场坪里的烟气散得很慢。
篝火旁那截湿木头终于彻底燃透,不再噼啪,只是均匀地烧着,橙红的光把场坪里三十余张脸照得忽明忽暗。钱鹤已经被人押下去了,走时脚步很轻,轻得像一张被风吹走的纸,宝玉没有看他走的方向,他把视线留在火上,把那道光的形状在心里描了一遍,又散开。
鲁大锤站在场坪正中,双手抱胸,把众人挨个扫了一圈。
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