[EN随声录] The Fourth of July (1)

[EN随声录] The Fourth of July (1)

[随声录] 读一些外语,但是读了不知道准不准。想到讯飞语音输入法可以把说的转成文字,就拿这个功能来用,比较一下朗读的内容和转换的内容差在哪里。当然同时还有随声译功能就是把读的外语同时转成其它语言。虽然语音转换并不是完全准确,它会存在一定的误差,不过对于我当前的学习水平,AI即使存在这点误差,也并不太影响纠正我的读音。

The first time I went to Washington DC was on the edge of the summer when I was supposed to stop being a child. At least that’s what they said to us all at graduation from the 8th grade, my sister PhillipsPhyllis graduated at the same time from high school, I don’t know what she was supposed to stop being, but as graduation present for us both, the whole family took a Fourth of July trip to Washington, D.C., the fabled and famous capital of our country.

It was the first time I’d ever been on the railroad train during the day. When I was little and we used to go to the connect. SureConnecticut shore, we always went at night on the milk train because it was cheaper.

Preparation were in their areathe air around our house before school was even over. We pack it packed for a week. There were two very large suitcases that my father carried, and a box filled with food. In fact, my first trip to Washington was a mobile fixedfeast. I started eating as soon as we were come comfortably in concert ensconced in our feet seats and did not stop until somewhere after Philadelphia. I remember it was Philadelphia because I was disappointed not to have passed by the Liberty Bell.

My mother had roasted two chickens and cut them up into dainty bite-size pieces. She packed slice a brown bread and butter. And green paper and carrot sticks. There were little violently yellow iced cake with school aged edges called ” my green gold marigolds”, that came from craftsman broccoli Cushman’s Bakery. There was a peaceful a spice bun and rock-cake from noodlesNewton’s. The west Indian BerkeleyBakery across LondonLenox Avenue from St. Mark’s school and iced tea in a whatwrapped to mayor John mayonnaise jar. There were sweet pickles for us, and did youdill pick off pickles for my father and peaches with the friendsfuzz still on them, individually wrapped to keep them from brushing. And for neatness. There were piles of napkins and a little tin box with a washcloth lampdampened with rosewater and line 3rdglycerine for whipping wiping sticky in mouths.

I wanted to eat in a dining car because I had read all about them. But my mother reminded me for the, I’m tired. I’m taking time umpteenth that dining car food always cost too much money and besides, you never could tell whose hands had been played playing all over the food, Nonor, where those same hands has been just before. My mother never mentioned that Black people were not allowed into railway dining cars headed south in 1947. As usual, whatever my mother did not like and could not change, She ignored. Perhaps it would go away, deprived of her attention

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