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... nly hear the rustling of pens across paper.
Qiqi's small figure was sitting by the window, her back straight and her eyes focused.
Not far from the classroom, a person hurried past with a broom and dustpan in his hand. He glanced over and his eyes fell on Qiqi.
Those eyes are like snake pupils, dark and cold.
December, the cold wind hunts.
Sometimes the wind blows through the acacia tree in the playground, rolling up the dead leaves falling on the g ...
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