brother and sister.I think the nose an acid, cry. I desperately holding a sharp stone in the darkness to resist the sad pain.Fan Poetry ink handed me a key home star, mountain biking on your doorstep, leave for a memorial.Bike mountain bike, Fan Poetry ink and I met. I took the keys, all he hears is silence.Fan Poetry ink come up with a bag on the FAN Xiao Jie said, small Jie, which is my favorite player, as well as Zheng Zhihua and Alan Tam tape.FAN Xiao Jie said I do not want you to write to us on the line.Fan Poetry ink bag on the side of the small Jie, a long time before said, I will.However, the range of poetry did not give me a letter and Van Jie, has not been. I do not blame him. I believe he has his reasons. Very few and small Fan Jie and then talk about him, even if no intention to lift the Fan Jie will immediately change the subject.After graduating from high school into a repair shop. In the second year, FAN Xiao Jie was admitted to a university, a university in Hangzhou.Few years later, the old town we live in the demolition of two separated too far, the Chinese New Year Festival to meet once.FAN Xiao Jie in the field. Got married, I took a long train to attend. Her husband, I know little about, I just feel like the adult version of the poem ink, tall and handsome.Fan Poetry ink mountain bike as early as no trace. FAN Xiao Jie Walkman are still alive I do not know.Who I had best friends, who at the age of seventeen experienced a parting Junior Fan Poetry ink, my dear brothers, you also getting on?

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Third - He Yuqing winter night

Third - He Yuqing winter nightThe cousin said that this is He Yuqing, president of the school literary club.The boys nodded and smiled at me, the amount of long hair to cover the large glasses before falling. Glasses seems very heavy, is slowly sliding into the tip of the nose.He turned away from two fingers pushed his glasses that is charitable home Yuqing "Yuqing. Obviously he is deliberately show off. But I really do not know the origin and meaning of this sentence. So although I think he contrived, there are still a bit to admire.His bed filled with books, it is dirty and chaos. Do not know the color of the socks, there are several holes, including one large enough to make the two toes from the fore.Cousin said, This is my cousin, Chen Bing, his essay is well written, so he joined the Literary Society.Before the cousin did not mention this, so I did not answer, and is not interested.Well, He Yuqing about to sit straight, his hand pushing the glasses said, most of the third year students dropped out, I just took over, and is in need of recruiting, particularly welcome you in high school freshmen.In fact, the language achievement in general, is not an unusual love reading novels. See He Yuqing such enthusiasm, and have actually made me more hesitation, fear beneath expectations.Cousin see my negative attitude, and that literary society there are many girls. Then he and He Yuqing Wang, laugh a lot of flavor. But now, He Yuqing said gravely, as long as there are common interests, boys and girls are welcome.I said that line, to teacher approval and the like to write the application.He Yuqing said no, our school of democracy very. Key to see if you voluntarily and described the effort how. Hard he pushed his glasses, said the National Day we held Shouchao Bao game, you participate in it, must have own article in the above, the best prose I personally think that the prose most test level.Just high school all feel fresh, I spent a lot of effort in order that Shouchao Bao. The exhibition, hung in the school playground, to see a lot of people, eventually even won the first prize, a month and posted in the classroom Learn, share of pride and vanity is simply indescribable.Our school is the focus of high school, many extra-curricular activities are carried out. More than a dozen interest groups, and a large number. I participated in the latitude and longitude of the Literary Society talents, a month, two newspapers, but also organize competitions lectures and other activities.After one semester, the stalwart Chinese and I grew out of the edge, became He Yuqing the right-hand man. The trio was very understanding with the extraordinary results, often by the school's recognition and reward.A year later. He Yuqing ascend to the third year, according to the unwritten rules of the school, he can no longer serve as the president's duties. That day, he summoned the Chinese stalwart and I meeting of the Literary Society of the mimeograph room.He Yuqing task today is to elect a new president, the school I decided to, but I have a dilemma, you both equally matched, and whom to another unfair. So call you to discuss how to do.Chinese stalwart look at each other, I do not know supposed to. Say when the president of course is glorious and incomparable, but I and the stalwart brothers Wife, sympathetic, if born to complain, after all, not worth. Junior frank, no brains and shrewdness, are stumped.And stalwart position, simply when we do things on the line.He Yuqing shook his head waved, and said this does not work, one not the first column, the school is to try to exercise more, each third year of the president are automatically replaced. Moreover, also for us to prepare for exams, I did the busy review. You choose one, and after the activity is also convenient.To discuss a half-day did not result. He Yuqing said, or else to draw lots, with the original method, good, we do not have humility and guilt. Stalwart and China and I feel good, agreed. Note of the last Chinese stalwart is a flower, I was a green leaf, so the Chinese stalwart as president.High School during the Chinese stalwart literary community even better. Was a very famous schoolboy publication specifically made any reports. He Yuqing although often guide us in, but rarely participate in the activities of the Literary Society. The last time he is an appreciation of the meeting to explain a Zhu service Yujiaao. From time to time to push the glasses talking about the elegance of memorable.A year passed quickly. Chinese stalwart and I also ascend to the third year, a sophomore girls took over the job.Mathematical pull the points He Yuqing did not go to college, might expect this result, he is not much too sad, and made a poem self-deprecating: digital text word, but since this word nor that word. Text stretch thousands of lines, digital I worry heartbroken.Stalwart, and I laughed, said that the poem is written in mathematical papers, maybe encounter a soft-hearted teacher, will gift you a bit.He Yuqing decided to return home town middle repeat. He had wanted to repeat his alma mater, but the face is really embarrassing, or seclusion year.Winter break one afternoon, the stalwart Chinese and I still make up classes, He Yuqing suddenly come. He comes to the city to buy some books. Seen a few months, is naturally very affectionate. Stalwart and China and I want him to go back tomorrow. We bought a few bottles of Jiangjin white wine, a pack of Hung Mui tobacco, peanuts, bean curd like snacks, secretly taken to the dormitory open cup Telling. I do not know is excited or sad, drunk in some insolent gaffe. House Lili rain, the house is weak candlelight. That night full of passion and restlessness. Over and over the the Jiaju "gray track" and "Lengyu Ye until we finished singing" Glory Days "and" Like You ", until we have each other, relying fell asleep outside the rain has been the next · · · · · ·The second year we have admitted to the university. During the correspondence is not broken, but unfortunately a rare one poly. Later, the Chinese stalwart went abroad. He Yuqing a southwest, southeast, thousands of miles. We only see on the Internet.He Yuqing still prefer to habitually push the glasses, I do not understand, stumped in this world there is no one he was wearing just the right glasses. Before the most handsome, stalwart hair out badly, and He Yuqing I often make fun of him. Later, he wore a hat. This result is that we can compile more scripts to make fun of.One night in February, the three say their place in the rain.He Yuqing said, Do you still remember that in school, is such a rainy night, you both drink tears four streams, act like a buffoon. I said, I remember, you drink too much reciting poetry to read the word, case of wine and I, life can geometry "," fight a drunk, and now the pleasure he Tears ", and finally talking about the three shifts a girl's name , nausea, ah.Chinese stalwart said that in the blink of an eye on 2012, to commemorate 20 years of our friendship, it is better to write a poem. The topic is called "night rain".And He Yuqing, although we who never embarked on the road of literature, but love still.This lamp is a far-reaching the heart of the night / in the hands of cigarette butts hot silent lonely / night suggesting what / I do not want the past taste / I have loved the people you do not think of me / I have become sober a wise man / I will strictly observe all the secrets of sharp / I will not tell the others tonight, the first drop of rain falls on the body whoThe sun is the left eye of the sky / moon sky right eye / tonight Do you see something sad / you close the eyelids of the ink cloud / close the bright eyes / Let the tears of a then a rolling fallI was a drop full of rain / I am weak I firmly grasp the cloud clothes / she said never abandoned me / but now she wanted me to fall / I hear the wind fiercely urging around / I see the shadow of the trees in you will save me quietly ambush / If I can go through your window / / stop depression and melancholy / I is a drop soon broken sadnessHe Yuqing said, What the hell are middle-aged man, write poetry, not as good as before it, all of them making a fuss, feminine pretentious, their love.Chinese stalwart, too, said simply rewrite it.I said to both of you to be a death sentence for me, ah, I'm not coming. Chinese stalwart said that we co-write one, like the fish ashore.High school, the three of us had used the pseudonym of "fish landed" published co-wrote the article.This seems acceptable, so we wrote a poem. The right as the end of this text. You do not have to guess who wrote What song or which section, please share a simple, long friendship of the three of us to experience a better life and poetry.Do not rain in the nightI will be too late to find a vatAre fitted with all the rainIf you are happy all the rainI swim in a happyIf all the rain are sadI put the sadness as aging
Do not rain in the nightDo not let the light blurredDo not let the leaves covered with PlazaDo not let the pace of a hurry coming homeDo not let those thoughts far away in a foreign landFeel lonely and cold
Do not rain in the nightI forgot to shut the doors and windows received good clothesIf the rain dirty my roomWet suitI'm getting angry all the rainAre sent back to heavenThe idea is so ridiculous ahPerhaps like our livesEven of futility.Also flies crazy

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