My mother looks _____ these days.

24 March

Dear Julie,

I'm sorry I haven't written for a while, but I've been busy at work and have spent almost all my spare time looking for a flat(公寓). I saw a really nice place this morning--a third floor flat with two bedrooms. I have been tired of living in this hotel.

I met a very nice Japanese couple(夫妇) the other night and they've asked me to spend a weekend with them at their house in the country. It'll be nice to get away from Tokyo for a few days. The only problem is that they don't speak much English, and my Japanese is still very poor.

By the way, I can't remember if I thanked you for the things you sent me. Believe me, they'll be really useful when I get a flat and start doing a bit of cooking for myself.

I'm afraid I'll have to finish now. Sorry it's a short letter but I've planned to go out with some friends. I'll write again at the end of the week. Until then, take care of yourself and give my love to Tim.

Love,

John

What does John do most of the time when he is not working？

A．He goes out with friends.

B．He takes Japanese lessons.

C．He looks for a place to live in.

Susan: What’s your hobby, Brian Brian: My hobby Of course, it is to __________. Susan: Then what food do you like best Brian: Hamburgers. They are so _______. Susan: But you are too fat to eat hamburgers. Brian: Never mind. Susan, I never _____ my weight. Susan: But it is bad for your healt to eat too much. You’d better _______. Brian: Maybe you are right. I’m getting tired easily these days. Susan: Do more exercise and eat less food, Brian. Brian: _______. Thanks.

Her love and devotion for my brother and me made our lack of material possessions seem insignificant. Even today, if I were given a choice between having love at home and wealth, I would want it just the way I had it. I grew up poor in material things but rich in love.

Since my father was never around long enough to teach me physical things or to play games with me, I didn't succeed in any competitive sport. My mother did her best as a substitute, throwing a ball with me in the lot(空地) behind our house, but it wasn't the same. She was too protective of me, and I didn't have enough confidence in my own abilities to really try anything physically demanding.

The story suggests that the author is______his mother.

A．proud of

B．worried about

C．pitiful for

D．concerned about

完型填空There is an old saying that husbands and wives start to look and behave like each other after a time. I don't know if this was true of my mother and father.Both of my parents had brown hair and brown eyes and low voices. My father, __1__, was eight years older than my mother andtaller and thinner. He was built as straight as an arrow. My mother was shorter and had a rounder and fuller face and she looked as soft as a pillow. My mother was quieter and talked less than my father did. She was also a much more patient person than my father. My father was more experienced in life. He was __2__ to doing everything quickly. My mother, on the other hand, worked and spoke more slowly. They were fond of nature and sports, such as walking, gardening and swimming.

They were both __3__ in reading and music, but my father preferred history books, while my mother liked to read romantic novels. In music, their types were similar, and they were never proud of listening to it.

Most of the time they were in agreement on bringing __4__ their children.They both believed in giving them love and neither one believed in punishing them physically. At times, their personalities were very much alike, but at other times, they seemed very __5__. Perhaps that is why none of their children knows which parent he looks or behaves like.

1.A：however B：interested C：up D：used E：different

2.A：however B：interested C：up D：used E：different

3.A：however B：interested C：up D：used E：different

4.A：however B：interested C：up D：used E：different

5.A：however B：interested C：up D：used E：different

Both of my parents had brown hair and brown eyes and low voices. My father, __1__, was eight years older than my mother and taller and thinner. He was built as straight as an arrow. My mother was shorter and had a rounder and fuller face and she looked as soft as a pillow.

My mother was quieter and talked less than my father did. She was also a much more patient person than my father. My father was more experienced in life. He was __2__ to doing everything quickly. My mother, on the other hand, worked and spoke more slowly.

They were fond of nature and sports, such as walking, gardening and swimming. They were both __3__ in reading and music, but my father preferred history books, while my mother liked to read romantic novels. In music, their types were similar, and they were never proud of listening to it. Most of the time they were in agreement on bringing __4__ their children. They both believed in giving them love and neither one believed in punishing them physically. At times, their personalities were very much alike, but at other times, they seemed very __5__. Perhaps that is why none of their children knows which parent he looks or behaves like.

(1)、

A：however

B：interested

C：up

D：used

E：different

(2)、

A：however

B：interested

C：up

D：used

E：different

(3)、

A：however

B：interested

C：up

D：used

E：different

(4)、

A：however

B：interested

C：up

D：used

E：different

(5)、

A：however

B：interested

C：up

D：used

E：different

I sit at the kitchen table beneath a peach-painted ceiling and a chandelier with oversized plastic teardrops. Every now then I get up and walk over to the counter, peer into the yellow tub, watch, pretend to watch, and then sit down again. Across from me, the little knick-knacks my mother loves So much-ceramic flowers, Delfts-blue miniature vases, a figurine forever windblown -- are arranged carefully upon the window sill.

My mother's hands are thin-skinned, pale, spotted and freckled with age and sun. The nails are thick, almost yellow. A few strands of hair, not quite black, fall over her forehead and her mouth is slightly open, the tip of her tongue just visible between her teeth as she lifts and mixes the cabbage leaves. "Are you paying attention？" she wants to know, and I nod at ceramic flowers, Delfts-blue miniature vases, a figurine forever windblown.

Kim chee is pickled cabbage. Friends always ask me for botfies of the stuff: Mama Kim’s special recipe, they tease. I pass this on the my mother and she grumbles and laughs, embarrassed, pleased.

My mother’s hands lle in my lap and I touch them carefully, life them like small, live animals, fit them into the plans of my own hands, turn them over and think of crab-hunting as a child and a trail of overturned, shell-encrusted sea rocks.

Once I told my mother that I would like to photograph' her hands, and she peered down at them, lifted her hands up to her face suspiciously as if seeing them for the first time. "My hands？" she asked, and I went and fetched some skin lotion from the bathroom. Her hands were too dry.

I had her sit on the couch in the living-room. The couch was floral-patterned and she sat in the centre of it, awkward, distracted. I took the pictures, head-to-toe shots, some of her hands alone. They lay limply in her lap. She held one hand with the other. She didn’t know what else to do with them. I took the pictures. Every ten minutes or so she got up and walked to the kitchen, checked the oven, the various pots. My father walked by once, and joked, "How about my hands？"

The cabbage leaves are washed and salted and rinsed. This much I remember. A winter’s sun floats in through the window, plays weakly with the plastic tear-drops, falls down onto the kitchen table, onto my own hands. I suppose they will soon lock like hers.

I get up, restless, lean over the counter, try to concentrate. Every year for the last five years or so I have asked my mother to teach me how to pickle cabbage. Every year I have watched her hands, seen the aprons change, the stomach grow more round -- the cabbage leaves are washed and salted and rinsed. This much I remember.

I take the roils of film to a friend who knows something about photography. He develops them and is impressed. He sees a small Asian woman, smiling hesitantly into a camera, lost among the flowers of living-room couches. She is tired and stiff. My friend doesn’t even notice her hands. He calls the photos "real", I call them "disappointing".

The kim chee is just made so it is not quite ripe, but we eat a little of it at dinner, anyway. My father tells me his story about villagers who ran away during the war, as the bombs came down, with earthenware kim chee pots in their anus. It is favourite, not quite-ripe kim chee story.

When the winter sunlight comes through the kitchen window, tear-refracted onto my own hands. I stop writing and put down my pen. My mother asks, "What are you writing？" And I tell her that I am writing about kim chee. She laughs, "You don’t even kn

A．My mother’s hand.

B．Pickled cabbage.

C．Kim chee.

D．My mother.

His face is close to the bathroom mirror，getting ready to pop a pimple(粉刺).“I told you not to do that，”I warn him. “It’ll leave scars on your face.” He doesn't say anything.No matter how much l warn him，that pimple still has to go.

“Did you call your mother back last night？”I ask，trying to change the subject.He nods，still concentrating on the pimple.I lean on the side of the door, hoping he’ll give me more details about his conversation with his mother.who lives in Korea.

I' ve come a long way to get where I am today.I did pretty well in high school and attended Harvard University.We met after I moved to New York City to accept an amazing job offer.Things couldn’t have been better，and I thought that I had the perfect life—until I found myself campaigning for his mother’s respect.

To remind him that I’m still waiting，I uncomfortably ask，“Did my name get mentioned？”He finally looks at me.‘‘Yeah，as usual，she asked if we’d broken up yet.’’For the past three years we’ve been dating，his mother has told him repeatedly to end our relationship because‘‘there are a lot of nice Korean girls’’ she wants him to meet. She complains that I have a career and that I had my own place. She detects flaws everywhere.

I have a career because I want to fulfill my dreams、not because I dislike raising a family.I got my own place because my job required me to move, not because I hated my family. As a Filipino—American born in the Philippines and raised in America，I haven’t forgotten the importance of family values and traditions.

Still concentrating on the pimple，he doesn’t notice how depressed I have become. I feel as if l’d become the pimple，only I’m receiving less attention each day.I walk quietly back to the bedroom and start packing my things.I loosen the beautiful ring on my finger and leave it on top of the bureau(梳妆台).I walk past the bathroom and out the door, locking it behind me.

31.The Korean mother dislikes the author mainly because she_____.

A.does not respect the mother

B.does not have a well paid job

C.has not attended a good university

D.is not a traditional Korean girl

32.“I got my own place’’(para.5)implies that the author_____.

A.was a respectable figure

B.didn’t live with her parents

C.was not a successful girl

D.didn’t live with her boyfriend

33.Which of the following is true？

A.The author hates her boy friend’s mother.

B.The boyfriend dislikes her independence.

C.The boyfriend is in love with a Korean girl.

D.The author is a successful career woman.

34.The sentence omitted at the end of the story might be_____.

A.All of a sudden，I feel free.

B.What on earth can I do？

C.I will come back some day.

D.At last，I got rid of him.

35.The word that best describes the author is_____.

A.radical

B.independent

C.dependent

D.old-fashioned

A.must have

B.must have had

C.must have been

A.can

B.might

C.need

One thorn(刺) of experience is worth many times of warning.

Ralph Wick was seven years old.In most things he was a fine boy，but he would cry from time to time.When he could not have what he wanted，he would (31)for it.If he was told that it would hurt him，and he could not (32)it，he would also cry.

One day，he went with his mother into the (33)The sun shone.The grass was cut.The flowers were starting to come out.Ralph thought he was，for once，a good boy.(34) was on his face.He wished to do as he was told.Ralph helped his mother with the farm work and he was very happy.

"Now you must be tired and (35)"said his mother."Have a good rest here and eat some cookies.I will get a beautiful red rose for you."So his mother brought the red flower to him.When he saw his mother still had a white rose in her hand，Ralph (36)it.

"No，my dear，"said his mother."See how many thorns it has.You must not touch it，or you would be sure to hurt your (37)"When Ralph found that he could not have the white rose，he began to cry，and (38) took it away.But he was soon very sorry.The thorns hurt his hand.It was so(39) that he could not use it for some time.

Ralph would never (40) this.From then on，when he wanted what he should not have，his mother would point to his hand which had been hurt before.He at last learned to do as he was told.

31.A.run B.cry C.plan D.call

32.A.save B.hide C.have D.lose

33.A.park B.garden C.forest D.field

34.A.smile B.sign C.fear D.mark

35.A.lazy B.noisy C.hungry D.sleepy

36.A.waited for B.asked for C.cared for D.thanked for

37.A.arm B.leg C.hand D.foot

38.A.quietly B.proudly C.politely D.suddenly

39.A.helpful B.harmful C.peaceful D.painful

40.A.accept B.refuse C.forget D.remember.