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我揪着心、噙着泪读毕了《昆仑纵队》这本并不厚的书。脑海中不时闪过许多镜头,久久摆脱不开。那颤颤巍巍地把一切,直至从磨盘上扫下那最后一袋玉米面,都献给了子弟兵,自己回到家里,一头栽倒在炕上生生饿死的徐大娘:那把自己家里仅有的一点小米、黑豆献给前线将士,却又硬撑着病病歪歪的身子,千里迢迢把公粮送到前线,又抢着抬担架,终于饿得昏了过去的吴老汉;那抓着毛泽东的膀子,一声一泪地哭诉着:“为了革命,陕北人民,除了胃
I grabbed my heart, crying and reading finished ”Kunlun column“ This is not a thick book. Many flashes of my mind from time to time, a long time to get rid of. That trembling to everything, until the last bag of corn from the disc to sweep, are dedicated to the soldiers, returned to their own home, one by one on the kang hungry life aunt: that only his own home A little millet, black beans dedicated to the frontline officers, but also hard supporting the disease crooked body, thousands of miles to the public grain sent to the front, but also grabbed the stretcher, and finally faint hung old Wu old man; that clutching Mao Zedong The arm, cry soon bleak: ”In order to revolution, people in northern Shaanxi, in addition to stomach