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眼前的景色像纪念画册中的历史图像,留着时间的痕迹,有一些泛黄,有一些疏远,周围的树木是古色苍茏之慨,而非萧瑟凛然。
大概因为傍晚的阳光太温柔了,古迹树木和游人都沐浴在金黄的阳光里。那是林语堂笔下的初秋,是烟上红灰,是慢火炖汤。
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