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Once on a dark winter's day，when the yellow fog hung so thick and heavy in the streets of London that the lamps were lighted and the shop windows blazed with gas as they did at night，an odd-looking little girl sat in a cab with her father and was driven rather slowly through the main street.
Sara Crewe leaned against her father，who held her in his arms，as she stared out of the window at the passing people with an old-fashioned thoughtfulness in her big eyes. At this moment she was remembering the voyage she had just made from Bombay with her father，Captain Crewe. She was thinking of what a strange thing it was that at one time one was in India in the hot sun，and then in the middle of the ocean，and then driving in a strange vehicle through strange streets.
“Papa，” she said in a low，mysterious little voice which was almost a whisper.
“What is it，darling?”Captain Crewe answered，holding her closer and looking down into her face．
"Is this the place？＂Sara whispered.
"Yes，little Sara，it is. We have reached it at last.”
It seemed to her many years since he had begun to prepare her mind for "the place”，as she always called it. Her mother had died when she was born，so she had never known or missed her.Her young，handsome，rich father seemed to be the only relation she had in the world．
During her short life only one thing had troubled her，and that thing was "the place” she was to be taken to some day. The climate of India was very bad for children，and as soon as possible they were sent away from it-generally to England and to school.
"Couldn't you go to that place with me，Papa？＂she had asked when she was five years old．
"Couldn't you go to school，too？ I would help you with your lessons.”
"But you will not have to stay for a very long time，little Sara，”he had always said. "You will grow so fast that it will seem scarcely a year before you are big enough and clever enough to come back and take care of Papa.”
She had liked to think of that．She liked to talk to him and read his books-that would be what she would like most in the world，and if one must go away to "the place” in England to attain it，she must make up her mind to go．She liked books more than anything else，and was， in fact，always inventing stories of beautiful things and telling them to herself.
Captain Crewe held her very closely in his arms as the cab rolled into the big，dull square in which stood the house which was their destination．
1.The story happened_______．
A. on a moonless night B. on a foggy day
C. on a hot day D. on a starry night
2.Sara Crewe came to England to_______
A. visit her relatives B. see her mother's house
C. receive education D. buy books for her father
3.We can learn from the story that Sara Crewe was_______．
A. sceptical B. curious C. cheerful D. imaginative
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Once on a dark winter's day，when the yellow fog hung so thick and heavy in the streets of London that the lamps were lighted and the shop windows blazed with gas as they did at night，an odd-looking little girl sat in a cab with her father and was driven rather slowly through the main street.
Sara Crewe leaned against her father，who held her in his arms，as she stared out of the window at the passing people with an old-fashioned thoughtfulness in her big eyes. At this moment she was remembering the voyage she had just made from Bombay with her father，Captain Crewe. She was thinking of what a strange thing it was that at one time one was in India in the hot sun，and then in the middle of the ocean，and then driving in a strange vehicle through strange streets.
“Papa，” she said in a low，mysterious little voice which was almost a whisper.
“What is it，darling?”Captain Crewe answered，holding her closer and looking down into her face．
"Is this the place？＂Sara whispered.
"Yes，little Sara，it is. We have reached it at last.”
It seemed to her many years since he had begun to prepare her mind for "the place”，as she always called it. Her mother had died when she was born，so she had never known or missed her.Her young，handsome，rich father seemed to be the only relation she had in the world．
During her short life only one thing had troubled her，and that thing was "the place” she was to be taken to some day. The climate of India was very bad for children，and as soon as possible they were sent away from it-generally to England and to school.
"Couldn't you go to that place with me，Papa？＂she had asked when she was five years old．
"Couldn't you go to school，too？ I would help you with your lessons.”
"But you will not have to stay for a very long time，little Sara，”he had always said. "You will grow so fast that it will seem scarcely a year before you are big enough and clever enough to come back and take care of Papa.”
She had liked to think of that．She liked to talk to him and read his books-that would be what she would like most in the world，and if one must go away to "the place” in England to attain it，she must make up her mind to go．She liked books more than anything else，and was，in fact，always inventing stories of beautiful things and telling them to herself.
Captain Crewe held her very closely in his arms as the cab rolled into the big，dull square in which stood the house which was their destination．
- 1.
The story happened_______．
- A.on a moonless night
- B.on a foggy day
- C.on a hot day
- D.on a starry night
- A.
- 2.
Sara Crewe came to England to_______
- A.visit her relatives
- B.see her mother's house
- C.receive education
- D.buy books for her father
- A.
- 3.
We can learn from the story that Sara Crewe was_______．
- A.sceptical
- B.curious
- C.cheerful
- D.imaginative
- A.
Once on a dark winter's day，when the yellow fog hung so thick and heavy in the streets of
London that the lamps were lighted and the shop windows blazed with gas as they did at night，
an odd-looking little girl sat in a cab with her father and was driven rather slowly through the
main street.
Sara Crewe leaned against her father，who held her in his arms，as she stared out of the
window at the passing people with an old-fashioned thoughtfulness in her big eyes. At this
moment she was remembering the voyage she had just made from Bombay with her father，
Captain Crewe. She was thinking of what a strange thing it was that at one time one was in India
in the hot sun，and then in the middle of the ocean，and then driving in a strange vehicle through
strange streets·
“Papa，” she said in a low，mysterious little voice which was.almost a whisper.
“What is it，darling?”Captain Crewe answered，holding her closer and looking down into
her face．
"Is this the place？＂Sara whispered.
"Yes，little Sara，it is. We have reached it at last.，，
It seemed to her many years since he had begun to prepare her mind. for "the place”，as she
always called it. Her mother had died when she was born，so she had never known or missed her.
Her young，handsome，rich father seemed to be the only relation she had in the world．
During her short life only one thing had troubled her，and that thing was "the place，， she was
to be taken to some day. The climate of India was very bad for children，and as soon as possible
they were sent away from it-generally to England and to school.
"Couldn't you go to that place with me，Papa？＂she had asked when she was five years old．
"Couldn't you go to school，too？ I would help you with your lessons.，，
"But you will not have to stay for a very long time，little Sara，”he had always said. "You
will grow so fast that it will seem scarcely a year before you are big enough and clever enough to
come back and take care of Papa.”
She had liked to think of that．She liked to talk to him and read his books-that would be
what she would like most in the world，and if one must go away to "the place，， in England to
attain it，she must mAke up her mind to go．She liked books more than anything else，and was，
in fact，always inventing stories of beautiful things and telling them to herself.
Captain Crewe held her very closely in his arms as the cab rolled into the big，dull square in
which stood the house which was their destination．
60. The story happened_______．
A. on a moonless night B. on a foggy day
C. on a hot day D. on a starry night
61．Sara Crewe came to England to_______
A. visit her relatives B. see her mother's house
C. receive education D. buy books for her father
62. We can learn from the story that Sara Crewe was_______．
A. sceptical B. curious C. cheerful D. imaginative
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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