【生肉搬运】鸟雀Passerine 第七章（下）(38)
She did not meet his confused stare. Her attention was fixed entirely on the easel in front of her, turned slightly away from him so all he could see were random splotches of color. Paint stained her hands and hair and skin: deep indigos and soft blues and the dark browns of the eyes that were his inheritance from her.
Mother considered her canvas in silence for a few seconds before making a gentle stroke with her brush. “You stopped playing all of a sudden,” she murmured absently. “I thought the song was finished.”
“It’s not,” Wilbur said. “Just like your painting isn’t, either.”
She shot him a rueful smile. “When did you get so cheeky?”
“When you weren’t looking, I suppose.” He pointed his violin’s bow accusingly at her. “And I only stopped because you interrupted me.”
“I did not interrupt you! I would never.” She tucked a stray hair behind her ear—leaving a golden streak of paint across her cheek in the process—before turning back to her painting. “You remember the rules for the Art Tower, don’t you, my boy?”
Mother considered her canvas in silence for a few seconds before making a gentle stroke with her brush. “You stopped playing all of a sudden,” she murmured absently. “I thought the song was finished.”
“It’s not,” Wilbur said. “Just like your painting isn’t, either.”
She shot him a rueful smile. “When did you get so cheeky?”
“When you weren’t looking, I suppose.” He pointed his violin’s bow accusingly at her. “And I only stopped because you interrupted me.”
“I did not interrupt you! I would never.” She tucked a stray hair behind her ear—leaving a golden streak of paint across her cheek in the process—before turning back to her painting. “You remember the rules for the Art Tower, don’t you, my boy?”
迪奥先生连做七天肉
