昨晚我带进车里的那个男孩，他的身体下垂得可怕，他的嘴唇鲜红，他的眼睛明亮，他那可怜的双手交叉着，冷得像粘土——噢，我整天都在想他。因为那位疲倦的老医生对我说:“他只能活一个钟头左右。他膝盖以下的两条腿都被炸弹炸掉了. . . .所以，孩子，慢慢来，请记住，他不知道。”所以我试着不带罐子开车;就在我发疯似地咒骂着这条路的时候，我听到车里传来一个鬼似的声音:“告诉我，老伙计，我‘抄得’坏了吗?”所以我回答“不”，他说:“我很高兴。”“很高兴，”他说，“因为二十二岁的生活如此精彩，我不愿离开。一个人可以做很多好事，我从一开始就在抗争，也受了很多苦。你知道，现在很难被击倒。” "Forget it," says I; then I drove awhile, And I passed him a cheery word or two; But he didn't answer for many a mile, So just as the hospital hove in view, Says I: "Is there nothing that I can do?" Then he opens his eyes and he smiles at me; And he takes my hand in his trembling hold; "Thank you -- you're far too kind," says he: "I'm awfully comfy -- stay . . . let's see: I fancy my blanket's come unrolled -- My feet, please wrap 'em -- they're cold . . . they're cold."