朱莉娅感觉一股风猛地卷起了她的头发，掠过她的脸庞，萧萧作响。
Julia felt a whirl of wind blow her hair up and swish in her face.
于是，一次感恩节前夕的深夜，我睡在年轻时的卧室里，一只熟悉的手有些犹豫地掠过我的脸，拨开我额头的头发，随后是一个吻，轻轻地印在我的眉毛上。
So it was late on Thanksgiving Eve, as I slept in the bedroom of my youth, a familiar hand hesitantly run across my face to brush the hair from my forehead.
这梯子是钢做的，如果击中了我的头，我就不会在这里了。它只是掠过我的头发！
The ladder was made of steel, and if it had struck my head, I would not be here now. It just brushed my hair!
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