I sit at my kitchen table, while my daughter, Anna, sits next to my mother. On the wall hangs a photo of my father.
“When is Rick going to be here?” My mother asks, referring to my husband. 
“I don’t know, Mom,” I answer patiently. “He’ll be here for dinner.”
I sigh and get up from the table. This is at least the tenth time she has asked that question. 
While my mother and daughter play, I busy myself making a salad. 
“Don't put in any onions,” Mom says. “You know how Daddy hates onion.”
“Yes, Mom,” I answer. 
I scrub(洗擦) off a carrot and chop it into bite-size pieces.
“Don't put any onions in the salad,” she reminds me. “You know how Daddy hates onion.”
This time I can’t answer. 
My mother had been beautiful. She still is. In fact, my mother is still everything she has
been, just a bit forgetful.
I cut off the end of the cucumber and rub it to take away the bitterness. Cut and rub. This
is a trick I have learned from my mother, along with a trillion other things: cooking, sewing, 
dating, laughing, thinking. I learned how to grow up. 
And I learned that when my mother was around, I never had to be afraid. 
So why am I afraid now? 
I study my mother's hands. Her nails are no longer a bright red, but painted a light pink.
Almost no color at all. And as I stare at them, I realize I am feeling them as they shaped my 
youth. Hands that packed a thousand lunches and wiped a million tears off my cheeks. 
Now my hands have grown into those of my mother's. Hands that have cooked uneaten 
meals, held my own daughter's frightened fingers on the first day of school and dried tears 
off her face. 
I grow lighthearted. I can feel my mother kiss me goodnight, check to see if the window is
locked, then blow another kiss from the doorway. Then I am my mother, blowing that same
kiss to Anna. 
Outside everything is still. Shadows fall among the trees, shaped like pieces of a puzzle.
Someday my daughter will be standing in my place, and I will rest where my mother now sits. 
Will I remember then how it felt to be both mother and daughter? Will I ask the same
question too many times? 
I walk over and sit down between my mother and her granddaughter. 
“Where is Rick?” my mother asks, resting her hand on the table next to mine. And in that
instant I know she remembers. She may repeat herself a little too much. But she remembers. 
“He’ll be here,” I answer with a smile. 
【小题1】What’s wrong with the writer’s mother?

I sit at my kitchen table, while my daughter, Anna, sits next to my mother. On the wall hangs a photo of my father.

    “When is Rick going to be here?” My mother asks, referring to my husband. 

    “I don’t know, Mom,” I answer patiently. “He’ll be here for dinner.”

    I sigh and get up from the table. This is at least the tenth time she has asked that question. 

    While my mother and daughter play, I busy myself making a salad. 

“Don't put in any onions,” Mom says. “You know how Daddy hates onion.”

“Yes, Mom,” I answer. 

I scrub(洗擦) off a carrot and chop it into bite-size pieces.

 “Don't put any onions in the salad,” she reminds me. “You know how Daddy hates onion.”

This time I can’t answer. 

My mother had been beautiful. She still is. In fact, my mother is still everything she has

been, just a bit forgetful.

I cut off the end of the cucumber and rub it to take away the bitterness. Cut and rub. This

 is a trick I have learned from my mother, along with a trillion other things: cooking, sewing, 

dating, laughing, thinking. I learned how to grow up. 

And I learned that when my mother was around, I never had to be afraid. 

    So why am I afraid now? 

I study my mother's hands. Her nails are no longer a bright red, but painted a light pink.

Almost no color at all. And as I stare at them, I realize I am feeling them as they shaped my 

youth. Hands that packed a thousand lunches and wiped a million tears off my cheeks. 

Now my hands have grown into those of my mother's. Hands that have cooked uneaten 

meals, held my own daughter's frightened fingers on the first day of school and dried tears 

off her face. 

I grow lighthearted. I can feel my mother kiss me goodnight, check to see if the window is

locked, then blow another kiss from the doorway. Then I am my mother, blowing that same

kiss to Anna. 

Outside everything is still. Shadows fall among the trees, shaped like pieces of a puzzle.

Someday my daughter will be standing in my place, and I will rest where my mother now sits. 

Will I remember then how it felt to be both mother and daughter? Will I ask the same

question too many times? 

I walk over and sit down between my mother and her granddaughter. 

“Where is Rick?” my mother asks, resting her hand on the table next to mine. And in that

instant I know she remembers. She may repeat herself a little too much. But she remembers. 

“He’ll be here,” I answer with a smile. 

What’s wrong with the writer’s mother?

A. She is very old.           B. She suffers forgetfulness.

C. She is absent-minded.      D. She is eager to see Rick.

What can we learn about the writer’s father according to the passage?

  A. He might have passed away for years.

 B. He goes out for a walk by himself.

C. He is out doing something with Rick.

D. He loves the writer’s mother deeply.

The underlined sentence “I realize I am feeling them as they shaped my youth” probably means that ______. 

A. Mother’s hands witnessed my growth as a youth

B. Mother’s hands are similar to mine as a youth

C. I like to feel mother’s hands when she was young

D. I realize her hands were exactly like those in her youth

Which of the following words best describe the writer’s mood towards her mother?

  A. Content.    B. Disappointed.     C. Loving.    D. Considerate.

The best title for the passage would be ______.

  A. Mother’s beauty           B. My father hates onion 

C. Hard-working mother       D. Mother’s hands

．When he goes out, he often wears sunglasses _______nobody can recognize him．

    A．so that          B．now that         C．in case          D．as though

John Smith was a writer, who wrote detective stories for magazines（杂志）, though he never dealt with criminals（罪犯）. One evening he could not finish an end for a story. He sat in his study（书房）, but he had no ideas. So he decided to go to the cinema.
When he came back, he found that he had had a visitor. Someone had broken into his house. The visitor had had a drink, smoked several of his cigarettes and had read his story. The visitor left him a note. “I have read your story and I don’t think it is very good. Please read my suggestions and you can finish it. By the way, I am a thief. I’m not going to steal anything tonight. But if you become a successful writer, I will return.”
John read the thief’s suggestions. Then he sat down and wrote the rest of the story. He is still not a successful writer, and he is waiting for his “visitor” to return. Before he goes out in the evening, he always leaves a half-finished story in his study.
【小题1】Detective stories are stories about_____.

John Smith was a writer, who wrote detective stories for magazines, though he never dealt with criminals（罪犯）. One evening he could not finish an end for a story. He sat in his study（书房）, but he had no ideas. So he decided to go to the cinema.
When he came back, he found that he had had a visitor. Someone had broken into his house. The visitor had had a drink, smoked several of his cigarettes and had read his story. The visitor left him a note.
“I have read your story and I don’t think it is very good. Please read my suggestions and you can finish it. By the way, I am a thief. I’m not going to steal anything tonight. But if you become a successful writer, I will return.”
John read the thief’s suggestions. Then he sat down and wrote the rest of the story. He is still not a successful writer, and he is waiting for his “visitor” to return. Before he goes out in the evening, he always leaves a half-finished story in his study.
56. Detective stories are stories about      .
A. science        B. children      C. the future      D. the police
57. John went to the cinema because                    .
A. he was too tired
B. he wanted to look for a thief
C. he could not finish his story and hoped to get some ideas
D. he wanted to enjoy himself in the cinema
58. The visitor came to John’s house in order to              .
A. steal something  B. read the story  C. have a drink  D. visit the writer
59 The visitor                   .
A. stayed in John’s house for a night    B. took some of John’s things away
C. left John some advice             D. was a good friend of John’s
60. John would like to                    .
A. have a talk with his visitor
B. get more ideas from the visitor
C. make friends with the visitor
D. catch the visitor and take him to the police
DCAC