·一·紫苏所有的快乐,都是在十七岁那年的夏天仓促地结束的。那些快乐像天空中飞翔的小鸟,突然间失了翅膀,再也不能飞翔。那些快乐像春日里开得骄傲的白玉兰,天儿暖了,风儿驻了,那些花儿却如褪了色的废纸一样,一夜之间铺满在地上。总之,那些快乐,离紫苏越来越远,越来越远,终于渺不可见。紫苏伸出手臂,在半空中抓了一把,似乎想抓住什么,可是摊开手掌心,什么都没有,那些快乐 All the happiness of perilla has come to a hurry in the summer of the seventeenth year. Those happy birds like flying in the sky, suddenly lost their wings, can no longer fly. The magnificence of the Magnolia, which was as proud as the spring, was warm, the wind was in there, and the flowers, like faded wastepaper, covered the ground overnight. In short, those happy, farther and farther from the perilla, farther and farther, and finally indefinable. Perilla stalked out, caught in the air, seemed to want to seize anything, but spread out palm, nothing, those happy