The waiters brought the flower baskets to the stage one by one, and soon they filled up half of the stage. There was also money, fifty, one hundred, ten and five yuan notes, flying onto the stage like pieces of paper.
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Separation always happens in September, and memories are the sorrow of missing you.
The tender green weeping willows in late autumn K!ss my forehead.
In that rainy little town, I never forgot you.
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