汉娜曾经就在第一间书房的那些窗户旁望着窗外的大街和房子，把她的手指沿着那些书划过的。
The Windows in the first one, in which Hanna had run her fingers along the books, looked out onto the streets and houses.
我走到他的书桌旁，抓起他所有的书猛地掷到窗外。
I went to his desk, took all his books, and hurled them out of the window.
一本随意翻开的书，一朵慵懒绽放的花，加以窗外夜景的点缀，不禁让你驻足于此。
Something, maybe the open book by the hand, splendid flowers by the corner, or the nocturne by the window, would definitely make you linger.
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