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大学英语精读(第三版)课文原文

大学英语精读(第三版)课文原文
大学英语精读(第三版)课文原文

Unit 1 Some Strategies for Learning English

Learning English is by no means easy. It takes great diligence and prolonged effort. Nevertheless, while you cannot expect to gain a good command of English without sustained hard work, there are various helpful learning strategies you can employ to make the task easier. Here are some of them.

1. Do not treat all new words in exactly the same way. Have you ever complained about your memory because you find it simply impossible to memorize all the new words you are learning? But, in fact, it is not your memory that is at fault. If you cram your head with too many new words at a time, some of them are bound to be crowded out. What you need to do is to deal with new words in different ways according to how frequently they occur in everyday use. While active words demand constant practice and useful words must be committed to memory, words that do not often occur in everyday situations require just a nodding acquaintance. You will find concentrating on active and useful words the most effective route to enlarging your vocabulary.

2. Watch out for idiomatic ways of saying things. Have you ever wondered why we say, ―I am interested in English‖, but ―I am good at French‖? And have you ever asked yourself why nati ve English speakers say, ―learn the news or secret‖, but ―learn of someone’s success or arrival‖? These are all examples of idiomatic usage. In learning English, you must pay attention not only to the meaning of a word, but also to the way native speakers use it in their daily lives.

3. Listen to English every day. Listening to English on a regular basis will not only improve your ear, but will also help you build your speaking skills. In addition to language tapes especially prepared for your course, you can also listen to English radio broadcasts, watch English TV, and see English movies. The first time you listen to a taped conversation or passage in English, you may not be able to catch a great deal. Try to get its general meaning first and listen to it over and over again. You will find that with each repetition you will get something more.

4. Seize opportunities to speak.It is true that there are few situations at school where you have to communicate in English, but you can seek out opportunities to practice speaking the language. Talking with your classmates, for example, can be an easy and enjoyable way to get some practice. Also try to find native speakers on your campus and feel free to talk with them. Perhaps the easiest way to practice speaking is to rehearse aloud, since this can be done at any time, in any place, and without a partner. For instance, you can look at pictures or objects around you and try to describe them in detail. You can also rehearse everyday situations. After you have made a purchase in a shop or finished a meal in a restaurant and paid the check, pretend that all this happened in an English-speaking country and try to act it out in English.

5. Read widely.It is important to read widely because in our learning environment, reading is the main and most reliable source of language input. When you choose reading materials, look for things that you find interesting, that you can understand without relying too much on a dictionary. A page a day is a good way to start. As you go on, you will find that you can do more pages a day and handle materials at a higher level of difficulty.

6. Write regularly. Writing is a good way to practice what you already know. Apart from compositions assigned by your teacher, you may find your own reasons for writing. A pen pal provides good motivation; you will learn a lot by trying to communicate with someone who shares your interests, but comes from a different culture. Other ways to write regularly include keeping a diary, writing a short story and summarizing the daily news.

Language learning is a process of accumulation. It pays to absorb as much as you can from reading and listening and then try to put what you have learned into practice through speaking and writing.

Unit 2 Sailing Round the World

Before he sailed round the world single-handed, Francis Chichester had already surprised his friends several times. He had tried to fly round the world but failed. That was in 1931.

The years passed. He gave up flying and began sailing. He enjoyed it greatly. Chichester was already 58 years old when he won the first solo transatlantic sailing race. His old dream of going round the world came back, but this time he would sail. His friends and doctors did not think he could do it, as he had lung cancer. But Chichester was determined to carry out his plan. In August, 1963, at the age of nearly sixty-five, an age when many men retire, he began the greatest voyage of his life. Soon, he was away in this new 16-metre boat, Gipsy Moth.

Chichester followed the route of the great nineteenth century clipper ships. But the clippers had had plenty of crew. Chicheater did it all by himself, even after the main steering device had been damaged by gales. Chichester covered 14, 100 miles before stopping in Sydney, Australia. This was more than twice the distance anyone had

previously sailed alone.

He arrived in Australia on 12 December, just 107 days out from England. He received a warm welcome from the Australians and from his family who had flown there to meet him. On shore, Chichester could not walk without help. Everybody said the same thing: he had done enough; he must not go any further. But he did not listen.

After resting in Sydney for a few weeks, Chichester set off once more in spite of his friends' attempts to dissuade him. The second half of his voyage was by far the more dangerous part, during which he sailed round the treacherous Cape Horn.

On 29 January he left Australia. The next night, the blackest he had ever known, the sea became so rough that the boat almost turned over. Food, clothes, and broken glass were all mixed together. Fortunately, bed and went to sleep. When he woke up, the sea had become calm the nearest person he could contact by radio, unless there was a ship nearby, Wild be on an island 885 miles away.

After succeeding in sailing round Cape Horn, Chichester sent the following radio message to London:" I feel as if I had wakened from a nightmare. Wild horses could not drag me down to Cape Horn and that sinister Southern Ocean again."

Just before 9 o'clock on Sunday evening 28 May, 1967, he arrived back in England, where a quarter of a million people were waiting to welcome him. Queen Elizabeth II knighted him with the very sword that Queen Elizabeth I had sailed round the world for the first time. The whole voyage from England and back had covered 28, 500 miles. It had taken him nine months, of which the sailing time was 226 days. He had done what he wanted to accomplish.

Like many other adventurers, Chichester had experienced fear and conquered it. In doing so, he had undoubtedly learnt something about himself. Moreover, in the modern age when human beings depend so much on machines, he had given men throughout the world new pride.

Unit 3 The Present

It was the old lady's birthday.

She got up early to be ready for the post. From the second floor flat she could see the postman when he came down the street, and the little boy from the ground floor brought up her letters on the rare occasions when anything came.

Today she was sure the would be something. Myra wouldn't forget her mother's birthday, even if she seldom wrote at other times. Of course Myra was busy. Her husband had been made Mayor, and Myra herself had got a medal for her work the aged.

The old lady was proud of Myra, but Enid was the daughter she loved. Enid had never married, but had seemed content to live with her mother, and teach in a primary school round the corner.

One evening, however, Enid said, "I've arranged for Mrs. Morrison to look after you for a few days, Mother. Tomorrow I have to go into hospital--just a minor operation, I'll soon be home."

In the morning she went, but never came back--she died on the operating table. Myra came to the funeral, and in her efficient way arranged for Mrs. Morrison to come in and light the fire and give the old lady her breakfast.

Two years ago that was, and since then Myra had been to see her mother three times, but her husband never.

The old lady was eight today. She had put on her best dress. Perhaps--perhaps Myra might come. After all, eighty was a special birthday, another decade lined or endured just as you chose to look at it.

Even if Myra did not come, she would send a present. The old lady was sure of that. Two spots of colour brightened her cheeks. She was excited--like a child. She would enjoy her day.

Yesterday Mrs. Morrison had given the flat an extra clean, and today she had brought a card and a bunch of marigolds when she came to do the breakfast. Mrs. Grant downstairs had made a cake, and in the afternoon she was going down there to tea. The little boy, Johnnie, had been up with a packet of mints, and said he wouldn't go out to play until the post had come.

"I guess you'll get lots and lots of presents," he said, "I did last were when I was six."

What would she like? A pair of slippers perhaps. Or a new cardigan. A cardigan would be lovely. Blue's such a pretty colour. Jim had always liked her in blue. Or a table lamp. Or a book, a travel book, with pictures, or a little clock, with clear black numbers. So many lovely things.

She stood by the window, watching. The postman turned round the corner on his bicycle. Her heart beat fast. Johnnie had seen him too and ran to the gate.

Then clatter, clatter up the stairs. Johnnie knocked at her door.

"Granny, granny," he shouted, "I've got your post."

He gave her four envelopes. Three were unsealed cards from old friends. The fourth was sealed, in Myra's writing. The old lady felt a pang of disappointment.

"No parcel, Johnnie?"

"No, granny."

Maybe the parcel was too large to come by letter post. That was it. It would come later by parcel post. She must be patient.

Almost reluctantly she tore the envelope open. Folded in the card was a piece of paper. Written on the card was a message under the printed Happy Birthday -- Buy yourself something nice with the cheque, Myra and Harold.

The cheque fluttered to the floor like a bird with a broken wing. Slowly the old lady stooped to pick it up. Her present, her lovely present. With trembling fingers she tore it into little bits.

Unit 4 Turning off TV: a Quiet Hour

I would like to propose that for sixty to ninety minutes each evening, right after the early evening news, all television broadcasting in the United States be prohibited by law.

Let us take a serious, reasonable look at what the results be if such a proposal were accepted. Families might use the time for a real family hour. Without the distraction of TV, they might sit around together after dinner and actually talk to one another. It is well known that many of our problems -- everything, in fact, from the generation gap to the high divorce rate to some forms of mental illness -- are caused at least in part by failure to communicate. We do not tell each other what is disturbing us. The result is emotional difficulty of one kind or another. By using the quiet family hour to discuss our problems, we might get to know each other better, and to like each other better.

On evenings when such talk is unnecessary, families could rediscover more active pastimes. Freed from TV, forced to find their own activities, they might take a ride together to watch the sunset. Or they might take a walk together (remember feet?) and see the neighborhood with fresh, new eyes.

With free time and no TV, children and adults might rediscover reading. There is more entertainment in a good book than in a month of typical TV programming. Educators report that the generation growing up with television can barely write an English sentence, even at the college level. Writing is often learned from reading. A more literate new generation could be a product of the quiet hour.

A different form of reading might also be done, as it was in the past: reading aloud. Few pastimes bring a family closer together than gathering around and listening to mother or father read a good story. The quiet hour could become the story hour. When the quiet hour ends, the TV networks might even be forced to come up with better shows in order to get us back from our newly discovered activities.

At first glance, the idea of an hour without TV seems radical. What will parents do without the electronic baby-sitter? How will we spend the time? But it is not radical at all. It has been only twenty-five years since television came to control American free time. Those of us thirty-five and older can remember childhoods without television, spent partly with radio -- which at least involved the listener's imagination -- but also with reading, learning, talking, playing games, inventing new activities. It wasn't that difficult. Honest. The truth is we had a ball.

Unit 5 I never write right

When I was 15, I announced to my English class that I was going to write and illustrate my own books. Half the students sneered; the rest nearly fell out of their chairs laughing.

"Don't be silly. Only geniuses can become writers," the English teacher said

smugly. "And you are getting a D this semester."

I was so humiliated I burst into tears. That night I wrote a short, sad poem about broken dreams and mailed it to the Capper's Weekly newspaper. To my astonishment they published it, and sent me two dollars. I was a published and paid writer! I showed my teacher and fellow students. They laughed.

"Just plain dumb luck," the teacher said.

I'd tasted success. I'd sold the first thing I'd ever written. That was more than any of them had done, and if it was "just dumb luck," that was fine with me.

During the next two years I sold dozens of poems, letters, jokes and recipes. By the time I graduated from high school (with a C-minus average), I had scrapbooks filled with my published work. I never mentioned my writing to my teachers, friends or my family again. They were dream killers, and if people must choose between their friends and their dreams, they must always choose their dreams.

But sometimes you do find a friend who supports your dreams. "It's easy to write a book," that new friend told me. "You can do it."

"I don't know if I'm smart enough," I said, suddenly feeling 15 again and hearing echoes of laughter.

"Nonsense!" she said. "Anyone can write a book if they want to."

I had four children at the time, and the oldest was only four. We lived on a goat farm in Oklahoma, miles from anyone. All I had to do each day was take care of four kids, milk goats, and do the cooking, laundry and gardening. No problem.

While the children napped, I typed on my ancient typewriter. I wrote what I felt. It took nine months, just like a baby.

I chose a publisher at random and put the manuscript in an empty Pampers diapers package, the only box I could find (I'd never heard of manuscript boxes). The letter I

enclosed read: "I wrote this book myself, I hope you like it. I also drew the illustrations. Chapters 6 and 12 are my favorites. Thank you."

I tied a string around the diaper box and mailed it without a self-addressed stamped envelope, and without making a copy of the manuscript. A month later I received a contract, an advance on royalties and a request to start working on another book.

Crying Wind became a bestseller, was translated into 15 languages and Braille, and sold worldwide. I appeared on TV talk shows during the day and changed diapers at night. I traveled from New York to California and Canada on promotional tours. My first book also became required reading in Native American schools in Canada.

It took six months to write my next book. I mailed it in an empty Uncle Wiggley game box (I still hadn't heard of manuscript boxes). My Searching Heart also became a bestseller. I wrote my next novel, When I Give My Heart, in only three weeks.

The worst year I ever had as a writer, I earned two dollars (I was 15, remember?). In my best year, I earned $36,000. Most years I earn between $5,000 and $10,000. No, it isn't enough to live on, but it's still more than I'd make working part-time, and it's $5,000 to $10,000 more than I'd make if I didn't write at all.

People ask what college I attended, what degrees I have, and what qualifications I have to be a writer. The answer is none. I just write. I'm not a genius, I'm not gifted and I don't write right. I'm lazy, undisciplined, and spend more time with my children and friends than I do writing.

I didn't own a thesaurus until four years ago and I use a small Webster's dictionary that I bought at Kmart for 89 cents. I use an electric typewriter that I paid $129 for six years ago. I've never used a word processor. I do all the cooking, cleaning and

laundry for a family of six and fit my writing in a few minutes here and there. I write everything in longhand on yellow tablets while sitting on the sofa with my four kids, eating pizza and watching TV. When the book is finished, I type it and mail it to the publisher.

I've written eight books. Four have been published, and three are still out with the publishers. One stinks.

To all those who dream of writing, I'm shouting at you, "Yes, you can! Yes, you can! Don't listen to them!" I don't write right, but I've beaten the odds. Writing is easy, it's fun, and anyone can do it. Of course, a little dumb luck doesn't hurt.

Unit 6 Sam Adams, Industrial Engineer

If you ask my mother how I happened to become an industrial engineer, she'll tell you that I have always been one.

She means that I have always wanted everything to be well organized and neat. When I was still in elementary school, I liked to keep my socks in the upper left-hand drawer of my bureau, my underwear in the upper right drawer, shirts in the middle drawer, and pants, neatly folded, in the bottom drawer.

In fact, I was the efficiency expert for the whole family. I used to organize my father's tools, my mother's kitchen utensils, my sister's boyfriends.

I needed to be efficient. I wanted to be well organized. For me, there was a place for everything and everything was always in its place. These qualities gave me a good foundation for a career in industrial engineering.

Unfortunately, I was also a bit bossy and I wasn't a very good listener. You'll see what I mean when I tell you about the first project I ever did after I finished my bachelor's degree at the university.

After graduation I returned home to my small town in Indiana. I didn't have a job yet. Mr. Hobbs, a friend of my father's, owned a small shirt factory in town. Within

the past five years it had grown from twenty to eighty workers. Mr. Hobbs was worried that his plant was getting too big and inefficient, so he asked me to come in on a short-term basis as a consultant.

I went to the plant and spent about a week looking around and making notes. I was really amazed at what I saw.

Most curious of all, there was no quality control whatsoever. No one inspected the final product of the factory. As a result some of the shirts that were put in boxes for shipment were missing one or two buttons, the collar, even a sleeve sometimes!

The working conditions were poor. The tables where the workers sat were very high and uncomfortable. Except for a half hour at lunchtime, there were no breaks in the day to relieve the boring work. There was no music. The walls of the workrooms were a dull gray color. I was amazed that the workers hadn't gone on strike.

Furthermore, the work flow was irregular. There was one especially absent-minded young man in the assembly line who sewed on buttons. After a while I recognized him as "Big Jim," who used to sit behind me in math class in high school. He was very slow and all the shifts were held up at his position. Workers beyond him in line on his shift had to wait with nothing to do; therefore, a great deal of time and efficiency were lost as Big Jim daydreamed while he worked. All week I wondered why he wasn't fired.

After I made observations for a week, Mr. Hobbs asked me for an oral report of my findings. I covered my major points by telling him the following: "If you have a quality control inspection, you will greatly improve your finished product."

"If the assembly line is redesigned, a smooth work flow can be achieved and time and energy can be saved."

"If you decrease the height of the worktables, the machine operators will work more comfortably."

"If the management provides pleasant background music and beautifies the dull setting, the factory will be much more productive."

"If the workers have a fifteen-minute coffee break in the morning and afternoon,

they will be more efficient."

"If excellent work results in frequent pay increases or promotions, the workers will have greater incentive to produce."

Mr. Hobbs thanked me for this report and told me he would talk over my suggestions with his brother, the co-owner and manager of the factory. "We're interested in progress here," he said. "We want to keep up with the times."

He also gave me a check for $ 100 and a box of shirts with his compliments.

Unit 7 The Sampler

In a certain store where they sell puddings, a number of these delicious things are laid out in a row during the Christmas season. Here you may select the one which is most to your taste, and you are even allowed to sample them before coming to a decision.

I have often wondered whether some people, who had no intention of making a purchase, would take advantage of this privilege. One day I asked this question of the shop girl, and I learned it was indeed the case.

"Now there's one old gentleman, for instance," she told me, "he comes here almost every week and samples each one of the puddings, though he never buys anything, and I suspect he never will. I remember him from last year before that, too. Well, let him come if he wants it, and welcome to it. And what's more, I hope there are a lot more stores where he can go and get his share. He looks as if he needed it all right, and I suppose they can afford it."

She was still speaking when an elderly gentleman limped up to the counter and began looking closely at the row of puddings with great interest.

"Why, that's the very gentleman I've been telling you about," whispered the shop girl." Just watch him now." And then turning to him:" Would you like to sample them, sir? Here's spoon for you to use."

The elderly gentleman, who was poorly but neatly dressed, accepted the spoon and began eagerly to sample one after another of the puddings, only braking off occasionally to wipe his red eyes with a large torn handkerchief.

"This is quite good."

"This is not bad either, but a little too heavy."

All the time it was quite evident that he sincerely believed that he might eventually buy one of these puddings, and I am positive that he did not for a moment feel that he was in any way cheating the store. Poor old chap! Probably he had come down in the world and this sampling was all that was left him from the time when he could afford to come and select his favorite pudding.

Amidst the crowd of happy, prosperous looking Christmas shoppers, the little black figure of the old man seemed pitiful and out of place, and in a burst of benevolence, I went up to him and said:

"Pardon me, sir, will you do me a favor? Let me purchase you one of these puddings. It would give me such pleasure."

He jumped back as if he had been stung, and the blood rushed into his wrinkled face.

"Excuse me," he said, with more dignity than I would have thought possible considering his appearance, "I do not believe I have the pleasure of knowing you. Undoubtedly you have mistaken me for someone else." And with a quick decision he turned to the shop girl and said in a loud voice, "Kindly pack me up this one here. I

will take it with me." He pointed at one of the largest and most expensive of the puddings.

The girl took down the pudding from its stand and started to make a parcel of it, while he pulled out a worn little black pocketbook and began counting out shillings and pennies on to the counter. To save his "honour" he had been forced into a purchase which he could not possibly afford. How I longed for the power to unsay my tactless words! It was too late though, and I felt that the kindest thing I could do now would be walk away.

"You pay at the desk," the shop girl was telling him, but he did not seem to understand and kept trying to put the coins into her hand. And that was the last I saw or the old man. Now he can never go there to sample pudding any more.

Unit 8 A Magician at Stretching a Dollar

1.That December, with Christmas approaching, she was out at work

and Doris was in the kitchen when I let myself into her bedroom one afternoon in search of a safety pin. Since her bedroom opened onto a community hallway, she kept the door locked, but needing the pin, I took the key from its hiking place, unlocked the door and stepped in.

Standing against the wall was a big, black bicycle with balloon tires. I recognized it instantly. It was the same second-hand bike I'd been

admiring in a Baltimore Street shop window. I'd even asked about the price. It was a shock. Something like $15. Somehow my mother had scraped together enough for a down payment and meant to surprise me with the bicycle on Christmas morning.

2.I was deeply moved by the discovery and yet sickened by the

knowledge that, bursting into her room like this, I had robbed her of the pleasure of seeing me astonished and delighted on Christmas day. I hadn't wanted to know her lovely secret; still coming upon it like this made me feel as though I'd struck a blow against her happiness. I

backed out, put the key back in its hiding place, and thought over what

to do.

3.I decided that between now and Christmas I must do nothing,

absolutely nothing, to reveal the slightest hint of my terrible

knowledge. I must avoid the least word that night reveal my

possession of her secret. Nothing must deny her the happiness of

seeing me completely amazed on Christmas day.

4.In the privacy of my bedroom I began composing and testing

exclamations of delight: ―Wow!‖ ―A bike with ballo on tires! I don't believe it!‖ ―I'm the luckiest boy alive!‖ And so on. They all owed a lot to movies in which boys like Mickey Rooney had seen their wildest dreams come true. I soon realized that, with my lack of acting talent, all of them were going to sound false at the critical moment when I wanted to cry out my love spontaneously from the heart. Maybe it would be better to say nothing but appear to be shocked into such deep pleasure that speech had escaped me/ I wasn't sure, though. I'd seen speechless gratitude in the movies too, and it never really worked until the actors managed to cry a few quiet tears. I doubted I could cry on cue, so I began thinking about other expressions of speechless

amazement. In front of a hand-held mirror in my bedroom I tried the whole range of expressions; mouth open and eyes wide; hands slapped firmly against both cheeks to keep the jaw from falling off; ear-to-ear grin with all teeth fully exposed while hugging myself with both arms.

These and more I practiced for several days without acquiring

confidence in any of them. I decided to wait until Christmas morning and see if anything came naturally...

5.That Christmas morning she woke up early, ―to see what Santa

Claus brought,‖ she said with just the right tone of voice to indicate we were all old enough to know who Santa Claus was. I came out of my bedroom with my present for her and Doris, and Doris came with hers. My mother's has been placed under the tree during the night.

There were a few small brightly wrapped packages, a big doll for

Doris, but no bicycle. I must have looked disappointed.

6.―It looks like Santa Claus didn't do too well by you this year,

Buddy,‖ she said, as I opened packages. A shirt. A necktie. I said

something halfhearted like, ―It's the thought that counts,‖ but what I felt was bitter disappointment. I supposed she'd found the bike just too expensive and sent it back.

7.―Wait a minute!‖ she cried, snapping her fingers. ―There's

something in my bedroom I forgot all about.‖

8.She went out, and a moment later came back wheeling the big

black two-wheeler with balloon tires. I didn't have to pretend, after all.

The three of us—Doris, my mother, and I –were people bred to hold back emotional expressions of love, but I did something that startled both my mother and me. I threw my arms around her spontaneously and kissed her.

9.―All right now, don't carry on about it. It's only a bicycle,‖ she said.

10.Still, I knew that she was as happy as I was to see her so happy.

Unit 9 Is There Life on Earth?

There was great excitement on the planet of Venus this week. For the first time Venusian scientists managed to land a satellite on the plant Earth, and is has been sending back signals as well as photographs ever since.

The satellite was directed into an area know as Manhattan (named after the great Venusian astronomer Prof. Manhattan, who first discovered it with his telescope 20,000 light years ago).

Because of excellent weather conditions and extremely strong signals, Venusian scientists were able to get valuable information as to the feasibility of a manned flying saucer landing on Earth. A press conference was held at the Venus Institute of Technology.

"We have come to the conclusion, based on last week's satellite landing," Prof. Zog said, "that there is no life on Earth."

"How do you know this?" the science reporter of the Venus Evening Star asked.

"For one thing, Earth's surface in the area of Manhattan is composed of solid concrete and nothing can grow there. For another, the atmosphere is filled with carbon monoxide and other deadly gases and nobody could possibly breather this air and survive."

"What does this mean as far as our flying sauce program is concerned?"

"We shall have to take our own oxygen with us, which means a much heavier flying saucer than we originally planned."

"Are there any other hazards that you discovered in your studier?"

"Take a look at this photo. You see this dark black cloud hovering over the surface of Earth? We call this the Consolidated Edison Belt. We don't know what it is made of, but it could give us a lot of trouble and we shall have to make further tests before we send a Venus Being there."

"Over here you will notice what seems to be a river, but the satellite findings indicate it is polluted and the water is unfit to drink. This means we shall have to carry our own water, which will add even greater weight to the saucer."

"Sir, what are all those tiny black spots on the photographs?"

"We're not certain. They seem to be metal particles that move along certain paths. They emit gases, make noise and keep crashing into each other. There are so many of these paths and so many metal particles that it is impossible to land a flying saucer without its being smashed by one."

"What are those stalagmite projections sticking up?"

"They're some type of granite formations that give off light at night. Prof. Glom has named them skyscrapers since they seem to be scraping the skies."

"If all you say is true, won't this set back the flying saucer program several years?"

"Yes, but we shall proceed as soon as the Grubstart gives us the added funds."

"Prof. Zog, why are we spending billions and billions of zilches to land a flying saucer on Earth when there is no life there?

"Because if we Venusians can learn to breathe in an Earth atmosphere, then we can live anywhere."

Unit 10 GOING HOME

They were going to Fort Lauderdale – three boys and three girls – and when they boarded the bus, they were carrying sandwiches and wine in paper bags, dreaming of golden beaches and sea tides as the gray, cold spring of New York vanished behind them.

As the bus passed through New Jersey, they began to notice Vingo. He sat in front of them, dressed in a plain, ill-fitting suit, never moving, his dusty face masking his age. He kept chewing the inside of his lip a lot, frozen into complete silence.

Deep into the night, outside Washington, the bus pulled into Howard Johnson’s, and everybody got off except Vingo. He sat rooted in his seat, and the young people began to wonder about him, trying to imagine his life: perhaps he was a sea captain, a runaway from his wife, an old soldier going home. When they went back to the bus, one of the girls sat beside him and introduced herself.

―We’re going to Florida,‖she said brightly.‖I hear it’s really beautiful.‖

―It is, ―he said quietly, as if remembering something he had tried to forget.

―Want some wine?‖ she said. He smiled and took a swig from the bottle. He thanked her and retreated again into his silence. After a while, she went back to the others, and Vingo nodded in sleep.

In the morning, they awoke outside another Howard Johnson’s, and this time

Vingo went in. The girl insisted that he join them. He seemed very shy, and ordered black coffee and smoked nervously as the young people chattered about sleeping on beaches. When they returned to the bus, the girl sat with Vingo again, and after a while, slowly and painfully, he began to tell his story. He had been in jail in New York for the past four years, and now he was going home.

―Are you married?‖

―I don’t know.‖

―You don’t know?‖ she said.

―Well, when I was in jail I wrote to my wife,‖he said.‖I told her that I was going to be away a long time, and that if she couldn’t stand it, if the kids kept askin’ questions, if it hurt her too much, well, she could jus t forget me. I’d understand. Get a new guy, I said--she’s a wonderful woman, really something--and forget about me. I told her she didn’t have to write me. And she didn’t . Not for three and a half years.‖―And you’re going home now, not knowing?‖

―Yeah,‖he said shyly. ―Well, last week, when I was sure the parole was coming through, I wrote her again. We used to live in Brunswick, just before Jacksonville, and there’s a big oak tree just as you come into town, I told her that if she didn’t have a new guy a nd if she’d take me back, she should put a yellow handkerchief on the tree, and I’d get off and come home. If she didn’t want me, forget it-no handkerchief, and I’d go on through.‖

―Wow,‖ the girl exclaimed.‖Wow.‖

She told the others, and soon all of them were in it, caught up in the approach of Brunswick, looking at the pictures Vingo showed them of his wife and three children-the woman handsome in a plain way, the children still unformed in the much-handled snapshots.

Now they were 20 miles from Brunswick, and the young people took over window seats on the right side, waiting for the approach of the great oak tree. Vingo stopped looking, tightening his face, as if fortifying himself against still another disappointment.

Then Brunswick was 10 miles, and then five. Then , suddenly, all of the young

people were up out of their seats, screaming and shouting and crying, doing small dances of joy. All except Vingo.

Vingo sat there stunned, looking at the oak tree. It was covered with yellow handkerchiefs- 20 of them, 30 of them, maybe hundreds, a tree that stood like a banner of welcome billowing in the wind. As the young people shouted, the old con slowly rose from his seat and made his way to the front of the bus to go home.

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Glossary lesson 1 academic 学院的adolescence 青春期adolescent 青少年时期adulthood 成年 affection 喜爱 affirm 断言 agenda 日程表 anxiety 焦虑 attitudinal 态度的 baptist bounce 跳跃 capability 能力contribute 贡献 counsel 建议 crisis 危机 definite 清楚的developmental 发育的distinct 区分,差别distressed 悲伤 dorm 公寓,宿舍(大学生)

encyclopedia 百科全书endeavor 尝试endowment 天赋 ethical 道德的ethnic evaluate 估算,评估excessive 过分的,极度的feminine 女性的 financial 财政的 functional 职务的 genetic 基因的 guilt 内疚 heighten 提高 inherit 遗传,继承inhibition 压抑的情绪interact 交流 interaction 合作 involve (成功的)必要条件journal 期刊 masculine 男性的 maturity 成熟 mistrust 不信任

newscast 新闻广播parental 父母的 peer 同龄人 perceive 理解 position 工作 prejudiced 偏见 project 规划 rebel 抗议 relate 理解,同情某人resentment 怨恨 role 职责 seminary 学院的separation 分开 sexual 2性的 shrink 缩水 stressful 有压力的superior 优秀的theological 神学的unquestionably 毫无疑问的lesson2

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第一单元 课程开始之际,就如何使学习英语的任务更容易提出一些建议似乎正当其实。 学习英语的几种策略 学习英语决非易事。它需要刻苦和长期努力。 虽然不经过持续的刻苦努力便不能期望精通英语,然而还是有各种有用的学习策略可以用来使这一任务变得容易一些。以下便是其中的几种: 1.不要以完全相同的方式对待所有的生词。你可曾因为简直无法记住所学的所有生词而抱怨自己的记忆力太差其实,责任并不在你的记忆力。如果你一下子把太多的生词塞进头脑,必定有一些生词会被挤出来。你需要做的是根据生词日常使用的频率以不同的方式对待它们。积极词汇需要经常练习,有用的词汇必须牢记,而在日常情况下不常出现的词只需见到时认识即可。你会发现把注意力集中于积极有用的词上是扩大词汇量最有效的途径。 2.密切注意地道的表达方式。你可曾纳闷过,为什么我们说“我对英语感兴趣”是“I’m interested in English”,而说“我精于法语”则是“I’m good at French”你可曾问过自己,为什么以英语为母语的人说“获悉消息或密秘”是“learn the news or secret”,而“获悉某人的成功或到来”却是“learn of someone’s success or arrival”这些都是惯用法的例子。在学习英语时,你不仅必须注意词义,还必须注意以英语为母语的人在日常生活中如何使用它。 3.每天听英语。经常听英语不仅会提高你的听力,而且有助你培养说的技能。除了专为课程准备的语言磁带外,你还可以听英语广播,看英语电视和英语电影。第一次听录好音的英语对话或语段,你也许不能听懂很多。先试着听懂大意,然后在反复地听。你会发现每次重复都会听懂更多的东西。

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1、She intended to make teaching her ________ . (2 A.profession B.work C.employment D.occupation 我的答案:A 得分:2分 2、 Mercury freezes if it is cooled to ________ . (2 A.a low too temperature B.a too low temperature C.too low temperature D.too low a temperature 我的答案:D 得分:2分 3、 By the end of May 2000, she ________ inChinafor five years. (2 A.will have stayed B.will stay C.stays D.has stayed 我的答案:D 得分:0分 4、 Last year the temperature ________ by 10 percent. (2 分) A.raised B.arose C.aroused D.rose

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Book 4-Unit 5 Text A The Telephone Anwar F. Accawi 1.When I was growing up in Magdaluna, a small Lebanese village in the terraced, rocky mountains east of Sidon, time didn't mean much to anybody, except maybe to those who were dying. In those days, there was no real need for a calendar or a watch to keep track of the hours, days, months, and years. We knew what to do and when to do it, just as the Iraqi geese knew when to fly north, driven by the hot wind that blew in from the desert. The only timepiece we had need of then was the sun. It rose and set, and the seasons rolled by and we sowed seed and harvested and ate and played and married our cousins and had babies who got whooping cough and chickenpox—and those children who survived grew up and married their cousins and had babies who got whooping cough and chickenpox. We lived and loved and toiled and died without ever needing to know what year it was, or even the time of day. 2.It wasn't that we had no system for keeping track of time and of the important events in our lives. But ours was a natural or, rather, a divine — calendar, because it was framed by acts of God: earthquakes and droughts and floods and locusts and pestilences. Simple as our calendar was, it worked just fine for us. 3.Take, for example, the birth date of Teta Im Khalil, the oldest woman in Magdaluna and all the surrounding villages. When I asked Grandma, "How old is Teta Im Khalil?" 4.Grandma had to think for a moment; then she said, "I've been told that Teta was born shortly after the big snow that caused the roof on the mayor's house to cave in." 5."And when was that?" I asked. 6."Oh, about the time we had the big earthquake that cracked the wall in the east room." 7.Well, that was enough for me. You couldn't be more accurate than that, now, could you? 8.And that's the way it was in our little village for as far back as anybody could remember. One of the most unusual of the dates was when a whirlwind struck during which fish and oranges fell from the sky. Incredible as it may sound, the story of the fish and oranges was true, because men who would not lie even to save their own souls told and retold that story until it was incorporated into Magdaluna's calendar. 9.The year of the fish-bearing whirlpool was not the last remarkable year. Many others followed in which strange and wonderful things happened. There was, for instance, the year of the drought, when the heavens were shut for months and the spring from which the entire village got its drinking water slowed to a trickle. The spring was about a mile from the village, in a ravine that opened at one end into a small, flat clearing covered with fine gray dust and hard, marble-sized goat droppings. In the year of the drought, that little clearing was always packed full of noisy kids with big brown eyes and sticky hands, and their mothers —sinewy, overworked young women with cracked, brown heels. The children ran around playing tag or hide-and-seek while the women talked, shooed flies, and awaited their turns to fill up their jars with drinking water to bring home to their napping men and wet babies. There were days when we had to wait from sunup until late afternoon just to fill a small clay jar with precious, cool water.

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