那燃着的叶；求您，别再让鸟儿鸣嘀。
这声音甚至比那落叶松林的嘶嘶的怒号声更高，落时松林在山坡上，遍布着忿怒的、无叶的、狞恶的暗影。她听见好象一些渺小的水铃在鸣着。
Even above the hissing boom of the larchwood, that spread its bristling, leafless, wolfish darkness on the down-slope, she heard the tinkle as of tiny water-bells.
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