我呼进了它青白的气息。
华老栓忽然坐起身,擦着火柴,点上遍身油腻的灯盏,茶馆的两间屋子里,便弥满了青白的光。
Old Chuan suddenly sat up in bed. He struck a match and lit the grease-covered oil lamp, which shed a ghostly light over the two rooms of the tea-house.
这全在脸色青白的办事员早晨、中午和晚上抄抄写写的厚帐本上仔细计算过,借、贷这两部分用一道红线从中间隔开。
It was all carefully reckoned in the fat ledgers which the pasty faced clerks scribbled in morning, noon and night. Debit and credit, with a red line down the middle of the page.
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