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一“老汪,你说说,这高梁稻对你来说,算是什么呢?”“稻种是我的名誉呀,搞好了,种成了,别人家才看得起我!”“那,你的大女儿呢,对你来说,又算是什么呢?”“嗯……女儿嘛……”说到大女儿,老汪低了低头,眼睛直直地看着自己的脚尖,那双粗糙的大手,无措地搓动着。在这个朴实、倔强,有时候甚至有点儿牛脾气的农民身上,我第一回读到了两个字:柔情。或许,在他强硬的外表之下,总怀着对家庭、对大女儿的那份歉疚。
A “old Wang, you talk about, this is sorghum rice for you, what is it?” “Rice is my honor, do a good job, planted, others can only afford to see me!” “Well, your daughter, what is it for you? ” “Well ... daughter thing ... ” When it comes to the eldest daughter, Lao Wang low bow, eyes straight to see Own toes, the pair of rough big hands, rubbing at random move. In this simple, stubborn, and sometimes even a bit peasant farmers, I read the first two words: tenderness. Perhaps, in his tough appearance, always with the family, the daughter of the apology.