The day I became a mom was not the day my daughter was born, but seven years later. Up until that day, I had been too busy trying to survive my abusive(辱骂的) marriage. I had spent all my energy trying to run a "perfect" home that would pass inspection each evening, and I didn't see that my baby girl had become a toddler. I'd tried endlessly to please someone who could never be pleased and suddenly realized that the years had slipped by and could never return. 
Oh, I had done the normal "motherly" things, like making sure my daughter got to ballet and gym lessons. I went to all of her recitals and school concerts, parent-teacher conferences and open houses alone. We suffered from my husband's rages(暴怒) when something was spilled(溢出) at the dinner table, telling her, "It will be okay, Honey. Daddy's not really mad at you." I did all I could to protect her from hearing the awful shouting and complaints after he returned from a night of drinking. Finally I did the best thing I could do for my daughter and myself: I removed us from the home that wasn't really a home at all. 
That day I became a mom was the day when my daughter and I were sitting in our new home having a calm, quiet dinner just as I had always wanted for her. We were talking about what she had done in school and suddenly her little hand knocked over the full glass of chocolate milk by her plate. As I watched the white tablecloth and freshly painted white wall become dark brown, I looked at her small face. It was filled with fear, knowing what the consequence of the event would have meant only a week before in her father's presence. When I saw that look on her face and looked at the chocolate milk running down the wall, I simply started laughing. I am sure she thought I was crazy, but then she must have realized that I was thinking, "It's a good thing your father isn't here!" She started laughing with me, and we laughed until we cried. They were tears of joy and peace and were the first of many tears that we cried together. That was the day we knew that we were going to be okay. 
Whenever either of us spills something, even now, seventeen years later, she says, "Remember the day I spilled the chocolate milk? I knew you had done the right thing for us." That was the day I really became a mom. I discovered that being a mom isn't only going to ballet or gym, recitals, and attending every school concert and open house. It isn't keeping a tidy house and preparing perfect meals. It certainly isn't pretending things are normal when they are not. For me, being a mom started when I could laugh over spilled milk. 
---- By Linda Jones from “Chicken Soup for Soul”

1. 1.

   What does the underlined part "the right thing" refer to?

   1. A.
      Becoming a single mother
   2. B.
      Divorcing with her abusive husband
   3. C.
      Doing all the motherly things well and running the family
   4. D.
      Not blaming on her daughter’s spilling the chocolate milk
2. 2.

   Which statement is NOT true?．

   1. A.
      The author had suffered from an unfortunate marriage for a long time
   2. B.
      All the things the author did were to protect her daughter
   3. C.
      The author hadn’t been a mother until she removed from her marriage
   4. D.
      Both the author and her daughter were frightened at the husband and father
3. 3.

   Why did the author and her daughter laugh and then cry?

   1. A.
      Because it was a thorough relief after they had suffered too much
   2. B.
      Because they were actually crazy
   3. C.
      Because they wouldn’t see the abusive man any more
   4. D.
      Because spilling the chocolate milk on the wall was really funny
4. 4.

   What is the best title for this article?

   1. A.
      How To Be a Better Mon?
   2. B.
      The Day I Became a Mom
   3. C.
      A Thing Happened 17 Years Ago
   4. D.
      Survive an Abusive Marriage

The day I became a mom was not the day my daughter was born, but seven years later. Up until that day, I had been too busy trying to survive my abusive(辱骂的) marriage. I had spent all my energy trying to run a "perfect" home that would pass inspection each evening, and I didn't see that my baby girl had become a toddler. I'd tried endlessly to please someone who could never be pleased and suddenly realized that the years had slipped by and could never return. 

Oh, I had done the normal "motherly" things, like making sure my daughter got to ballet and gym lessons. I went to all of her recitals and school concerts, parent-teacher conferences and open houses alone. We suffered from my husband's rages(暴怒) when something was spilled(溢出) at the dinner table, telling her, "It will be okay, Honey. Daddy's not really mad at you." I did all I could to protect her from hearing the awful shouting and complaints after he returned from a night of drinking. Finally I did the best thing I could do for my daughter and myself: I removed us from the home that wasn't really a home at all.

That day I became a mom was the day when my daughter and I were sitting in our new home having a calm, quiet dinner just as I had always wanted for her. We were talking about what she had done in school and suddenly her little hand knocked over the full glass of chocolate milk by her plate. As I watched the white tablecloth and freshly painted white wall become dark brown, I looked at her small face. It was filled with fear, knowing what the consequence of the event would have meant only a week before in her father's presence. When I saw that look on her face and looked at the chocolate milk running down the wall, I simply started laughing. I am sure she thought I was crazy, but then she must have realized that I was thinking, "It's a good thing your father isn't here!" She started laughing with me, and we laughed until we cried. They were tears of joy and peace and were the first of many tears that we cried together. That was the day we knew that we were going to be okay.

Whenever either of us spills something, even now, seventeen years later, she says, "Remember the day I spilled the chocolate milk? I knew you had done the right thing for us." That was the day I really became a mom. I discovered that being a mom isn't only going to ballet or gym, recitals, and attending every school concert and open house. It isn't keeping a tidy house and preparing perfect meals. It certainly isn't pretending things are normal when they are not. For me, being a mom started when I could laugh over spilled milk. 

                                       ---- By Linda Jones from “Chicken Soup for Soul”

68．What does the underlined part "the right thing" refer to?

       A．Becoming a single mother.

B．Divorcing with her abusive husband.

C．Doing all the motherly things well and running the family.

D．Not blaming on her daughter’s spilling the chocolate milk.

69．Which statement is NOT true?．

       A．The author had suffered from an unfortunate marriage for a long time.

B．All the things the author did were to protect her daughter.

       C．The author hadn’t been a mother until she removed from her marriage.

D．Both the author and her daughter were frightened at the husband and father.

70．Why did the author and her daughter laugh and then cry?

       A．Because it was a thorough relief after they had suffered too much.

       B．Because they were actually crazy.

       C．Because they wouldn’t see the abusive man any more.

       D．Because spilling the chocolate milk on the wall was really funny.

71．What is the best title for this article?

       A．How To Be a Better Mon?               B．The Day I Became a Mom

       C．A Thing Happened 17 Years Ago          D．Survive an Abusive Marriage

The other day, I received a most unexpected message in response to one of my essays: I am so proud of you and all you have accomplished. I shared your opinion …
It was signed Margaret Leibfried, who was my English teacher — a teacher who appeared at a vital (关键) point in my life and helped me believe that I could become a writer.
Thirty years ago, I entered high school as an introvert (性格内向的人) made all the more shy because I was the school’s only nonwhite student. I always felt in danger of being swept away by a sea of tall white athletes. I spent a lot of time alone, reading and writing stories, hoping to escape being teased.
Ms. Leibfried taught American literature and composition grammar, which involved the usual memorizing vocabulary, but also, thrillingly, reading novels.
Thrilling to me, that is. Many of my classmates expressed dislike for novels because they were “not real.” For once, I didn’t care what they thought. Ms. Leibfried seemed to notice my interest in both reading and writing, and she took the time to make me feel less shy; she even offered me reading suggestions, like one of her favorite novels, “The Bell Jar.”
That year’s big project was a book report, to be read aloud to the class. However, Ms. Leibfried suggested I do something “a little different.” Instead of a report, I chose a passage from “The Bell Jar” that I considered as the best to recite.
The morning of the presentations, I remember my hands sweating so badly as I walked to the front of the class that I kept my hands crossed, so I wouldn’t wipe them on my blouse.
When I finished, to my surprise, the class applauded. “Marie has picked out a particularly sensitive piece of writing and delivered it beautifully,” Ms. Leibfried said, smiling. I felt, maybe for the first time, confident.
【小题1】What was the author’s high school life like before she met Ms. Leibfried?

The other day, I received a most unexpected message in response to one of my essays: I am so proud of you and all you have accomplished. I shared your opinion …

It was signed Margaret Leibfried, who was my English teacher — a teacher who appeared at a vital (关键) point in my life and helped me believe that I could become a writer.

Thirty years ago, I entered high school as an introvert (性格内向的人) made all the more shy because I was the school’s only nonwhite student. I always felt in danger of being swept away by a sea of tall white athletes. I spent a lot of time alone, reading and writing stories, hoping to escape being teased.

Ms. Leibfried taught American literature and composition grammar, which involved the usual memorizing vocabulary, but also, thrillingly, reading novels.

Thrilling to me, that is. Many of my classmates expressed dislike for novels because they were “not real.” For once, I didn’t care what they thought. Ms. Leibfried seemed to notice my interest in both reading and writing, and she took the time to make me feel less shy; she even offered me reading suggestions, like one of her favorite novels, “The Bell Jar.”

That year’s big project was a book report, to be read aloud to the class. However, Ms. Leibfried suggested I do something “a little different.” Instead of a report, I chose a passage from “The Bell Jar” that I considered as the best to recite.

The morning of the presentations, I remember my hands sweating so badly as I walked to the front of the class that I kept my hands crossed, so I wouldn’t wipe them on my blouse.

When I finished, to my surprise, the class applauded. “Marie has picked out a particularly sensitive piece of writing and delivered it beautifully,” Ms. Leibfried said, smiling. I felt, maybe for the first time, confident.

1.What was the author’s high school life like before she met Ms. Leibfried?

2.In Paragraph 5, the author mainly tells us         .

3.Why did Ms. Leibfried ask the author to recite a passage in front of the class?

4.How did the author feel when she made the presentation?

5.What was the author’s purpose in writing the text?

The other day, I received a most unexpected message in response to one of my essays: I am so proud of you and all you have accomplished. I shared your opinion …
It was signed Margaret Leibfried, who was my English teacher — a teacher who appeared at a vital (关键) point in my life and helped me believe that I could become a writer.
Thirty years ago, I entered high school as an introvert (性格内向的人) made all the more shy because I was the school’s only nonwhite student. I always felt in danger of being swept away by a sea of tall white athletes. I spent a lot of time alone, reading and writing stories, hoping to escape being teased.
Ms. Leibfried taught American literature and composition grammar, which involved the usual memorizing vocabulary, but also, thrillingly, reading novels.
Thrilling to me, that is. Many of my classmates expressed dislike for novels because they were “not real.” For once, I didn’t care what they thought. Ms. Leibfried seemed to notice my interest in both reading and writing, and she took the time to make me feel less shy; she even offered me reading suggestions, like one of her favorite novels, “The Bell Jar.”
That year’s big project was a book report, to be read aloud to the class. However, Ms. Leibfried suggested I do something “a little different.” Instead of a report, I chose a passage from “The Bell Jar” that I considered as the best to recite.
The morning of the presentations, I remember my hands sweating so badly as I walked to the front of the class that I kept my hands crossed, so I wouldn’t wipe them on my blouse.
When I finished, to my surprise, the class applauded. “Marie has picked out a particularly sensitive piece of writing and delivered it beautifully,” Ms. Leibfried said, smiling. I felt, maybe for the first time, confident.

1. 1.

   What was the author’s high school life like before she met Ms. Leibfried?

   1. A.
      Lonely.
   2. B.
      Exciting.
   3. C.
      Wild.
   4. D.
      Busy
2. 2.

   In Paragraph 5, the author mainly tells us         .

   1. A.
      how she cared what her classmates thought
   2. B.
      when she became interested in “The Bell Jar”
   3. C.
      why many of her classmates disliked novels
   4. D.
      how Ms. Leibfried helped and encouraged her
3. 3.

   Why did Ms. Leibfried ask the author to recite a passage in front of the class?

   1. A.
      To test whether she had a good memory.
   2. B.
      To make her earn the respect of her classmates.
   3. C.
      To help deepen her understanding of “The Bell Jar.”
   4. D.
      To guide her to build a good relationship with others.
4. 4.

   How did the author feel when she made the presentation?

   1. A.
      Comfortable.
   2. B.
      sad.
   3. C.
      Nervous.
   4. D.
      Confident.
5. 5.

   What was the author’s purpose in writing the text?

   1. A.
      To express her thanks to her teacher.
   2. B.
      To discuss the issue of racial prejudice (偏见).
   3. C.
      To introduce one of her favorite books.
   4. D.
      To suggest the ways to gain confidence.