上年事的人

y6zm6299

　　有一个富人谈话大大咧咧，有屁就放，常得功臣,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]，但没人记他的仇。
　　有一个穷人对人十分客气，有话不敢说，但常背地说人坏话，甚至学嘴学舌，让人记恨在心。
　　年青人往往好奇又没神思，常爱说人是人非，有时很生事生非。上年事的人，见是见无比缄口不言，免生长短。
　　增广贤文里有一句：来说是非者,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]，便是是非人。
　　人无完人，可是人们老是求全求完善,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]。特殊是恋情常如斯,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]，只求对方完美，却不求本人完美,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]。
　　我有一个小说叫[长舌鬼]大家去看看,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]。

[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]

[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]

[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]

The driver clambered into his seat, clicked his tongue, and we went downhill. The brake squeaked horribly from time to time. At the foot he eased off the noisy mechanism and said, turning half round on his box--
"We shall see some more of them by-and-by."
"More idiots? How many of them are there, then?" I asked.
"There's four of them--children of a farmer near Ploumar here. . . . The parents are dead now," he added, after a while. "The grandmother lives on the farm. In the daytime they knock about on this road, and they come home at dusk along with the cattle. . . . It's a good farm."
We saw the other two: a boy and a girl, as the driver said. They were dressed exactly alike, in shapeless garments with petticoat-like skirts. The imperfect thing that lived within them moved those beings to howl at us from the top of the bank, where they sprawled amongst the tough stalks of furze. Their cropped black heads stuck out from the bright yellow wall of countless small blossoms. The faces were purple with the strain of yelling; the voices sounded blank and cracked like a mechanical imitation of old people's voices; and suddenly ceased when we turned into a lane.
I saw them many times in my wandering about the country. They lived on that road, drifting along its length here and there, according to the inexplicable impulses of their monstrous darkness. They were an offence to the sunshine, a reproach to empty heaven, a blight on the concentrated and purposeful vigour of the wild landscape. In time the story of their parents shaped itself before me out of the listless answers to my questions, out of the indifferent words heard in wayside inns or on the very road those idiots haunted. Some of it was told by an emaciated and sceptical old fellow with a tremendous whip, while we trudged together over the sands by the side of a two-wheeled cart loaded with dripping seaweed. Then at other times other people confirmed and completed the story: till it stood at last before me, a tale formidable and simple, as they always are, those disclosures of obscure trials endured by ignorant hearts.