My bookshelves are full of dust―and with good reason．When iIt comes to cleaning that part of my home，I suffer from the most serious case of avoidance（回避反应症）．

 The thing is this：when I do set out to clean and re-organize my books，which seldom happens，I place myself into a really bad situation．No sooner do I take a title from the shelf, blow off the dust，and wipe down the cover thanI find myself sitting on the floor with legs crossed and my back against the wall．Pretty soon books get piled up on my legs as I am reunited with old friends．

  It is as if these boobs have voices，and each  wants to say its piece．“Remember me？I was given to you when you went into the Navy , so that you would never lack for companionshlp，”one whispers．Another says，“I  was your first book of poems，given to you before you learned  to love poetry.”And a third，“I was the book that made history so attrctive to you．”

  Perhaps thegreatest pleasuret of  re-organizing my books are the surprise―or better said，reunions―that occur. During my latest book cleaning adventure，I found one that had fallen behind the shelf:“Tales of Edgar Allan Poe．”Not an unusual title，but the words written on the first page made it very special“With Love from Mom and Dad，Christma 1965．” What’s this? A book on the physics of lasers（激光）．It is filled with mathematical statements，and I had bought it at a library sale when I was 12，not long after the laser had been invented．I couldn’t  understand a bit of it，bul  I did  learn what “laser”meant．

  What I end up with when I empty my bookshelves is a cross-section（横剖面）of my personal history. It’s like a road cut whre one sees all the layers of rock going back through time to the beginning of the simplest life forms．The books I’ve read―and kept―are not just old fiends．They’ re my resume．

44．What could be said about the author?

    A．He is too busy to tidy up his bookshelves．

    B．He considers his books treasured possessions．

    C．He has made a lot of notes in his book．

    D．He is a lover of sclence books．

45．By saying that his book have voices，the author means_________.

    A．they bring back happy memories

    B．they are recorded in human voice

    C．they say a lot about human history

    D．they offer good topic for discussion

46．What does the author enjoy most from re-orgazining his books？

    A．Finding some missing books．

    B．Putting books in good order．

    C．Learning something new from the books，

    D．Rediscovering interesting stories behind some books．

47．The underlined word     “resume”in the last paragraph probably means_______．

    A. personal history

    B. precious notes

    C. good companion

    D. simple life forms

When my grandfather died, my 83-year-old grandmother, once so full of life, slowly began to fade. No longer able to manage a home of her own, she moved in with my mother, where she was visited often by other members of her large, loving family. Although she still had her good days, it was often hard to arouse her interest.
But one chilly December afternoon three years ago, my daughter Meagan, then eight, and I were visiting her, when she noticed that Meagan was carrying her favorite doll.
“I, too, had a special doll when I was a little girl,” she told a wide-eyed Meagan. “I got it one Christmas when I was about your age. I lived in an old farmhouse in Maine, with Mom, Dad and my four sisters, and the very first gift I opened that Christmas was the most beautiful doll you’d ever want to see.”
“She had an elegant, hand-painted face, and her long brown hair was pulled back with a big pink bow. Her eyes were blue, and they opened and closed. I remember she had a body of kidskin, and her arms and legs bent at the joints.”
GG’s voice dropped low, taking on an almost respectful tone. “My doll was dressed in a pretty pink gown, decorated with fine lace. … Getting such a fine doll was like a miracle for a little farm girl like me — my parents must have had to sacrifice so much to afford it. But how happy I was that morning!”
GG’s eyes filled and her voice shook with emotion as she recalled that Christmas of long ago. “I played with my doll all morning long. And then it happened. My mother called us to the dining room for Christmas dinner and I laid my new doll down gently on the hall table. But as I went to join the family at the table, I heard a loud crash.”
“I hardly had to turn around — I knew it was my precious doll. And it was. Her lace skirt had hung down from the table just enough for my baby sister to reach up and pull on it. When I ran in, there lay my beautiful doll on the floor, her face smashed into a dozen pieces. She was gone forever.”
A few years later, GG’s baby sister was also gone, she told Meagan, a victim of pneumonia(肺炎). Now the tears in her eyes spilled over — tears, I knew, not only for a lost doll and a lost sister, but for a lost time.
Silent for the rest of the visit, Meagan was no sooner in the car going home than she exclaimed, “Mom, I have a great idea! Let’s get GG a new doll for Christmas. Then she won’t cry when she thinks about it.”
My heart filled with pride as I listened to my sympathetic little daughter. But where would we find a doll to match GG’s fond memories?
Where there’s a will, as they say, there’s a way. When I told my best friends, Liz and Chris, about my problem, Liz put me in touch with a local doll-make. From a doll supply house I ordered a long brown hair and a kidskin body to copy the outfit GG had so lovingly described. Liz volunteered to put the doll together, and Chris helped me make the doll’s outfit. Meagan wrote the story of the lost doll by giving examples.
Finally our creation was finished. To our eyes it was perfect. But there was no way it could be exactly like the doll GG had loved so much and lost. Would she think it looked anything like it?
On Christmas Eve, Meagan and I carried our happily packed gift to GG, where she sat surrounded by children, parents, aunts, uncles and cousins. “It’s for you,” Meagan said, “but first you have to read the story that goes with it.”
GG no sooner got through the first page than her voice cracked and she was unable to go on, but Meagan took over where she left off. Then it was time to open her present.
I’ll never forget the look on GG’s face as she lifted the doll and held it to her chest. Once again her tears fell, but this time they were tears of joy. Holding the doll in her frail arms, she repeated over and over again, “She’s exactly like my old doll, exactly like her.” 
And perhaps she wasn’t saying that just to be kind. Perhaps however impossible it seemed, we had managed to produce a close copy of the doll she remembered. But as I watched my eight-year-old daughter and her great-grandmother examining the doll together, I thought of a likelier explanation. What GG really recognized, perhaps, was the love that inspired the gift. And love, wherever it comes from, always looks the same.
【小题1】GG moved in with her daughter because____.

At the age of seven, I went to see my grandma in Warwick and spent the summer with her. One day I went to a general store with a   34 full of what Grandma needed.

“Excuse me, I need to   35  these,” I said .

“So ? I’m not your   36 ! You should get yourself a basket and start filling,” Miss Bee, the owner of the store, said   37  without smiling. “If you’re   38  you’ll be home by sunset.” Sunset was five hours away.   39 , the store was a puzzle, and I wasn’t sure if I would make it.

I visited Miss Bee several times a week that   40 . One afternoon when I watched her adding 35 cents instead of 29 for a can of beans, I   41  her immediately. Though being caught overcharging , she didn’t seem   42 , and she just fixed the price.

All summer long I was always tricked by Miss Bee. No sooner had I memorized the soda’s location on the shelf than she rearranged the shelves and made me  43 it all over again. But by summer’s end the   44 trip that had once taken me an hour was done in 15 minutes.

The morning I was to return to Brooklyn, I stepped in to get a bottle of water.

“What did you   45  this summer?” she said.

“That you’re so mean!” I whispered.

To my   46 , Miss Bee laughed. “When you get older, you’ll be glad our paths crossed!”

Glad I met Miss Bee ? No!

Until one day my daughter came to me with homework  47 . “It’s too hard,” she said. “Could you finish it for me?”

“If I do it for you, how will you ever learn to do it yourself?” Suddenly, I was   48  at that general store where Miss Bee had really taught me something all those years ago.

1.                A．bag            B．bottle          C．list  D．can

2.                A．buy            B．read           C．borrow   D．sell

3.                A．daughter       B．servant         C．master   D．teacher

4.                A．honestly        B．quietly         C．coldly    D．quietly

5.                A．busy           B．stupid          C．lucky D．popular

6.                A．However       B．Besides         C．Therefore D．Also

7.                A．year           B．summer        C．autumn   D．term

8.                A．supported      B．attracted        C．corrected D．remembered

9.                A．excited         B．unfriendly       C．moved   D．uncomfortable

10.               A．hunt for        B．step onto       C．learn about D．care for

11.               A．school         B．shopping       C．business   D．sightseeing

12.               A．eat            B．earn           C．forget D．learn

13.               A．shame         B．delight         C．surprise   D．regret

14.               A．signs           B．troubles        C．scores D．rules

15.               A．out            B．ahead          C．around    D．back

When my grandfather died, my 83-year-old grandmother, once so full of life, slowly began to fade. No longer able to manage a home of her own, she moved in with my mother, where she was visited often by other members of her large, loving family. Although she still had her good days, it was often hard to arouse her interest.

But one chilly December afternoon three years ago, my daughter Meagan, then eight, and I were visiting her, when she noticed that Meagan was carrying her favorite doll.“I, too, had a special doll when I was a little girl,” she told a wide-eyed Meagan. “I got it one Christmas when I was about your age. I lived in an old farmhouse in Maine, with Mom, Dad and my four sisters, and the very first gift I opened that Christmas was the most beautiful doll you’d ever want to see.”

“She had an exquisite(优美的，高雅的), hand-painted face, and her long brown hair was pulled back with a big pink bow. Her eyes were blue, and they opened and closed. I remember she had a body of kidskin, and her arms and legs bent at the joints.”

GG’s voice dropped low, taking on an almost respectful tone. “My doll was dressed in a pretty pink gown, decorated with fine lace. … Getting such a fine doll was like a miracle for a little farm girl like me — my parents must have had to sacrifice so much to afford it But how happy I was that morning!”

GG’s eyes filled and her voice shook with emotion as she recalled that Christmas of long ago. “I played with my doll all morning long. And then it happened. My mother called us to the dining room for Christmas dinner and I laid my new doll down gently on the hall table. But as I went to join the family at the table, I heard a loud crash.”

“I hardly had to turn around — I knew it was my precious doll. And it was. Her lace skirt had hung down from the table just enough for my baby sister to reach up and pull on it. When I ran in, there lay my beautiful doll on the floor, her face smashed into a dozen pieces. She was gone forever.”

A few years later, GG’s baby sister was also gone, she told Meagan, a victim of pneumonia(肺炎). Now the tears in her eyes spilled over — tears, I knew, not only for a lost doll and a lost sister, but for a lost time.

Subdued(沉默的) for the rest of the visit, Meagan was no sooner in the car going home than she exclaimed, “Mom, I have a great idea! Let’s get GG a new doll for Christmas. Then she won’t cry when she thinks about it.”

My heart filled with pride as I listened to my sympathetic little daughter. But where would we find a doll to match GG’s fond memories?

Where there’s a will, as they say, there’s a way. When I told my best friends, Liz and Chris, about my problem, Liz put me in touch with a local doll-make. From a doll supply house I ordered a long brown hair and a kidskin body to copy the outfit GG had so lovingly described. Liz volunteered to put the doll together, and Chris helped me make the doll’s outfit. Meagan wrote the story of the lost doll by giving examples.

Finally our creation was finished. To our eyes it was perfect. But there was no way it could be exactly like the doll GG had loved so much and lost. Would she think it looked anything like it?

On Christmas Eve, Meagan and I carried our happily packed gift to GG, where she sat surrounded by children, parents, aunts, uncles and cousins. “It’s for you,” Meagan said, “but first you have to read the story that goes with it.”

GG no sooner got through the first page than her voice cracked and she was unable to go on, but Meagan took over where she left off. Then it was time to open her present.

I’ll never forget the look on GG’s face as she lifted the doll and held it to her chest. Once again her tears fell, but this time they were tears of joy. Holding the doll in her frail arms, she repeated over and over again, “She’s exactly like my old doll, exactly like her.” 

And perhaps she wasn't saying that just to be kind. Perhaps however impossible it seemed, we had managed to produce a close copy of the doll she remembered. But as I watched my eight-year-old daughter and her great-grandmother examining the doll together, I thought of a likelier explanation. What GG really recognized, perhaps, was the love that inspired the gift. And love, wherever it comes from, always looks the same.

1.GG moved in with her daughter because ______.

A．she wanted to live with a large family

B．she was not able to live on her own due to her weakness

C．her husband passed away

D．she thought it was the children’s obligation to take care of her

2.Why did GG become very emotional on a December afternoon?

A．Because she saw her great granddaughter’s doll.

B．Because she recalled her long deceased parents.

C．Because she was surrounded by her offspring.

D．Because she felt lonely during the Christmas season.

3.What can we infer from the underlined sentence in paragraph 4? 

A．GG’s doll was important and was a symbol of many things.

B．GG showed great respect for his husband’s love.

C．GG missed the great old days she spent with her family

D．GG was grateful for her long life.

4.What happened to GG’s baby sister?

A．She envied her sister all her life.

B．She felt guilty for breaking GG’s doll and decided to go.

C．She left home at a young age.

D．She died of some disease at a young age.

5.Why did Meagan’s mum feel proud of her daughter?

A．Because she was clever.                  B．Because she was loving.

C．Because she was amiable.                 D．Because she was imaginative.

6.This passage implies that ______.

A．treating the elderly well is moral

B．it is impossible to copy the exact doll for the elderly

C．love, the permanent rhythm of life, will always remain in the elderly’s heart

D．physical comfort from children rather than psychological care is important

Signs can sometimes be seen at the entrance of a house, expressing that a tramp（流浪汉） has passed. This special sign-language is frequently   36  by tramps to inform their  37  whether the host of a certain house is friendly or unfriendly, and to  38  them the trouble of making unnecessary calls.
Quite  39  one day, I came across a real tramp. He was such a rare sight these days that I stood some distance away and watched him. He was dressed just as a tramp should be  40 , old worn trousers, and a jacket many sizes too big for him. On his head there was a battered old hat and his boots were so old and worn; they were almost coming into   41 . But the man himself looked cheerful as if he had not been a   42  in the world. He rubbed his nose with his forefinger,  43  a funny turn, laid a small parcel by the front gate, and began   44  a sign made by a former caller. Although the sign was meaningless to me, it must have been   45 , for the tramp’s face lit up with  46 . He entered the front gate confidently and rang the bell. When the door opened, I saw him   47  his hat but couldn’t hear his words. The  48  was very short indeed, for no sooner had he spoken a few words than the door closed fiercely in his face. I felt  49  for him as he walked   50  out of the house, But just as quickly, his face lit up again and he moved quickly towards the gate. There he stopped, looked at the sign, and   51  his head seriously as if he had made a bad mistake.   52 deeply into his pockets, he produced a piece of chalk, rubbed out the  53  sign and made a new one in its place. He stared at it for a moment smiling to himself, then gathered his  54 , pushed back his hat and began walking towards the next house at an unhurried  55 , whistling as he went along.