摘要
等我到达孤儿院时，起初的毛毛细雨已经变成了瓢泼大雨。我站在那儿把衬衫里的水拧干，然后抖了抖头发，等到身上快干，但还不是很干的时候，我开始搜寻。寻找什么？我不确定。一盒子信？还是胡乱写在墙上的爷爷的名字？这一切看似都不太可能。
By the time I reached the children's home, what had begun as a drizzle was a full-on downpour1).I stood wringing2) water from my shirt and shaking out my hair, and when I was as dry as I was going to get—which was not very—I began to search. For what, I wasn't sure. A box of letters? My grandfather's name scribbled3) on a wall? It all seemed so unlikely.
