Without any hesitation, he said, “I’d be better off dead.” Hearing those words come out of my best friend’s mouth tore my heart apart. He has repeated that phrase more than once, and my mind continually plays it over like a voice recording.
I met him about three years ago. After knowing me for six months, he told me about his struggles with depression. Sadness was not the only emotion that came over me; I was shocked. He seemed so outgoing and happy all the time. I soon learned that he was physically and emotionally abused as a young child, causing him to have suicidal thoughts.
He refuses to talk to others about his depression because he now distrusts adults, especially those in his family. Nevertheless, he feels as if I understand him and that I know the right words to speak. Therefore, when it comes to helping him, convenience is not in my vocabulary. It does not matter where I am or what I am doing, for he always comes first.
Many students at his school laugh at him when they notice scars on his arms from cutting. As he sees it, other kids have every right to make fun of him. But no one holds such a right, so I encourage him to ignore the heartless kids who treat him badly. When he feels the weight of judging eyes or hateful voices, I always remind him that I care about him unconditionally. Just hearing me say I will always be his best friend seems to give him the security he needs to keep on going.
My best friend once told me that if he had not had me, he would not be alive. He said that my encouraging words convinced him not to take his life. Our friendship has taught me that a single kind word can influence someone’s life. With the fragility of life as it is, I believe in the necessity of encouragement.
【小题1】According to the first paragraph, what the author’s friend said made the author feel ______.

Pete Richards was the loneliest man in town on the day that little Jean Grace opened the door of his shop.

       Pete's grandfather had owned the shop until his death. Then the shop became Pete's. The front window was full of beautiful old things: jewelry of a hundred years ago, gold and silver boxes, carved figures from China and Japan and other nations.

       On this winter afternoon, a child stood there, her face close to the window. With large and serious eyes, she studied each piece in the window. Then, looking pleased, she stepped back from the window and went into the shop. Pete himself stood behind the counter. His eyes were cold as he looked at the small girl. “Please,” she began, “would you let me look at the pretty string of blue beads in the window?” Pete took the string of blue beads from the window. The beads were beautiful against his hand as he held the necklace up for her to see.

      “They are just right,” said the child as though she were alone with the beads. “Will you wrap them up in pretty paper for me, please? I've been looking for a really wonderful Christmas present for my sister.”

       “How much money do you have?” asked Pete.

       She put a handful of pennies on the counter. “This is all I have,” she explained simply. “I've been saving the money for my sister's present.”

       Pete looked at her, his eyes thoughtful. Then he carefully closed his hand over the price mark on the necklace so that she could not see it. How could he tell her the price? The happy look in her big blue eyes struck him like the pain of an old wound.

       “Just a minute,” he said and went to the back of the shop. “What's your name?” he called out. He was very busy about something.

       “Jean Grace,” answered the child.

       When Pete returned to the front of the shop, he held a package in his hand. It was wrapped in pretty Christmas paper.

       “There you are,” he said. “Don't lose it on the way home.”

       She smiled happily at him as she ran out of the door. Through the window he watched her go. He felt more alone than ever.

       Something about Jean Grace and her string of beads had made him feel once more the pain of his old grief. The child's hair was as yellow as the sunlight; her eyes were as blue as the sea. Once upon a time, Pete had loved a girl with hair of that same yellow and with eyes just as blue. And the necklace of blue stones had been meant for her.

       But one rainy night, a car had gone off the road and struck the girl. After she died, Pete felt that he had nothing left in the world except his grief. The blue eyes of Jean Grace brought him out of that world of self-pity and made him remember again all that he had lost. The pain of remembering was so great that Pete wanted to run away from the happy Christmas shoppers who came to look at his beautiful old things during the next ten days.

       When the last shopper had gone, late on Christmas Eve, the door opened and a young woman came in. Pete could not understand it, but he felt that he had seen her before. Her hair was sunlight yellow and her eyes were sea-blue. Without speaking, she put on the counter a package wrapped in pretty Christmas paper. When Pete opened the package, the string of blue beads lay again before him.

       “Did this come from your shop?” she asked.

       Pete looked at her with eyes no longer cold. “Yes, it did,” he said.

       “Are the stones real?”

       “Yes. They aren't the best turquoise(绿松石), but they are real.”

       “Can you remember to whom you sold them?”

       “She was a small girl. Her name was Jean. She wanted them for her sister's Christmas present.”

       “How much were they?”

       “I can't tell you that,” he said. “The seller never tells anyone else what a buyer pays.”

       “But Jean has never had more than a few pennies. How could she pay for them?”

       “She paid the biggest price one can ever pay,” he said.

       For a moment there was no sound in the little shop. Then somewhere in the city, church bells began to ring. It was midnight and the beginning of another Christmas Day.

       “But why did you do it?” the girl asked.

       Pete put the package into her hands.

       “There is no one else to whom I can give a Christmas present,” he said. “It is already Christmas morning. Will you let me take you to your home? I would like to wish you a Merry Christmas at your door.”

       And so, to the sound of many bells, Pete Richards and a girl whose name he had not yet learned walked out into the hope and happiness of a new Christmas Day.

55．When Pete saw Jean Grace, he was ______.

A. very enthusiastic, hoping for some business to be done

B. cold but he still served the young customer

C. cold, unwilling to serve the young customer

D. very warm to the young customer though he did not want to sell anything to her

56．Pete did not say the price of the necklace because ______.

A. the seller never tells anyone else what a buyer pays

B. he priced the necklace too high

C. he knew it would disappoint the girl

D. he didn't want to sell the necklace

57．The eyes of Jean Grace brought Pete out of his world of self-pity and he ______.

A. tried to forget the memory of his sweetheart

B. began to look at the world optimistically

C. remembered his lost love

D. no longer felt the pain in him

58．A young woman came into the shop because ______.

A. she was afraid that there might be some mistake

B. she thought that the stones she had bought were not real

C. she was not sure if she could get more stones like those

D. she did not like what she had once bought

59．By saying “She paid the biggest price one can ever pay,” Pete meant that Jean Grace     .

A. gave the most money for the necklace

B. gave all she had with her for the necklace

C. appreciated the value of the necklace

D. wanted to have the best thing in the shop

60．At the end of the story we see that Pete _____.

A. found another girl that he could trust

B. met someone who truly loved him

C. found a place to go at last

D. regained his ability to love

I began working in journalism(新闻工作) when I was eight.It was my mother’s idea.She wanted me to“make something”of myself,and decided I had better start young if I was to have any chance of keeping up with the competition.
With my load of magazines I headed toward Belleville Avenue.The crowds were there.There were two gas stations on the corner of Belleville and Union.For several hours I made myself highly visible,making sure everyone could see me and the heavy black letters on the bag that said THE SATURDAY EVENING POST.When it was suppertime,I walked back home.
“How many did you sell,my boy?”my mother asked.
“None.”
“Where did you go?”
“The corner of Belleville and Union Avenues.”
“What did you do?”
“Stood on the corner waiting for somebody to buy a Saturday Evening Post.”
“You just stood there?”
“Didn’t sell a single one.”
“My God,Russell!”
Uncle Allen put in,“Well,I’ve decided to take the Post.”I handed him a copy and he paid me a nickel(五分镍币).It was the first nickel I earned.
Afterwards my mother taught me how to be a salesman.I would have to ring doorbells,address adults with self-confidence(自信),and persuade them by saying that no one,no matter how poor,could afford to be without the Saturday Evening Post in the home.
One day,I told my mother I’d changed my mind.I didn’t want to make a success in the magazine business.
“If you think you can change your mind like this,”she replied,“you’ll become a good-for-nothing.”She insisted that,as soon as school was over,I should start ringing doorbells,selling magazines.Whenever I said no,she would scold me.
My mother and I had fought this battle almost as long as I could remember.My mother,dissatisfied with my father’s plain workman’s life,determined that I would not grow up like him and his people.But never did she expect that,forty years later,such a successful journalist as me would go back to her husband’s people for true life and love.
【小题1】Why did the boy start his job young?

I began working in journalism(新闻工作)when I was eight. It was my mother’s idea. She wanted me to “make something” of myself, and decided I had better start young if I was to have any chance of keeping up with the competition.
With my load of magazines I headed toward Belleville Avenue. The crowds were there. There were two gas stations on the corner of Belleville and Union. For several hours I made myself highly visible, making sure everyone could see me and the heavy black letters on the bag that said THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. When it was suppertime, I walked back home.
“ How many did you sell, my boy?” my mother asked.
“ None.”
“ Where did you go?”
“ The corner of Belleville and Union Avenues.”
“ What did you do?”
“ Stood on the corner waiting for somebody to buy a Saturday Evening Post.”
“ You just stood there?”
“ Didn’t sell a single one.”
“ My God, Russell!”
Uncle Allen put in, “ Well, I’ve decided to take the Post.” I handed him a copy and he paid me a nickle(五分镍币). It was the first nickle I earned.
Afterwards my mother taught me how to be a salesman. I would have to ring doorbells, address adults with self-confidence(自信), and persuade them by saying that no one, no matter how poor, could afford to be without the Saturday Evening Post in the home.
One day, I told my mother I’d changed my mind. I didn’t want to make a success in the magazine business.
“ If you think you can change your mind like this,” she replied, “ you’ll become a good-for-nothing.” She insisted that, as soon as school was over, I should start ringing doorbells, selling magazines. Whenever I said no, she would scold me.
My mother and I had fought this battle almost as long as I could remember. My mother, dissatisfied with my father’s plain workman’s life, determined that I would not grow up like him and his people. But never did she expect that, forty years later, such a successful journalist as me would go back to her husband’s people for true life and love.
【小题1】Why did the boy start his job young?

A．The war between the boy’s parents.

B．The arguing between the boy and his mother.

C．The quarrel between the boy and his customers.

D．The fight between the boy and his father.

When I was a child, my mom liked to make food for dinner every now and then. And I remember one night   36  when she made dinner after a long,   37  day at work.
On that evening so long ago, my mom placed a plate of eggs, sausage, and extremely burned toast in front of my dad. I remember waiting to see if anyone   38  ! Yet all my dad did was to   39  his toast, smile at my mom, and ask me how my day was at school. I don’t remember what I   40  him that night, but I do remember   41  him smear(涂上)butter on that toast and eat   42  bite!
  43  I got up from the table that evening, I remember hearing my mom   44  to my dad for burning the toast.   45  I’ll never forget what he said: “Baby, I   46  burnt toast.”
Later that night, I went to kiss Daddy   47  and I asked him if he really liked his toast burned. He wrapped me in his arms and said, “Son, your mom   48  a hard day at work today and she’s really   49 . And besides, a little burnt toast never   50  anyone!”
You know, life is full of imperfect things…and imperfect people. I’m not the best housekeeper or cook. What I’ve learned over the years is that learning to accept each other’s   51  and choosing to celebrate each other’s differences is one of the most important keys to creating a healthy and   52  relationship.
And this is my prayer for you today: you’ll learn to take the good, the bad, and the ugly parts of your life and   53  them at the feet of God, because   54 , he’s the only one who will be able to give you a relationship where burnt toast isn’t a deal-breaker(煞风景)！
We could extend(推广)this to any relationship in fact   55  understanding is the base of any relationship, be it a husband-wife or parent-child or friendship!