RACHEL HELMS

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At the end of the night, the moonlight is like a white lotus, gradually opening in the dark night sky. 　　 　　I was in front of my desk, writing furiously, worrying about my academic performance which had not improved for a long time, and my mood was so depressed that water could drip out. The dark desk lamp shines on the pages, and the only sound left in my ears is the rustle of the pen tip rubbing against the paper.