“我丢了一个故事。”Q先生像孩子一样,低头摆弄着他那粗短的手指。他的睫毛很长,但这又有什么用呢?他毕竟已经老了,他的眼白微微泛黄,如少年般的睫毛在他的脸上只会显得十分突兀。“我丢了一个故事。”他又重复了一遍。这时,他慢慢地把头抬起来,望着眼前这位名叫安东尼的年轻警官。他拿他那对眼睛望着安东尼,仅仅在乞求一个回应,哪怕是最简单的一个,也要好过沉默。“我……”他张了张嘴,想要再重复下去。 “I lost a story.” Mr. Q, like a child, bowed his stubby fingers. His eyelashes are very long, but what use is this? After all, he is already old. His eyes are slightly yellowish, and the lashes like a teenager will only look very sharp on his face. “I lost a story.” He repeated it again. At this time, he slowly raised his head and looked at the young police officer named Anthony. He looked at Anthony with his eyes and was only asking for a response. Even the simplest one was better than silence. “I...” he opened his mouth and wanted to repeat it.