隔着一条小道,我想那大概是她,那个在我公寓边上一个煎饼摊的女主人。在煎饼摊旁,更靠近公路一点的地方,有张简易小桌和两条板凳。有个孩子—或许是她的儿子,一边小口嚼着米饭,一边不安分地在板凳上转来转去,好奇地向着公路上的车子张望。她坐在板凳上,低头看着桌上的一个练习本,偶尔抬起头帮他夹菜。只有走近,你才能感到那种不协调。那凳子真是太小太矮了,她坐在上面如同坐在地上一般。桌子也是,就高度而言,它更像张凳子。她帮他检查作业, Across a trail, I think that's probably about her, the hostess at a pancake stand next to my apartment. Beside the pancake stand, a little closer to the road, there is a simple table and two benches. A child, perhaps her son, while chewing on rice, restlessly on the bench and curiously looking out to the car on the road. She sat on the bench, looking down at a exercise book on the table, and occasionally raised her head to help him with food. You can feel the uncoordination only by approaching. The stool was so small and too short that she sat on it as if sitting on the ground. The table is also, in the highest degree, more like a stool. She helped him check homework,