Chapter 4 horn for night camp

At ten o'clock in the evening, I read a book under the lamp, and the trumpet in the military camp not far from home blew a familiar tune.A few simple scales, slowly going up and down, it is rare to have such a simple heart in this bustling big city. I said, blowing the horn again.Can you hear me, aunt?My aunt said: I didn't pay attention.I'm afraid to listen to the horn every night because I'm the only one who hears it. I said: Ah, it's blowing again.But this time, for some unknown reason, the voice was extremely low, and it was disconnected and reconnected several times.This time I didn't ask my aunt if she could hear her or not.I suspect that there is no speaker at all, just my own auditory memory.In addition to desolation, there is also fear.

But at this time, someone whistled loudly outside.Casually picked up the tune of the trumpet.I stood up suddenly, full of joy and sympathy, and ran to the window, not wanting to know who it was, whether it was the occupants of the apartment above or below, or someone passing by on the street.