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作者: Leo Tolstoy

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Suddenly, in the midst of his toil, without understanding what it
was or whence it came, he felt a pleasant sensation of chill on
his hot, moist shoulders. He glanced at the sky in the interval
for whetting the scythes. A heavy, lowering storm cloud had blown
up, and big raindrops were falling. Some of the peasants went to
their coats and put them on; others-just like Levin
himself-merely shrugged their shoulders, enjoying the pleasant
coolness of it.

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