卯时的山风是凉的,带着一种不讲情面的清醒。
沈越在第一声鸟啼之前就醒了,不是因为睡好了,是因为根本没怎么睡着。他侧卧着,发簪还在手心里,金属已经有了他整夜的温度,他松开手,那枚簪子在木板床上轻轻滚了半圈,停下来。
他在黑暗里盯着它看了一会儿,起身。
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