PART Ⅱ-1
TheworldImomentarilyrememberedwhenIsawKingZog’sheposterwassodifferentfromtheworldIliveinnowthatyoumighthaveabitofdifficultyinbelievingIeverbelooit.
Isupposebythistimeyou’vegotakindofpictureofmeinyourmind—afatmiddle-agedblokewithfalseteethandaredfadsubsciouslyyou’vebeenimaginingthatIwasjustthesameevenwhenIwasinmycradle.Butforty-fiveyearsisalongtime,andthoughsomepeopledon’tgeanddevelop,othersdo.I’vegedagreatdeal,andI’vehadmyupsanddowns,mostlyups.Itmayseemqueer,butmyfatherwouldprobablyberatherproudofmeifhecouldseemenow.He’dthinkitawonderfulthingthatasonofhisshouldownamotor-dliveinahousewithabathroom.EvennowI’malittleabovemyin,andatothertimesI’vetouchedlevelsthatweshouldneverhavedreamedofinthoseolddaysbeforethewar.
Beforethewar!Howlongshallwegoonsayingthat,Iwonder?Howlongbeforetheanswerwillbe‘Whichwar?’Inmycasethenever-neverlandthatpeoplearethinkingofwhentheysay‘beforethewar’mightalmostbebeforetheBoerWar.Iwasbornin‘93,andIactuallyremembertheoutbreakoftheBoerWar,becauseofthefirst-classrowthatFatherandUncleEzekielhadaboutit.I’veseveralothermemoriesthatwoulddatefromaboutayearearlierthanthat.
TheveryfirstthingIrememberisthesmellofsainfoinchaff.Youwentupthestonepassagethatledfromthekittotheshop,andthesmellofsainfoingeralltheway.MotherhadfixedawoodehedoorreventJoeandmyself(Joewasmyelderbrother)fromgettingintotheshop.Istillrememberstandingthereclutgthebars,andthesmellofsainfoinmixedupwiththedampplasterysmellthatbelohepassage.Itwasn’ttillyearslaterthatIsomehowmaocrashthegateaotheshopwhennobodywasthere.Amousethathadbeenhavingagoatohemeal-binssuddenlyploppedoutandrawee.Itwasquitewhitewithmeal.ThismusthavehappenedwhenIwasaboutsix.
Whenyou’reveryyoungyouseemtosuddenlybeesciousofthingsthathavebeenunderyournoseforalongtimepast.Thethingsroundaboutyouswimintoyourmiime,ratherastheydowhenyou’rewakingfromsleep.ForinstawasonlywhenIwasnearlyfourthatIsuddenlyrealizedthatweownedadog.Nailer,hisnamewas,anoldwhiteEnglishterrierofthebreedthat’sgonowadays.Imethimuhekittableandinsomewayseemedtograsp,havingoitthatmoment,thathebeloousandthathisnamewasNailer.Inthesameway,abitearlier,I’ddiscoveredthatbeyoeattheendofthepassagetherelacewherethesmellofsainfoincamefrom.Andtheshopitself,withthehugescalesandthewoodenmeasuresainshovel,aeletteringonthewindow,andthebullfinitscage—whichyoucouldn’tseeverywellevenfromthepavement,becausethewindowwasalwaysdusty—allthesethingsdroppedintoplamymindonebyone,likebitsofajig-sawpuzzle.
Timegoeson,yougetstrongeronys,andbydegreesyoubegiagraspofgeography.IsupposeLowerBinfieldwasjustlikeanyothermarkettownofabouttwothousandinhabitants.ItwasinOxfordshire—IkeepsayingWAS,younotice,thoughafteralltheplacestillexists—aboutfivemilesfromtheThames.Itlayinabitofavalley,withalowrippleofhillsbetweenitselfahames,andhigherhillsbehind.OntopofthehillstherewerewoodsinsortofdimbluemassesamongwhichyoucouldseeagreatwhitehousewithahiswasBinfieldHouse(‘TheHall’,everybodycalledit),aopofthehillwasknoerBihoughtherewasnovillagethereandhadn’tbeenforahundredyearsormore.ImusthavebeennearlysevenbeforeInoticedtheexistenceofBinfieldHouse.Whenyou’reverysmallyoudon’tlookintothedistabythattimeIkneweveryinchofthetown,whichwasshapedroughlylikeacrosswiththemarket-plathemiddle.OurshopwasintheHighStreetalittlebeforeyougottothemarket-pladontheertherewasMrsWheeler’ssweet-shopwhereyouspentahalfpennywhenyouhadoherWheelerwasadirtyoldwitdpeoplesuspectedherofsugthebull’s-eyesandputtingthembathebottle,thoughthiswasneverproved.Fartherdowntherewasthebarber’sshopwiththeadvertforAbdullacigarettes—theohtheEgyptiansoldiersonit,andcuriouslyenoughthey’reusingthesameadverttothisday—andtheriellofbayrumandlatakia.Behindthehousesyoucouldseetheeysofthebrewery.Inthemiddleofthemarket-placetherewasthestonehorse-trough,andontopofthewatertherewasalwaysafinefilmofdustandchaff.
Beforethewar,andespeciallybeforetheBoerWar,itwassummeralltheyearround.I’mquiteawarethatthat’sadelusion.I’mmerelytryingtotellyouhowthingsebae.IfIshutmyeyesandthinkofLowerBinfieldanytimebeforeIwas,say,eight,it’salwaysinsummerweatherthatIrememberit.Eitherit’sthemarket-placeatdiime,withasortofsleepydustyhushovereverythingandthecarrier’shorsewithhisnosedugwellintohisnose-bag,mungaway,orit’sahotafternooninthegreatgreenjuicymeadowsrouown,orit’saboutduskinthelanebehindtheallotments,andthere’sasmellofpipe-tobadnight-stocksfloatingthroughthehedge.ButinasenseIdorememberdifferentseasons,becauseallmymemoriesareboundupwiththingstoeat,whichvariedatdifferenttimesoftheyear.Especiallythethingsyouusedtofindinthehedges.InJulythereweredewberries—butthey’reveryrare—andtheblackberriesweregettingredenoughtoeat.Iemberthereweresloesandhazel-nuts.Thebesthazelnutswerealwaysoutofreach.Laterontherewerebeeutsandcrab-apples.Thentherewerethekindofminorfoodsthatyouusedtoeatwhentherewasnothiergoing.Haws—butthey’renotmuchgood—andhips,whichhaveanicesharptasteifyouthehairsoutofthem.Angelicaisgoodinearlysummer,especiallywhenyou’rethirsty,andsoarethestemsofvariousgrasses.Thenthere’ssorrel,whichisgoodwithbreadandbutter,andpig-nuts,andakindofwoodshamrockwhichhasasourtaste.Evenplantainseedsarebetterthannothingwhenyou’realongwayfromhomeandveryhungry.
Joewastwoyearsolderthanmyself.ereverysmallMotherusedtopayKatieSimmoeenpenceaweektotakeusoutforwalksiernoons.Katie’sfatherworkedinthebreweryandhadfourteenchildren,sothatthefamilywerealwaysonthelookoutforoddjobs.ShewasonlytwelvewhenJoewassevenandIwasfive,andhermentallevelwasn’tverydifferentfromours.Sheusedtmebythearmandcallme‘Baby’,andshehadjustenoughauthorityoverustopreventusfrombeingrunoverbydogcartsorchasedbybulls,butsofarasversatiowewerealmostonequalterms.Weusedtog,trailingkindofwalks—always,ofcourse,pigaingthingsalltheway—downthelatheallotments,acrossRoper’sMeadows,anddowntotheMillFarm,wherethereoolwithsandtinycarpinit(JoeandIusedtogofishingthereereabitolder),andbackbytheUpperBinfieldRoadsoastopassthesweet-shopthatstoodontheedgeofthetown.Thisshopwasinsuchabadpositionthataookitwentbankrupt,andtomyownknowledgeitwasthreetimesasweet-shop,onceagrocer’s,andonceabicycle-repairshop,butithadapeculiarfasationforchildren.Evenwhenwehadnomoney,we’dgothatwaysoastoglueournosesagainstthewindow.Katiewasn’tintheleastabovesharingafarthing’sworthofsweetsandquarrellingoverhershare.Youcouldbuythingsworthhavingforafarthinginthosedays.Mostsweetswerefourouncesapenny,andtherewaseveuffcalledParadiseMixture,mostlybrokesfromotherbottles,whichwassix.ThentherewereFarthingEverlastings,whichwereayardlongandcouldn’tbefinishedinsidehalfanharmidsugarpigswereeightapenny,andsowereliquoricepistols,popwasahalfpennyforalargebag,andaprizepacketwhitainedseveraldifferentkindsofsweets,ag,andsometimesawhistle,enny.Youdon’tseeprizepacketsnowadays.Awholelotofthekindsofsweetswehadinthosedayshavego.Therewasakindofflatwhitesweetwithmottoesprihem,andalsoakindofstickypinkstuffinanovalmatchwoodboxwithatinytinspoowith,whichcostahalfpenny.Bothofthosehavedisappeared.SohaveCarawayfits,andsohavechocolatepipesandsugarmatches,andevenHundredsandThousandsyouhardlyeversee.HundredsandThousandswereagreatstandbywhenyou’donlyafarthing.AndwhataboutPennyMonsters?DoesoneeverseeaPennyMonsternowadays?Itwasahugebottle,holdingmorethanaquartoffizzylemonade,allforapenny.That’sahingthatthewarkilledstonedead.
ItalwaysseemstobesummerwhenIlookback.Ifeelthegrassrouallasmyself,aingoutoftheearth.Ainthelane,andthewarmgreenylightingthroughthehazelboughs.Iseethethreeofustrailingaloingstuffoutofthehedge,withKatiedraggingatmyarmandsaying‘eon,Baby!’andsometimesyellioJoe,‘Joe!Youeback‘erethisminute!You’llcatchit!’Joewasaheftyboywithabig,lumpysortofheadandtremendouscalves,thekindofboywho’salwaysdoingsomethingdangerous.Atsevenhe’dalreadygotintoshorttrousers,withthethickblackstogsdrawnupoverthekhegreatclumpingbootsthatboyshadtowearinthosedays.Iwasstillinfrocks—akindofhollandoverallthatMotherusedtomakeforme.Katieusedtowearadreadfulraggedparodyofagrown-updressthatdesdedfromsistertosisterinherfamily.Shehadaridiculousgreathatwithherpigtailshangingdownbehindit,andalong,draggledskirtwhichtrailedontheground,andbuttonbootswiththeheelstroddendown.Shewasatinything,notmuchtallerthanotbadat‘minding’children.Inafamilylikethatachildis‘minding’otherchildrenaboutassoonasit’sweatimesshe’dtrytobegrown-upandladylike,andshehadawayofcuttingyoushortroverb,whiindwassomethingunanswerable.Ifyousaid‘Don’tcare’,she’danswerimmediately:
‘Don’tcarewasmadetocare,Don’tcarewashung,Don’tcareutinapotAndboiledtillhewasdone.’
Orifyoucalledherwouldbe‘Hardwordsbreaknobones’,or,whenyou’dbeenboasting,‘Prideesbeforeafall’.ThiscameverytrueonedaywhenIwasstruttingaloendingtobeasoldierandfellintoacowpat.Herfamilylivedinafilthylittlerat-holeofaplatheslummystreetbehindthebrewery.Theplaceswarmedwithchildrenlikeakindofvermin.Thewholefamilyhadmaododgegoingtoschool,whichwasfairlyeasytodointhosedays,andstartedrunningerrandsanddoingotheroddjobsassoonastheycouldwalk.Oheelderbrotamonthforstealingturnips.ShestoppedtakingusoutforwalksayearlaterwhenJoewaseightaingtootoughfirltohandle.He’ddiscoveredthatinKatie’shometheysleptfiveinabed,aeasethelifeoutofheraboutit.
PoorKatie!Shehadherfirstbabywhenshewasfifteen.Noonekneasthefather,andprobablyKatiewasn’ttoocertainherself.Mostpeoplebelieveitwasoneofherbrothers.Theworkhousepeopletookthebaby,andKatiewentintoserviWalton.Sometimeafterwardsshemarriedatinker,whichevenbythestandardsofherfamilywasae-dowtimeIsawherwasin1913.IwasbikingthroughWalton,andIpassedsomedreadfulwoodenshacksbesidetherailwaylihfencesroundthemmadeoutofbarrel-staves,wherethegypsiesusedtocampatcertaiheyear,whenthepolicewouldletthem.Awrinkled-uphagofawoman,withherhairingdownandasmokyface,lookingatleastfiftyyearsold,cameoutofohehutsandbeganshakingmat.ItwasKatie,whomusthavebeey-seven.松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
Isupposebythistimeyou’vegotakindofpictureofmeinyourmind—afatmiddle-agedblokewithfalseteethandaredfadsubsciouslyyou’vebeenimaginingthatIwasjustthesameevenwhenIwasinmycradle.Butforty-fiveyearsisalongtime,andthoughsomepeopledon’tgeanddevelop,othersdo.I’vegedagreatdeal,andI’vehadmyupsanddowns,mostlyups.Itmayseemqueer,butmyfatherwouldprobablyberatherproudofmeifhecouldseemenow.He’dthinkitawonderfulthingthatasonofhisshouldownamotor-dliveinahousewithabathroom.EvennowI’malittleabovemyin,andatothertimesI’vetouchedlevelsthatweshouldneverhavedreamedofinthoseolddaysbeforethewar.
Beforethewar!Howlongshallwegoonsayingthat,Iwonder?Howlongbeforetheanswerwillbe‘Whichwar?’Inmycasethenever-neverlandthatpeoplearethinkingofwhentheysay‘beforethewar’mightalmostbebeforetheBoerWar.Iwasbornin‘93,andIactuallyremembertheoutbreakoftheBoerWar,becauseofthefirst-classrowthatFatherandUncleEzekielhadaboutit.I’veseveralothermemoriesthatwoulddatefromaboutayearearlierthanthat.
TheveryfirstthingIrememberisthesmellofsainfoinchaff.Youwentupthestonepassagethatledfromthekittotheshop,andthesmellofsainfoingeralltheway.MotherhadfixedawoodehedoorreventJoeandmyself(Joewasmyelderbrother)fromgettingintotheshop.Istillrememberstandingthereclutgthebars,andthesmellofsainfoinmixedupwiththedampplasterysmellthatbelohepassage.Itwasn’ttillyearslaterthatIsomehowmaocrashthegateaotheshopwhennobodywasthere.Amousethathadbeenhavingagoatohemeal-binssuddenlyploppedoutandrawee.Itwasquitewhitewithmeal.ThismusthavehappenedwhenIwasaboutsix.
Whenyou’reveryyoungyouseemtosuddenlybeesciousofthingsthathavebeenunderyournoseforalongtimepast.Thethingsroundaboutyouswimintoyourmiime,ratherastheydowhenyou’rewakingfromsleep.ForinstawasonlywhenIwasnearlyfourthatIsuddenlyrealizedthatweownedadog.Nailer,hisnamewas,anoldwhiteEnglishterrierofthebreedthat’sgonowadays.Imethimuhekittableandinsomewayseemedtograsp,havingoitthatmoment,thathebeloousandthathisnamewasNailer.Inthesameway,abitearlier,I’ddiscoveredthatbeyoeattheendofthepassagetherelacewherethesmellofsainfoincamefrom.Andtheshopitself,withthehugescalesandthewoodenmeasuresainshovel,aeletteringonthewindow,andthebullfinitscage—whichyoucouldn’tseeverywellevenfromthepavement,becausethewindowwasalwaysdusty—allthesethingsdroppedintoplamymindonebyone,likebitsofajig-sawpuzzle.
Timegoeson,yougetstrongeronys,andbydegreesyoubegiagraspofgeography.IsupposeLowerBinfieldwasjustlikeanyothermarkettownofabouttwothousandinhabitants.ItwasinOxfordshire—IkeepsayingWAS,younotice,thoughafteralltheplacestillexists—aboutfivemilesfromtheThames.Itlayinabitofavalley,withalowrippleofhillsbetweenitselfahames,andhigherhillsbehind.OntopofthehillstherewerewoodsinsortofdimbluemassesamongwhichyoucouldseeagreatwhitehousewithahiswasBinfieldHouse(‘TheHall’,everybodycalledit),aopofthehillwasknoerBihoughtherewasnovillagethereandhadn’tbeenforahundredyearsormore.ImusthavebeennearlysevenbeforeInoticedtheexistenceofBinfieldHouse.Whenyou’reverysmallyoudon’tlookintothedistabythattimeIkneweveryinchofthetown,whichwasshapedroughlylikeacrosswiththemarket-plathemiddle.OurshopwasintheHighStreetalittlebeforeyougottothemarket-pladontheertherewasMrsWheeler’ssweet-shopwhereyouspentahalfpennywhenyouhadoherWheelerwasadirtyoldwitdpeoplesuspectedherofsugthebull’s-eyesandputtingthembathebottle,thoughthiswasneverproved.Fartherdowntherewasthebarber’sshopwiththeadvertforAbdullacigarettes—theohtheEgyptiansoldiersonit,andcuriouslyenoughthey’reusingthesameadverttothisday—andtheriellofbayrumandlatakia.Behindthehousesyoucouldseetheeysofthebrewery.Inthemiddleofthemarket-placetherewasthestonehorse-trough,andontopofthewatertherewasalwaysafinefilmofdustandchaff.
Beforethewar,andespeciallybeforetheBoerWar,itwassummeralltheyearround.I’mquiteawarethatthat’sadelusion.I’mmerelytryingtotellyouhowthingsebae.IfIshutmyeyesandthinkofLowerBinfieldanytimebeforeIwas,say,eight,it’salwaysinsummerweatherthatIrememberit.Eitherit’sthemarket-placeatdiime,withasortofsleepydustyhushovereverythingandthecarrier’shorsewithhisnosedugwellintohisnose-bag,mungaway,orit’sahotafternooninthegreatgreenjuicymeadowsrouown,orit’saboutduskinthelanebehindtheallotments,andthere’sasmellofpipe-tobadnight-stocksfloatingthroughthehedge.ButinasenseIdorememberdifferentseasons,becauseallmymemoriesareboundupwiththingstoeat,whichvariedatdifferenttimesoftheyear.Especiallythethingsyouusedtofindinthehedges.InJulythereweredewberries—butthey’reveryrare—andtheblackberriesweregettingredenoughtoeat.Iemberthereweresloesandhazel-nuts.Thebesthazelnutswerealwaysoutofreach.Laterontherewerebeeutsandcrab-apples.Thentherewerethekindofminorfoodsthatyouusedtoeatwhentherewasnothiergoing.Haws—butthey’renotmuchgood—andhips,whichhaveanicesharptasteifyouthehairsoutofthem.Angelicaisgoodinearlysummer,especiallywhenyou’rethirsty,andsoarethestemsofvariousgrasses.Thenthere’ssorrel,whichisgoodwithbreadandbutter,andpig-nuts,andakindofwoodshamrockwhichhasasourtaste.Evenplantainseedsarebetterthannothingwhenyou’realongwayfromhomeandveryhungry.
Joewastwoyearsolderthanmyself.ereverysmallMotherusedtopayKatieSimmoeenpenceaweektotakeusoutforwalksiernoons.Katie’sfatherworkedinthebreweryandhadfourteenchildren,sothatthefamilywerealwaysonthelookoutforoddjobs.ShewasonlytwelvewhenJoewassevenandIwasfive,andhermentallevelwasn’tverydifferentfromours.Sheusedtmebythearmandcallme‘Baby’,andshehadjustenoughauthorityoverustopreventusfrombeingrunoverbydogcartsorchasedbybulls,butsofarasversatiowewerealmostonequalterms.Weusedtog,trailingkindofwalks—always,ofcourse,pigaingthingsalltheway—downthelatheallotments,acrossRoper’sMeadows,anddowntotheMillFarm,wherethereoolwithsandtinycarpinit(JoeandIusedtogofishingthereereabitolder),andbackbytheUpperBinfieldRoadsoastopassthesweet-shopthatstoodontheedgeofthetown.Thisshopwasinsuchabadpositionthataookitwentbankrupt,andtomyownknowledgeitwasthreetimesasweet-shop,onceagrocer’s,andonceabicycle-repairshop,butithadapeculiarfasationforchildren.Evenwhenwehadnomoney,we’dgothatwaysoastoglueournosesagainstthewindow.Katiewasn’tintheleastabovesharingafarthing’sworthofsweetsandquarrellingoverhershare.Youcouldbuythingsworthhavingforafarthinginthosedays.Mostsweetswerefourouncesapenny,andtherewaseveuffcalledParadiseMixture,mostlybrokesfromotherbottles,whichwassix.ThentherewereFarthingEverlastings,whichwereayardlongandcouldn’tbefinishedinsidehalfanharmidsugarpigswereeightapenny,andsowereliquoricepistols,popwasahalfpennyforalargebag,andaprizepacketwhitainedseveraldifferentkindsofsweets,ag,andsometimesawhistle,enny.Youdon’tseeprizepacketsnowadays.Awholelotofthekindsofsweetswehadinthosedayshavego.Therewasakindofflatwhitesweetwithmottoesprihem,andalsoakindofstickypinkstuffinanovalmatchwoodboxwithatinytinspoowith,whichcostahalfpenny.Bothofthosehavedisappeared.SohaveCarawayfits,andsohavechocolatepipesandsugarmatches,andevenHundredsandThousandsyouhardlyeversee.HundredsandThousandswereagreatstandbywhenyou’donlyafarthing.AndwhataboutPennyMonsters?DoesoneeverseeaPennyMonsternowadays?Itwasahugebottle,holdingmorethanaquartoffizzylemonade,allforapenny.That’sahingthatthewarkilledstonedead.
ItalwaysseemstobesummerwhenIlookback.Ifeelthegrassrouallasmyself,aingoutoftheearth.Ainthelane,andthewarmgreenylightingthroughthehazelboughs.Iseethethreeofustrailingaloingstuffoutofthehedge,withKatiedraggingatmyarmandsaying‘eon,Baby!’andsometimesyellioJoe,‘Joe!Youeback‘erethisminute!You’llcatchit!’Joewasaheftyboywithabig,lumpysortofheadandtremendouscalves,thekindofboywho’salwaysdoingsomethingdangerous.Atsevenhe’dalreadygotintoshorttrousers,withthethickblackstogsdrawnupoverthekhegreatclumpingbootsthatboyshadtowearinthosedays.Iwasstillinfrocks—akindofhollandoverallthatMotherusedtomakeforme.Katieusedtowearadreadfulraggedparodyofagrown-updressthatdesdedfromsistertosisterinherfamily.Shehadaridiculousgreathatwithherpigtailshangingdownbehindit,andalong,draggledskirtwhichtrailedontheground,andbuttonbootswiththeheelstroddendown.Shewasatinything,notmuchtallerthanotbadat‘minding’children.Inafamilylikethatachildis‘minding’otherchildrenaboutassoonasit’sweatimesshe’dtrytobegrown-upandladylike,andshehadawayofcuttingyoushortroverb,whiindwassomethingunanswerable.Ifyousaid‘Don’tcare’,she’danswerimmediately:
‘Don’tcarewasmadetocare,Don’tcarewashung,Don’tcareutinapotAndboiledtillhewasdone.’
Orifyoucalledherwouldbe‘Hardwordsbreaknobones’,or,whenyou’dbeenboasting,‘Prideesbeforeafall’.ThiscameverytrueonedaywhenIwasstruttingaloendingtobeasoldierandfellintoacowpat.Herfamilylivedinafilthylittlerat-holeofaplatheslummystreetbehindthebrewery.Theplaceswarmedwithchildrenlikeakindofvermin.Thewholefamilyhadmaododgegoingtoschool,whichwasfairlyeasytodointhosedays,andstartedrunningerrandsanddoingotheroddjobsassoonastheycouldwalk.Oheelderbrotamonthforstealingturnips.ShestoppedtakingusoutforwalksayearlaterwhenJoewaseightaingtootoughfirltohandle.He’ddiscoveredthatinKatie’shometheysleptfiveinabed,aeasethelifeoutofheraboutit.
PoorKatie!Shehadherfirstbabywhenshewasfifteen.Noonekneasthefather,andprobablyKatiewasn’ttoocertainherself.Mostpeoplebelieveitwasoneofherbrothers.Theworkhousepeopletookthebaby,andKatiewentintoserviWalton.Sometimeafterwardsshemarriedatinker,whichevenbythestandardsofherfamilywasae-dowtimeIsawherwasin1913.IwasbikingthroughWalton,andIpassedsomedreadfulwoodenshacksbesidetherailwaylihfencesroundthemmadeoutofbarrel-staves,wherethegypsiesusedtocampatcertaiheyear,whenthepolicewouldletthem.Awrinkled-uphagofawoman,withherhairingdownandasmokyface,lookingatleastfiftyyearsold,cameoutofohehutsandbeganshakingmat.ItwasKatie,whomusthavebeey-seven.松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
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并不代表本站立场!本站亦无法严格审:Coming up for Air最新章节其版权归属。如您对Coming up for AirTXT下载持有版权方面的异议，请联系本站客服。我们将于72小时内处理。
Copyright (C) 2019 All Rights Reserved 版权所有：松语文学