These last few days I have been thinking and thinking of the Nordland summer, with its endless day. Sitting here thinking of that, and of a hut I lived in, and of the woods behind the hut. And writing things down, by way of passing the time; to amuse myself, no more. The time goes very slowly; I cannot get it to pass as quickly as I would, though I have nothing to sorrow for, and live as pleasantly as could be. I am well content withal, and my thirty years are no age to speak of.

Pan转载自网络，转载至本站只是为了让更多读者阅读欣赏，本站愿与您一起共建良好的阅读环境！

笔下文学内容均来自互联网，如不慎侵害您的权益，请联系网页底部邮箱，我们将尽快删除。