网址：http://m.1010jiajiao.com/timu3_id_2489999[举报]
Al had been working in this factory only eleven months, but he excelled at everything he did. He looked for new tasks-as an opportunity to gain experience. To him, mistakes were not to be denied but considered an opportunity to learn. He was, by far, the most capable man among his workmates, One day, when he was finishing his work of the day, he heard Jack calling him.
“What are you going to do about…?” asked Jack.
“I’ll come off the end rail,” interrupted Al.
“No, I mean about Joe’s promotion?”
“I’m going back to school,” Al said.
“Excuse me!” W ww.k s5u.co m
“I’m going back to school,” Al repeated.
“You mean you’re quitting!”
Was it that simple? Is this why there was so much misery in men’s lives? “I’m going back to school” was just an excuse, and Al knew it, thought Jack, or Al would not be drunk. It seemed that Al would rather get drunk than fight for his happiness. But why? Jack had no answer.
“Yes, and I’m going back to school. I don’t know what else to do. I can’t believe that this kind of thing can happen. Maybe if I get more education and a better job, it will be different.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Well, what do you want we to do?” Al was getting angry: “I can’t stay here! I can’t work where the most incapable get the biggest reward! I can’t kill Joe and the boss like…”
Al stopped. They both knew what this meant.
“Like I did?”
Al did not answer.
“Yes, I killed two men with my bare hands; yes, I got punished and lost my job-but I kept my soul!”
Al undertood the hidden statement. Al did not know whether it was his anger, or the beer, or both that made him less cautious in the face. He held his hands firmly. Then be heard Jack: “You’ve got the right idea, Al. You’ve got to fight.”
Al needed to think. Instead of taking the subway, he walked five miles back home. By the time he entered his bedroom, he climbed into bed. Turned off his mind, and fell asleed.
67．Choose from the following a right word to describe Jack.
A．Tough. B．Incapable. C．Lazy. D．Talkative.
68．Which of the following is NOT true according to the passage?
A．Jack was not happy about Joe’s promotion.
B．Al and jack were workmates.
C．The conversation between Al and Jack happened in their workplace.
D．The conversation between Al and Jack happened during the working hours.
69．What can we infer from the underlined part?
A．Jack thinks Al has lost his soul.
B．Jack used to be a killer.
C．Al would be a killer.
D．Don’t be a killer like Jack. W ww.k s5u.co m
70．Which of the following is true about Al at the end of the story?
A．Al felt so tired from the long walk home and couldn’t help falling asleep.
B．Al and made up his mind and knew what to do.
C．Al forgot all that had happened.
D．Al was too confused to think further.
查看习题详情和答案>>
| |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Fred Ames and I haven’t much in common. I sometimes wonder why we are friends 1 Perhaps it is Fred’s skill as a craftman that I find so 2 He’s always busy making things. Everything he makes is so perfect that I sometimes feel a bit of envy. If I 3 to remark that one of my books is so 4 and loose that I shall have to 5 it away, Fred takes it home with him and 6 it a few days later beautifully bound（装订）. If I 7 a vase and it is broken into a thousand pieces, Fred puts it together again in such a way that only an expert would see the 8 .
My 9 is that I’m one of those hopelessly impractical and incurably lazy person. 10 my work at the office, the only thing that interests me is listening to classical music. I have a big 11 of records and all day long the only thing I can 12 is 13 I am going to get home to listen to a new piece of music.
I’ve often 14 to get Fred interested in music. When I’m in one of my talkative moods (which isn’t often , by the way), I spend hours 15 the beauties of a particular piece. I look at him as he’s gazing at that little black statue of monkey I 16 in the mantelpiece and 17 if he’s heard anything at all. 18 I look into those big, blue, expressionless eyes of his, I realize that he hasn’t been listening to a word I’ve said. “I’d love to make a 19 of that some day.” He remarks, indicating the statue.
One Saturday afternoon I came home from work even earlier than usual. Getting home from work is one of the few things I’m good at. It’s certainly the only time I ever 20 . But this day I excelled（胜过平时） myself. I had just bought a new record of some light music and I could hardly wait to listen to it.
1．A．after all B．above all C．in all D．at all
2．A．good B．attractive C．perfect D．interesting
3．A．happen B．want C．intend D．have
4．A．old B．broken C．torn D．tight
5．A．put B．give C．throw D．leave
6．A．returns B．gives C．takes D．brings
|
8．A．matter B．difference C．damage D．perfection
9．A．trouble B．difficulty C．habit D．hobby
10．A．Outside B．Except C．Beside D．But for
11．A．amount B．number C．many D．collection
12．A．think over B．think of C．think up D．think about
13．A．that B．how C．when D．what
14．A．managed B．tried C．failed D．intended
15．A．pointing out B．pointing at C．setting up D．setting down
16．A．keep B．put C．lay D．leave
17．A．think B．imagine C．suppose D．wonder
18．A．As B．Since C．When D．While
19．A．piece B．copy C．statue D．model
20．A．hurry B．expect C．enjoy D．like
查看习题详情和答案>>Buddy seldom saw either of his parents. But he was happy where he was and he had many kindly
relatives, among whom Miss Sook was by far his best friend. Before Christmas, Buddy's father had
managed to get legal custody(法定监护) of him for this Christmas. So, he had a new suit, with a card
pinned with his name and address and made the trip alone, by bus, to New Orleans.
Several things occurred that kept me awake the whole night. First, the footfalls, the noise of my father
running up and down the stairs, breathing heavily, I had to see what he was up to. So I hid and watched.
There was a Christmas tree and the fireplace downstairs. Moreover, I could see my father. He was
crawling around under the tree arranging a pyramid of packages. I felt dizzy, for what I saw forced me to
reconsider everything. If these were presents intended for me, then obviously they had not been ordered
by the Lord and delivered by Santa Claus; no, they were gifts bought and wrapped by my father,which
meant that my rotten little cousin Billy Bob and other rotten kids like him weren't lying when they laughed
at me and told me there was no Santa Claus. The worst thought was: Had Sook known the truth, and lied
to me? No, Sook would never lie to me. She believed. It was just that-well, though she was
sixty-something, in some ways she was at least as much of a child as I was.
I waited until I was sure he was in bed and sound asleep. Then I crept downstairs and examined the
tags attached to each of the packages. They all said: "For Buddy." I decided to open the packages: It
was Christmas morning. I was awake, so why not? I won't bother to describe what was inside them: just
shirts and sweaters and dull stuff like that. The only thing I appreciated was a toy gun. Somehow I got the
idea it would be fun to waken my father by firing it. So I did. Bang. Bang. Bang. He raced out of his room, wild-eyed, Bang. Bang. Bang. "Buddy-what the hell do you think you're doing?" Bang. Bang. Bang. "Stop that!" I laughed. "Look, Daddy. Look at all wonderful things Santa Claus brought me."
Calm now, he walked into the room and hugged me. "You like what Santa Claus brought you?"
I smiled at him. He smiled at me. There was a tender lingering (逗留不去的) moment, damaged when I said: "Yes. But what are you going to give me, Daddy?" His smile evaporated. His eyes narrowed
suspiciously-you could see that he thought I was pulling some kind of trick. But then he blushed, as though he was ashamed to be thinking what he was thinking. He patted my head, and coughed and said: "Well, I
thought I'd wait and let you pick out something you wanted. Is there anything particular you want?"
I reminded him of the airplane we had seen in the toy store on Canal Street. His face sagged. Oh, yes, he
remembered the airplane and how expensive it was. Nevertheless, the next day I was sitting in that
airplane dreaming I was zooming toward heaven while my father wrote out a check for a happy salesman, who promised to help ship the plane on the bus.
But I wasn't free of New Orleans yet. The problem was a large bottle of wine; maybe it was because of
my departure, but anyway my father had been drinking it all day, and on the way to the bus station, he
scared me by grabbing my wrist and harshly whispering: "I'm not going to let you go. I can't let you go back to that crazy family in that crazy old house. Just look at what they've done to you. A boy six, almost
seven, talking about Santa Claus! It's all their fault, all those sour old spinsters with their Bibles and their
knitting needles, those drunken uncles. Listen to me, Buddy. There is no God! There is no Santa Claus.
" He was squeezing my wrist so hard that it ached. "Kiss me. Please. Please. Kiss me. Tell your daddy
that you love him." But I couldn't speak. I was terrified I was going to miss my bus. And I was worried
about my plane, which was strapped to the top of the taxi. "Say it: 'I love you.' Say it. Please. Buddy. Say
it."
It was lucky for me that our taxi-driver was a good-hearted man. Because if it hadn't been for his help, and the help of some efficient porters and a friendly policeman, I don't know what would have happened
when we reached the station. My father was so drunk he could hardly walk, but the policeman talked to
him, quieted him down, helped him to stand straight, and the taxi-man promised to take him safely home.
But my father would not leave until he had seen the porters put me on the bus.
Once I was on the bus, I crouched in a seat and shut my eyes. I felt the strangest pain. A crushing pain
that hurt everywhere. I thought if I took off my heavy city shoes, those crucifying monsters, the agony
would ease. I took them off, but the mysterious pain did not leave me. In a way it never has; never will.
Twelve hours later I was home in bed. The room was dark. Sook was sitting beside me, rocking in a
rocking chair, a sound as soothing (令人舒畅的) as ocean waves. I had tried to tell her everything that
had happened, and only stopped when I was hoarse (嘶哑的) as a howling dog. She stroked her fingers
through my hair, and said: "Of course there is a Santa Clause. It's just that no single somebody could do
all he has to do. So the Lord has spread the task among us all. That's why everybody is Santa Claus. I am. You are. Even you cousin Billy Bob. Now go to sleep. Count stars. Think of the quietest thing. Like snow. I'm sorry you didn't get to see any. But now snow is falling through the stars-" Stars sparkled, snow whirled inside my head; the last thing I remembered was the peaceful voice of the Lord telling me something I
must do. And the next day I did it. I went with Sook to the post office and bought a penny postcard. That same postcard exists today. It was found in my father's safety deposit box when he died last year. Here is what I had written him: Hello pop hope you are well I am and I am turning to pedal my plane so fast I will
soon be in the sky so keep your eyes open and yes I love you Buddy.
B. He thought his son should have known all the presents were sent by him, not Santa Claus.
C. It was difficult for him to accept that his son is so greedy.
D. He was ashamed of not knowing what his son liked.
B Buddy's father and Miss Sook were people of different personalities.
C. Buddy still held the belief that there was Santa Claus.
D. Buddy finally mailed a postcard to his father.
B. Miss Sook had no idea of Santa Clause, and lied to Buddy.
C. Father loved Buddy very much and prepared a lot of gifts for him.
D. Buddy was afraid of his father for they had been separated long time.
B. clever
C. naughty
D. trusted
B. A Christmas Memory
C. How to Celebrate Christmas in a Meaningful Way?
D. A Christmas of a Divorced Family
years, Buddy seldom saw either of his parents. But he was happy where he was and he had many
kindly relatives, among whom Miss Sook was by far his best friend. Before Christmas, Buddy's
father had managed to get legal custody(法定监护) of him for this Christmas. So, he had a new
suit, with a card pinned with his name and address and made the trip alone, by bus, to New
Orleans.
Several things occurred that kept me awake the whole night. First, the footfalls, the noise of my father
running up and down the stairs, breathing heavily, I had to see what he was up to. So I hid and watched.
There was a Christmas tree and the fireplace downstairs. Moreover, I could see my father. He was
crawling around under the tree arranging a pyramid of packages. I felt dizzy, for what I saw forced me to
reconsider everything. If these were presents intended for me, then obviously they had not been ordered
by the Lord and delivered by Santa Claus; no, they were gifts bought and wrapped by my father. Which
meant that my rotten little cousin Billy Bob and other rotten kids like him weren't lying when they laughed
at me and told me there was no Santa Claus. The worst thought was: Had Sook known the truth, and lied
to me? No, Sook would never lie to me. She believed. It was just that-well, though she was
sixty-something, in some ways she was at least as much of a child as I was.
I waited until I was sure he was in bed and sound asleep. Then I crept downstairs and examined the
tags attached to each of the packages. They all said: "For Buddy." I decided to open the packages: It
was Christmas morning. I was awake, so why not? I won't bother to describe what was inside them: just
shirts and sweaters and dull stuff like that. The only thing I appreciated was a toy gun. Somehow I got the
idea it would be fun to waken my father by firing it. So I did. Bang. Bang. Bang. He raced out of his room, wild-eyed, Bang. Bang. Bang. "Buddy-what the hell do you think you're doing? Bang. Bang. Bang. "Stop
that!" I laughed. " Look, Daddy. Look at all wonderful things Santa Claus brought me."
Calm now, he walked into the room and hugged me. "You like what Santa Claus brought you?"
I smiled at him. He smiled at me. There was a tender lingering (逗留不去的) moment, damaged
when I said: "Yes. But what are you going to give me, Daddy?" His smile evaporated. His eyes narrowed
suspiciously-you could see that he thought I was pulling some kind of trick. But then he blushed, as
though he was ashamed to be thinking what he was thinking. He patted my head, and coughed and said: "Well, I thought I'd wait and let you pick out something you wanted. Is there anything particular you
want?"
I reminded him of the airplane we had seen in the toy store on Canal Street. His face sagged. Oh,
yes, he remembered the airplane and how expensive it was. Nevertheless, the next day I was sitting in
that airplane dreaming I was zooming toward heaven while my father wrote out a check for a happy
salesman, who promised to help ship the plane on the bus.
But I wasn't free of New Orleans yet. The problem was a large bottle of wine; maybe it was because
of my departure, but anyway my father had been drinking it all day, and on the way to the bus station, he
scared me by grabbing my wrist and harshly whispering: "I'm not going to let you go. I can't let you go
back to that crazy family in that crazy old house. Just look at what they've done to you. A boy six, almost
seven, talking about Santa Claus! It's all their fault, all those sour old spinsters with their Bibles and their
knitting needles, those drunken uncles. Listen to me, Buddy. There is no God! There is no Santa Claus."
He was squeezing my wrist so hard that it ached. "Kiss me. Please. Please. Kiss me. Tell your daddy
that you love him." But I couldn't speak. I was terrified I was going to miss my bus. And I was worried
about my plane, which was strapped to the top of the taxi. "Say it: 'I love you.' Say it. Please. Buddy. Say
it."
It was lucky for me that our taxi-driver was a good-hearted man. Because if it hadn't been for his help, and the help of some efficient porters and a friendly policeman, I don't know what would have happened
when we reached the station. My father was so drunk he could hardly walk, but the policeman talked to
him, quieted him down, helped him to stand straight, and the taxi-man promised to take him safely home.
But my father would not leave until he had seen the porters put me on the bus.
Once I was on the bus, I crouched in a seat and shut my eyes. I felt the strangest pain. A crushing pain
that hurt everywhere. I thought if I took off my heavy city shoes, those crucifying monsters, the agony
would ease. I took them off, but the mysterious pain did not leave me. In a way it never has; never will.
Twelve hours later I was home in bed. The room was dark. Sook was sitting beside me, rocking in a
rocking chair, a sound as soothing (令人舒畅的) as ocean waves. I had tried to tell her everything that
had happened, and only stopped when I was hoarse (嘶哑的) as a howling dog. She stroked her fingers
through my hair, and said: "Of course there is a Santa Clause. It's just that no single somebody could do
all he has to do. So the Lord has spread the task among us all. That's why everybody is Santa Claus. I
am. You are. Even you cousin Billy Bob. Now go to sleep. Count stars. Think of the quietest thing. Like
snow. I'm sorry you didn't get to see any. But now snow is falling through the stars-" Stars sparkled,
snow whirled inside my head; the last thing I remembered was the peaceful voice of the Lord telling me
something I must do. And the next day I did it. I went with Sook to the post office and bought a penny
postcard. That same postcard exists today. It was found in my father's safety deposit box when he died
last year. Here is what I had written him: Hello pop hope you are well I am and I am turning to
pedal my plane so fast I will soon be in the sky so keep your eyes open and yes I love you Buddy.
B. He thought his son should have known all the presents were sent by him, not Santa Claus.
C. It was difficult for him to accept that his son is so greedy.
D. He was ashamed of not knowing what his son liked.
B. His father was very drunk and had difficulty returning home.
C. He didn't say "I love you" to his father.
D. He had an argument with his father at home.
B. Buddy's father and Miss Sook were people of different personalities.
C. Buddy still held the belief that there was Santa Claus.
D. Buddy finally mailed a postcard to his father.
B. Miss had no idea of Santa Clause, and lied to Buddy.
C. Father loved Buddy very much and prepared a lot of gifts for him.
D. Buddy was afraid of his father for they had been separated long time.
B. clever
C. naughty
D. trusted
B. A Christmas Memory
C. How to Celebrate Christmas in a Meaningful Way?
D. A Christmas of a Divorced Family