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十八岁的我,对爸爸究至说不上是喜欢还是不喜欢。只是依稀记得爸爸是个大块头,一副万年不乐的模样。一双长满了老茧的手。他一
When I was eighteen, I didn’t like to say that I liked or disliked my father. Just vaguely remember that my father is a big man, a look of years of disgust. A pair of hands full of old men. He is one