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Beiträge: 63

06.09.2019 08:56
d he clenched his fi Antworten

Yueqing Middle School Danxia Literature Society Liu Ren 1956, when the sun, the sun from the village head to the end of the village here, the horizon is connected to the sea. The villagers have already begun to go out to sea, and the sounds of occasional passing ships can be heard on the tidal flats, but except for the paddles, most of the ships are silent, only the seabirds squeak when they fly in the faint morning light. He woke up so much, and took a look at the sunrise outside the door Marlboro Red. The cold weather in the morning was so cold that he was a special day for him. He wants to go to the town for the first time to guide the drama. This is the plan to organize him to go to this secluded fishing village. The planning of the drama has been tumbling many times in his heart. He set off on the wind-stained stone road, he loves This fishing village is extremely popular. The smoke from the noodles is always floating on the sky in 1956. It is always swaying back and forth between the lanes and the tails of the lanes. It continues to flow down. His favorite is the ancient temple in the village - Jinsha Temple. . The temple has two towers, named: Chongyin, Huayan. He has to study it carefully from the future. However, due to the duties of the cultural cadres and the infinite love of his heart, he decided to hang up after the busy work. Now the light is soft, the ancient temple is clear, the sunrise is east, and the light is shining. The top of the indifferent years reveals the exquisiteness of the exfoliation. There is a thirst in his hearte quietness of the environment reminded him of a poem to enter the ancient temple in the early morning. The first day of Gao Lin��s return from the town was noon, and he was very satisfied with the explanation in the town. Since Chairman Mao��s policy of ��Hundred Flowers Blossom��, people��s enthusiasm for drama has become higher and higher. Walking down the street is easy, and the road is surprisingly deserted. The sun in the afternoon squints and the eyes are hungry. He looked up and searched for the shop that sold the food. I don't know if it is the glare of the sun or the hungry, the iconic twin towers in the village seem to have disappeared into the rolling smoke. He was busy blinking, fixing God, and scrutinizing it, but there was really one less. At this time, he did not care about his stomach. He spread his legs and ran to the construction team to surround the tower early. He could only watch the ancient tower being pushed in the dust. The tower was a mess, and the bottom of the tower was blocked. The people were clamoring for noise, as if they were venting the hustle and bustle buried in this calm village. The roar of the machine was too noisy, like a wild dog, and the metal slammed everything sharply. The unruly Huayan Tower stood beside it, letting the black smoke of the coal burn its face. He was heartbroken and remembered the solemn sunrise and stupa in the morning, which had the power to embrace the future and the conviction of light. But in front of me, it is messy and absurd, confused and embarrassing. He hurriedly found an acquaintance and inquired about the situation because the road was repaired and the tower was in the way. He only got such a reply and he was burying his head. His heart seems to drop a piece of memory, just like the blue brick knocked off the corners. The simple villagers cast a layer of confused color in his eyes, and the quietness of the village lacked the soul. At that moment, he saw the destruction of beauty with his own eyes. His lipssquirmed up and down a few times, and they were still dry and closede is just a cultural cadre. I can't look down on any broken ground. It is like a broken brick. It isike a dead body. It doesn't live in front of his eyes. He couldn't help it, couldn't stand it, still squatted down, caressing the bricks like a caress. The color of the blue brick is light and solemn, but it is flat on the face, lying here horizontally - the texture is hard, and the barbaric persecution can not be forbidden Wholesale Cigarettes. The dust that had risen smoked his eyes, rolled up his sleeves, wiped off the dust, and the feel became bumpy. He quickly blows off the dirt on the top, and the brickworker is neatly engraved with words. His head was awkward and brightened, and he understood that it was an ancient brick shouting, pushing the people in the village and coming under the rubble Marlboro Cigarettes. At the entrance of the temple, all are shredded pieces of warp. Taki is also about to disappear, and there are a few paintings on the ground, which are scattered and smashed. He was so anxious that he yelled at the side of Taki. The villagers at the scene began to stir up and talked about which ribs the cultural cadre had drawn. He was really anxious, and he clenched his fist and shouted: "This is a cultural relic! This is a cultural relic!" The villagers looked at him like a show, crossed their hands, and had a scorpion without a slap in the face: "I said Don't worry about it, who is going to have a bunch of broken stuff, the toilet in the village can be no more paper!" He blushes, the blue veins on his neck are looming, gasping
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