衬衫的衣角被拉住，后是小妻的轻声恳求：“萌萌说，想听爸爸讲故事。”

那么小的孩，哪会说话，分明就是小姑娘自己的小心思罢了。许墨笑着转，摸了摸简诗的侧脸：“那萌萌有说，要听哪个故事吗？”

嘴里说着“萌萌”，睛却只看着自己，简诗只觉得自己被他碰到的地方都有些发烧。她别过了视线：“要、要不你念首诗？”

一会儿拿孩当借要听故事，一会儿又改要听诗。果然这么多年了，小姑娘还是个连撒谎都不会的小傻瓜。

但她的请求，许墨又怎么会不应呢。

他在脑海里搜索片刻，才找到了那首适合念给她们听的诗。

简诗微微闭着睛，丈夫温的呼就在旁边，只予自己的温柔嗓音也随之响了起来（莎士比亚《sonnet 18》）：

“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou?art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.