The progra,___young people to find work.A、assistingB、assistantC、assistD、assists
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My brother keeps ___ my work.Ato helpBhelpChelpingD helped
BMrs Morgan is an old woman． She is seventy-four years old． Although she is old，she is very healthy． She also looks young． Why? Because she has a healthy lifestyle．Mrs Morgan often exercises． She likes going shopping．She goes shopping three times a week on foot． She thinks walking is good for health． Mrs Morgan has a dog． Every morning she takes her dog for a walk for half an hour， Sometimes she works on the farm． She often washes clothes and cleans her house． She says，"l don't want my daughter to wash my clothes，because she is busy working． "Mrs Morgan has a good eating habit． She eats vegetables every day． She eats meat once a week． She drinks milk and eats an egg for breakfast． She eats an apple every day． She often says，" Eating an apple every day is good for health．Sometimes Mrs Morgan watches TV after dinner． Her favorite program is Beijing Opera．She doesn't like soap operas． She often goes to bed at nine thirty in the evening． And she sleepsfor eight hours．根据短文内容，判断正(T)误(F)*( )26． Mrs Morgan is too old to go shopping．
She always finds fault with everything.A:simplifiesB:criticizesC:evaluatesD:examines
I've loved my mother's desk since I was just tall enough to see above the top of it as mother sat writing letters. Standing by her chair, looking at the ink bottle, pens, and white paper, I decided that the act of writing must be the more wonderful thing in the world. Years later, during her final illness, mother kept different things for my sister and brother."But the desk," she'd said again, "it's for Elizaheth." I never saw her angry, never saw her cry. I knew she loved me; she showed it in acdou. But as a young girl, I wanted heart-to-heart talks between mother and daughter. They never happened.And a gulf opened between us. I was "too emotional". But she lived "on the surface". As years passed I had my own family. I loved my mother and thanked her for our happy family. I wrote to her in careful words and asked her to let me know in any way she ebose that she did forgive me. I posted the letter and waited for her answer. None came. My hope turned to disappointment, then little interest and, finally, peace-it seemed that nothing happened. I couldn't be sure that the letter had even got to mother. I only knew that I had written it, and l could stop trying to make her into someone she was not. Now the present of her desk told, as she'd never been able to, that she was pleased that writing was my chosen work. I cleaned the desk carefully and found some papers inside--a photo of my father and a one-page letter, folded and refolded many times. Give me an answer, my letter asks, in any way you choose. Mother, you always chose the act that speaks louder than words. What did mother do with her daughter's letter asking forgiveness?A.She had never received the letter. B.For years, she often talked about the letter. C.She didn't forgive her daughter at all in all her life. D.She read the letter again and again till she died.
I've loved my mother's desk since I was just tall enough to see above the top of it as mother sat writing letters. Standing by her chair, looking at the ink bottle, pens, and white paper, I decided that the act of writing must be the more wonderful thing in the world. Years later, during her final illness, mother kept different things for my sister and brother."But the desk," she'd said again, "it's for Elizaheth." I never saw her angry, never saw her cry. I knew she loved me; she showed it in acdou. But as a young girl, I wanted heart-to-heart talks between mother and daughter. They never happened.And a gulf opened between us. I was "too emotional". But she lived "on the surface". As years passed I had my own family. I loved my mother and thanked her for our happy family. I wrote to her in careful words and asked her to let me know in any way she ebose that she did forgive me. I posted the letter and waited for her answer. None came. My hope turned to disappointment, then little interest and, finally, peace-it seemed that nothing happened. I couldn't be sure that the letter had even got to mother. I only knew that I had written it, and l could stop trying to make her into someone she was not. Now the present of her desk told, as she'd never been able to, that she was pleased that writing was my chosen work. I cleaned the desk carefully and found some papers inside--a photo of my father and a one-page letter, folded and refolded many times. Give me an answer, my letter asks, in any way you choose. Mother, you always chose the act that speaks louder than words. The writer began to love her mother's deskA.after mother died B.before she became a writer C.when she was a child D.when mother gave it to her
He oftenfinds fault with my work.A: criticizes B: praises C: evaluates D:talks about
