冬天，一個冰寒的晚上，在寂寞的馬路旁邊，疏枝交橫的樹下，候著最后一輛搭客汽車的，只我一人。雖然不遠的墻邊，也蹲有一團黑影，但他卻是伸手討錢的，馬路兩旁，遠遠近近都立著燈窗明燦的別墅，向暗藍的天空靜靜地微笑著，在馬路上是冷冰冰的，還刮著一陣陣猛厲的風(fēng)，留在枝頭的一兩片枯葉，也不時發(fā)出破碎的哭聲。
那蹲著的黑影，接了我的一枚銅板，就高興地站起來向我搭話，一面抱怨著天氣：“真冷呀，再沒有比這里更冷了！……先生，你說是不是？”
It was a chilly night in winter. Standing by the bleak road and under a tree with sparse branches interlaced overhead, I was the only one who was waiting for the last bus. A shadowy figure was squatting against the wall which was not far from here, but it turned out to be a beggar asking for money. Lining both sides of the road, the villas with illuminated windows were smiling quietly towards the dark blue sky. It was freezing on the road, with a gusty heavy wind howling around. A withered leaf or two left on the branches were rustling mournfully from time to time.
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