Four years ago, under the organization of the school, I volunteered in a school dedicated to children with autism. In fact, it is to help take care of those children, because the teachers are not enough. My roommate and I are in charge of a 6-year-old child. He is white and pure. At first glance, he looks like an ordinary child, but his eyes are hollow. He squatted down and jittered up and down with a piece of white paper. We watched from the side. He tried to talk to him, but there was no response. Then he stood up suddenly, hit my jaw with his head, and cried wildly. I was a little shocked, and the teacher hurried over to comfort him.
I haven’t learned French yet. I’m watching a movie without subtitles. Chapin’s face is constantly cycling. I’m confused. Isn’t there any idea in my mind to be used as a horse betting target? The players next to me will be tired. He was so scared to tremble, but he always looked like this, never ending.
After watching the film and watching some film reviews, the last sentence is: Grandma, the TV is over. Suddenly, I can feel how much energy this omnipotent grandma took to finally make him able to say this sentence.
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The Triplets of Belleville reviews
