When I was fourteen, I earned money in the summer by cutting lawns（草坪）, and within a few weeks I had built up a body of customers. I got to know people by the flowers they planted that I had to remember not to cut down, by the things they lost in the grass or struck in the ground on purpose. I reached the point with most of them when I knew in advance what complaint was about to be spoken, which particular request was most important. And I learned something about the measure of my neighbors by their preferred method of payment: by the job, by the month--- or not at all.
Mr. Ballou fell into the last category, and he always had a reason why. On one day, he had no  change for a fifty, on another he was flat out of checks, on another, he was simply out when I knocked on his door. Still, except for the money apart, he was a nice enough guy, always waving or tipping his hat when he’d see me from a distance. I figured him for a thin retirement check, maybe a work-relayed injury that kept him from doing his own yard work. Sure, I kept track of the total, but I didn’t worry about the amount too much. Grass was grass, and the little that Mr. Ballou’s property comprised didn’t take long to trim (修剪).
Then, one late afternoon in mid-July, the hottest time of the year, I was walking by his house and he opened the door, mentioned me to come inside. The hall was cool, shaded, and it took my eyes a minute to adjust to the dim light. 
“ I owe you,” Mr Ballou, “ but…”
I thought I’d save him the trouble of thinking of a new excuse. “ No problem. Don’t worry about it.”
“ The bank made a mistake in my account,” he continued, ignoring my words. “ It will be cleared up in a day or two . But in the meantime I thought perhaps you could choose one or two volumes for a down payment.
He gestured toward the walls and I saw that books were stacked (堆放) everywhere. It was like a library, except with no order to the arrangement.
“ Take your time,” Mr. Ballou encouraged. “Read, borrow, keep. Find something you like. What do you read?”
“ I don’t know.” And I didn’t. I generally read what was in front of me, what I could get from the paperback stack at the drugstore, what I found at the library, magazines, the back of cereal boxes, comics. The idea of consciously seeking out a special title was new to me, but, I realized, not without appeal--- so I started to look through the piles of books.
“ You actually read all of these?”
“ This isn’t much,” Mr. Ballou said. “ This is nothing, just what I’ve kept, the ones worth looking at a second time.”
“ Pick for me, then.”
He raised his eyebrows, cocked his head, and regarded me as though measuring me for a suit. After a moment, he nodded, searched through a stack, and handed me a dark red hardbound book, fairly thick.
“ The Last of the Just,” I read. “ By Andre Schwarz-Bart. What’s it about?” “ You tell me,” he said. “ Next week.”
I started after supper, sitting outdoors on an uncomfortable kitchen chair. Within a few pages, the yard, the summer, disappeared, and I was plunged into the aching tragedy of the Holocaust, the extraordinary clash of good, represented by one decent man, and evil. Translated from French, the language was elegant, simple, impossible to resist. When the evening light finally failed I moved inside, read all through the night,
To this day, thirty years later, I vividly remember the experience. It was my first voluntary encounter with world literature, and I was stunned (震惊) by the concentrated power a novel could contain. I lacked the vocabulary, however, to translate my feelings into words, so the next week. When Mr. Ballou asked, “ Well?” I only replied, “ It was good?”
“ Keep it, then,” he said. “ Shall I suggest another?”
I nodded, and was presented with the paperback edition of Margaret Mead’s Coming of Age in Samoa ( a very important book on the study of the social and cultural development of peoples--- anthropology (人类学) ).
To make two long stories short, Mr. Ballou never paid me a cent for cutting his grass that year or the next, but for fifteen years I taught anthropology at Dartmouth College. Summer reading was not the innocent entertainment I had assumed it to be, not a light-hearted, instantly forgettable escape in a hammock (吊床) ( though I have since enjoyed many of those, too). A book, if it arrives before you at the right moment, in the proper season, at an internal in the daily business of things, will change the course of all that follows.
【小题1】.The author thought that Mr. Ballou was ______________.

B
It was a beautiful Sunday morning, and Maggie and I were returning from our walk through the woods. We were only a couple of blocks from home when I spotted a cellphone and credit card sitting on the road. We took them home. We find amazing things on the street. She looks upon it as a movable dinner. Chicken wings here and there.
I found another cellphone a few years back, too, and called a number in its phone book. I explained the situation to the guy who answered. He said it was his sister’s and that he'd swing by to pick it up, which he did.
And that was that. No verbal (口头的) thank-you, no written thank-you, no “here’s a box of chocolates” thank-you.
I didn’t have time to call anyone on my latest found cellphone. I was pouring myself coffee when it started to vibrate (颤动) and dance across the kitchen counter.
“Who’s this?” someone asked when I picked up.
“Who’s this?” I countered. “Sarah?”
She was taken aback until she realized her name was on the credit card I also had recovered. “Could you send it to me?” she asked.
She lives in Arlington, which is 2 miles from my house.
“Hmm, no,” I replied, adding that I thought she could come get them, and that if I wasn’t home, they would be in my mailbox.
A day later, when I was out for a run, someone retrieved them. But I got nothing. In this age of e-mail and cellphones, there’s really no excuse.
Years ago, I found something more precious than a $100 bill on the street: a driver’s license. I saw that its owner lived a couple of blocks from me, so I called him up. He asked whether I could slip the license through his front door.
“I guess I could,” I replied.
And that was that.
61. What would be the best title for the text?
A. Several Experiences of My Own
B. “Thank You” Is Becoming More Priceless
C. It’s Polite to Thank the Finders
D. Only Losers Lack “Thank” for Finders
62. According to the text, it can be inferred that Maggie should be ______.
A. the author’s wife             B. the author’s pet
C. the author’s best friend        D. the author’s son
63. The author didn’t call anyone on his latest found cellphone because ______.
A. it wasn’t worth to do          B. he wanted to keep it as his own
C. he was busy then             D. he didn’t know its owner
64. The underlined word “retrieved” in the tenth paragraph means “______”.
A. got back       B. returned       C. lost      D. threw away
65. How does the author feel when he told his last experience about the driver’s license?
A. Disappointed.      B. Helpless.     C. Encouraged.      D. Hopeful.

On Sundays my father always wore that gray apron（围裙）?the one with the race cars all over it．    21 _breakfast Dad always announced: "Go ahead everyone．I'll   22  the dishes!"
I suppose it was  23  for a boy's father to wear an apron? even one with race cars?  24  I never thought much of it until the last Sunday in August．As we  25   home slowly from church together, my father seemed very  26  ．"Tommy," he said letting my name roll off his   27  ．"There comes a time in every boy's  28  when he must take on responsibilities．It's time you 29  a greater role in the family．From now on, I want you to__30__the dishes on Sunday morning, so your mother and I can work the crossword puzzle（纵横字谜）together．"
"The dishes!?" I  31 in surprise．
"Anything wrong with taking over the dishes, son?" father said．
I started to say something about a man's  32  or woman's work, but I knew immediately that my protests（抗议）would be 33 .
I didn't taste a bit of 34  that morning．Dad seemed joyful as he described an American game．
At the end of the meal, my father   35  : "Let's go read the paper, Honey．" "Aren't you doing the dishes?" my   36  asked surprisedly．Father smiled and said, "your oldest son has 37  to fill the position．"
"I want you to have this apron on, Tommy．It'll keep your clothes from getting 38  ．" And before I could go against it, he had put the thing on me．"Thanks, Son．Your mother and I 39  this．"
With that he disappeared into the Sunday paper．I looked 40  at the dishes．I could see my dad reaching for the dishes．He was always happy to help the family．My anger soon flew off and I began to sing．

Even before my father left us, my mother had to go back to work to support our family．Once I came out of the kitchen, complaining, “Mom, I can't peel potatoes．I have only one hand.”
Mom never looked up from sewing．"You get yourself into that kitchen and peel those potatoes," she told me. “And don't ever use that as an excuse for anything again!”
In the second grade, our teacher lined up my class on the playground and had each of us race across the monkey bars, swinging from one high steel bar to the next．When it was my turn, I shook my head．Some kids behind me laughed, and I went home crying．
That night I told Mom about it．She hugged me, and I saw her "we'll see about that" look． The next afternoon, she took me back to school．At the deserted playground, Mom looked carefully at the bars．
"Now, pull up with your right arm," she advised．She stood by as I struggled to lift myself with my right hand until I could hook the bar with my other arm．Day after day we practiced, and she praised me for every rung （横档） I reached．I'd never forget the next time, crossing the rungs．I looked down at the kids who were standing with their mouths open．
One night, after a dance at my new junior high, I lay in bed sobbing．I could hear Mom come into my room．"Mom," I said, weeping, "none of the girls would dance with me．"
For a long time, I didn't hear anything．Then she said, "Oh, honey, someday you'll be beating those boys off with a bat．" Her voice was soft and weak．I glanced at her to see tears running down her cheeks．Then I knew how much she suffered on my behalf．She had never let me see her tears．
【小题1】Which of the following expressions can be used most suitably to describe Mom's attitude when she made the child peel potatoes?
A．Cruel．         B．Serious．   C Strict．          D．Cold．
【小题2】From the passage, we know monkey bars can help a child train ____．

"Hey, Dad," one of my kids asked the other day, "what was your favourite fast food when you were growing up?"
"We didn't have fast food when I was growing up," I informed him．"All the food was slow．" "Where did you eat?" "It was a place called 'at home'．" I explained．"Grandma cooked every day and when Grandpa got home from work, we sat down together at the dining table, and if I didn't like what she put on my plate I was allowed to sit there until I liked it．"
Some parents never owned their own houses, set foot on a golf course, travelled out of the country or had a credit card．
My parents have never driven me to soccer practice．This was mostly because we never had heard of soccer．I had a bicycle that weighed probably 50 pounds, and only had one speed．We didn't have a television in our house until I was 11．I was 13 when I tasted my first pizza; it was called "pizza pie"．When I bit into it, I burned the roof of my mouth and the cheese slid off, swung down, plastered（粘贴）itself against my chin and burned that, too．It's still the best pizza I ever had．
I delivered newspapers, six days a week ．The paper cost 7 cents, of which I got to keep 2 cents．I had to get up at 4:00 a．m．every morning．On Saturday, I had to collect the 42 cents from my customers．My favourite customers were the ones who gave me 50 cents and told me to keep the change．
If you grew up in a generation before there was fast food, you may want to share some of these memories with your children or grandchildren．
Growing up isn't what it used to be, is it?
【小题1】By saying "All the food was slow", the writer implies that ____．