Mother's hands were trembling, trying to touch my wound, but dared not, suddenly stood up and angrily said to his father: "Blame you! How could he have run if you hadn't hit your son just now? Nor will it... Nor will it..."

My father didn't speak, and with a look of self-reproach on his face, he quickly lifted me up, pulled me onto the sofa and let me lie down.

The mother was still blaming her father, pounding him on the shoulder. The father sighed, "Well, don't do that. You'd better get the first aid kit right away. You'd better go to the hospital in the yard. Please see Dr....