"Take a look at these pictures, and see if you can _____ the criminal． " The policeman said to the witness．
A．pick up B．pick off C．pick out D．pick at
With the living expense increasing rapidly, I, a fresh clerk in a company, have to take three part-time jobs, which _____ about extra $ 4,000 a year．
A．bring in B．take in C．get in D．put in
Most of us think of games as child* s play, but games _____ children' s thinking and develop skills like problem solving and communication．
A．sharpen B．seize C．adore D．apply
In a courtroom it is sometimes difficult to ______ who is innocent and who is guilty．
A．distribute B．develop C．design D．distinguish
Dear Guys,
I’d like to talk to you about the shame you subjected me to last night. Let me first refresh your memory: You, a group of fit, young men, were playing soccer on the field across from my apartment building. I, a better-than-average looking young woman, was walking along the sidewalk with my groceries. That’s when your ball came flying over the fence and landed in front of me.
One of you approached and asked politely if I would throw the ball back to you. Fighting the urge to drop my bags and run screaming down the street, I reluctantly (勉强地) agreed.
Before I continue, let me explain something that I didn’t have a chance to mention last night: I hate sports. More specifically, I hate sports involving balls. This results from my lack of natural ability when it comes to throwing, catching and hitting. I’m bad at aiming too. So you can understand why I’d be nervous at what I’m sure seemed to you like a laughably simple request.
However, wanting to appear agreeable, I put my bags down, picked up the ball and, eyes half-shut, threw it as hard as I could.
It hit the middle of the fence and bounced back to me.
Trying to act casually, I said something about being out of practice, then picked up the ball again. If you’ll remember, at your command, I agreed to try throwing underhand. While outwardly I was smiling, in my head, I was praying, Oh God, oh please oh please oh please. I threw the ball upward with all my strength, terrified by what happened next.
The ball hit slightly higher up on the fence and bounced back to me.
This is the point where I start to take issue with you. Wouldn’t it have been a better use of your time, and mine, if you had just walked around the fence and took the ball then? I was clearly struggling; my smiles were more and more forced. And yet, you all just stood there, motionless.
Seeing that you weren’t going to let me out of the trouble, I became desperate. Memories of middle school softball came flooding back. I tried hard to throw the ball but it only went about eight feet, then I decided to pick it up and dash with ball in hand towards the baseline, while annoyed thirteen-year-old boys screamed at me that I was ruining their lives. Children are cruel.
Being a big girl now, I pushed those memories aside and picked up the soccer ball for the third time. I forced a good-natured laugh while crying inside as you patiently shouted words of support over the fence at me.
“Throw it granny-style!” one of you said.
“Just back up a little and give it all you’ve got!” another offered.
And, most embarrassing of all, “You can do it!”
I know you thought you were being encouraging, but it only served to deepen the shame.
Anyway, I accepted your ball-throwing advice, backed up, rocked back and forth a little, took a deep breath and let it fly.
It hit the edge of the fence and bounced back to me.
I surprised myself-and I’m sure you as well-by letting out a cry, “DAMN IT!!!” I then willed myself to have a heart attack and pass out in front of you just so I’d be put out of my misery.
Alas, the heart attack didn’t happen, and you continued to look at me expectantly, like you were content to do this all night. I had become a sort of exhibition for you. I could feel your collective thoughts drifting through the chain-link: “Can she really not do it? But I mean, really?”
Unfortunately for you, I wasn’t really game to continue your experiment. Three failed attempts at a simple task in front of a group of people in a two-minute period was just enough blow for me for one night. I picked up the ball one last time, approached the fence and grumbled, “Please just come get the damn ball.”
And you did. And thanks to you, I decided at that very moment to never throw anything ever again, except disrespectful glances at people who play sports.
Sincerely, Jen Cordery
1.The writer agreed to throw the ball because ______.
A. she needed to have a relax carrying the heavy groceries
B. she wanted to refresh her childhood memories
C. she could not refuse the polite request from the young man
D. she had fallen in love with the young man at first sight
2.Why did the writer mention her middle school memory?
A. To explain why she failed the attempts to throw the ball back.
B. To complain that she had not mastered the ball throwing skills.
C. To show how cruel those 13-year-old boys were.
D. To express her dislike towards softball.
3. What the boys said before the writer’s third attempt actually made the writer _______.
A. inspired B. encouraged C. embarrassed D. depressed
4.What happened to the ball at last?
A. The writer managed to throw the ball back.
B. The boy got the ball back by himself.
C. The writer threw the ball away out of anger.
D. The boys got angry and left without the ball.
It was eleven o'clock that night when Mr. Pontellier returned from his night out. He was in an excellent humor, in high spirits, and very talkative. His entrance awoke his wife, who was in bed and fast asleep when he came in. He talked to her while he undressed, telling her anecdotes and bits of news and gossip that he had gathered during the day. She was overcome with sleep, and answered him with little half utterances.
He thought it very discouraging that his wife, who was the sole object of his existence, showed so little interest in things which concerned him and valued so little his conversation.
Mr. Pontellier had forgotten the candies and peanuts that he had promised the boys. Still, he loved them very much and went into the room where they slept to take a look at them and make sure that they were resting comfortably. The result of his investigation was far from satisfactory. He turned and shifted the youngsters about in bed. One of them began to kick and talk about a basket full of crabs.
Mr. Pontellier returned to his wife with the information that Raoul had a high fever and needed looking after. Then he lit his cigar and went and sat near the open door to smoke it.
Mrs. Pontellier was quite sure Raoul had no fever. He had gone to bed perfectly well, she said, and nothing had made him sick. Mr. Pontellier was too well familiar with fever symptoms to be mistaken. He assured her the child was burning with fever at that moment in the next room.
He reproached his wife with her inattention, her habitual neglect of the children. If it was not a mother's place to look after children, whose on earth was it? He himself had his hands full with his business. He could not be in two places at once; making a living for his family on the street, and staying home to see that no harm done to them. He talked in a dull, repeated and insistent way.
Mrs. Pontellier sprang out of bed and went into the next room. She soon came back and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning her head down on the pillow. She said nothing, and refused to answer her husband when he questioned her. When his cigar was smoked out, he went to bed, and in half a minute was fast asleep.
Mrs. Pontellier was by that time thoroughly awake. She began to cry a little, and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her nightdress. She went out on the porch, where she sat down and began to rock herself in the chair.
It was then past midnight. The cottages were all dark. There was no sound except the hooting of an old owl and the everlasting voice of the sea, which broke like a mournful lullaby (催眠曲) upon the night.
The tears came so fast to Mrs. Pontellier's eyes that the damp sleeve of her nightdress no longer served to dry them. She went on crying there, not caring any longer to dry her face, her eyes, her arms.
She could not have told why she was crying. Such experiences as had just happened were not uncommon in her married life. They seemed never before to have weighed much against the abundance (充足) of her husband's kindness and a uniform devotion which had come to be self-understood.
An indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, filled her whole being with vague pain. It was like a shadow, like a mist passing across her soul's summer day. It was strange and unfamiliar; it was a mood. She did not sit there inwardly scolding her husband, expressing sadness about Fate, which had directed her footsteps to the path which they had taken. She was just having a good cry all to herself.
The mosquitoes succeeded in driving away a mood which might have held her there in the darkness half a night longer.
The following morning Mr. Pontellier was up in good time to take the carriage which was to convey him to the ship. He was returning to the city to his business, and they would not see him again at the Island till the coming Saturday. He had regained his calmness, which seemed to have been somewhat weakened the night before. He was eager to be gone, as he looked forward to a lively week in the financial center.
1.Mr.Pontellier comes back home from his night out in a/an ______state of mind.
A. excited B. confused C. depressed D. disappointed
2. The writer would most likely describe Mr. Pontellier’s conduct during the evening as ______.
A. impatient and generous B. enthusiastic and responsible
C. concerned and gentle D. inconsiderate and self-centered
3.In paragraphs 8 to 13, Mrs. Pontellier’s reactions to her husband’s behavior suggest that ______.
A. she accepts unquestioningly her role of taking care of the children
B. this is one of the times she has acknowledged her unhappiness with her husband
C. her relationship with her husband is not what has made her depressed
D. she is angry about something that happened before her husband left
