One cold night, I was growing sick of my life in San Francisco．There I was walking home around one o clock m the morning after a   36  practice at the theatre With he opening night only a week away, I was still learning my lines by heart. I was having   37 handling my part-time job at the bank in the daytime and my acting at night at the same time. As I walked, I thought seriously about  38 both acting and San Francisco. I had  39 too much of city life.
As I walked down the  40 streets under the tall buildings, I felt very small and cold, so I began  41 both to keep warm and to keep away from any possible robbers. Very few people were still out  42 a few homeless people under blankets.
About a block from my  43 , I heard a sound behind me. I   44  quickly, half expecting to see someone with a knife or a gun. The street was empty. All I saw was a shining streetlight. Still, the noise had made me  45 so I started to run faster. Not until I reached my apartment building and unlocked the door did I   46  what the noise had been. It had been my wallet  47 to the sidewalk.
Suddenly I wasn’t cold or tired anymore. I ran out of the door and back to where I’d heard the noise. Although I searched the sidewalk   48 for 15 minutes, my wallet was   49 to be found.
Just as I was about to quit the  50 , I heard the garbage truck stop to the sidewalk next to  51 .when a voice came from the inside, “Alisa Camcho?” I thought I was dreaming. How could this man know my name? The door opened and out jumped a small blonde man with an  52 look in his eyes. “Is this  53  you’re looking for?” He asked, holding up something like a wallet.
It was already 3 a.m. by the time I got into bed. I couldn’t get much sleep, but I had got my wallet back. I also had got back some  54 of city life. I realized the city couldn’t be a bad place  55 people were willing to help each other.

I hated dinner parties. But I decided to give them another shot because I'm in London. And my friend Mallery invited me. And because dinner parties in London are very different from those back in New York. There, “I’m having a dinner party” means: "I'm booking a table for 12 at a restaurant you can't afford and we'll be sharing the checque evenly, no matter what you eat." Worse, in Manhattan there is always someone who leaves before the bill arrives. They'll throw down cash, half of what they owe, and then people like me, who don’t drink, end up paying even more. But if I try to use the same trick, the hostess will shout: "Where are you going?" And it's not like I can say I have somewhere to go: everyone know I have nowhere to go.
But in London, dinner parties are in people's homes. Not only that, the guests are an interesting mix. The last time I went to one, the guests were from France, India. Denmark and Nigeria; it was like a gathering at the United Nations in New York. The mix is less striking. It's like a gathering at Bloomingdale's, a well-known department store.
For New Yorkers, talking about other parts of the world means Brooklyn and Queens in New York. But at Mallery's, when I said that I had been to Myanmar recently, people knew where it was. In New York people would think it was a usual new club.
【小题1】What does the word "shot" in Paragraph 1 probably mean?

A．Easy-going.

B．Self-centred.

C． Generous.

D．Conservative.

I ran into a stranger as he passed by. “I’m so sorry!” was my reply. Then he said, “Excuse me too. I wasn’t   36  watching for you.” We were very polite, this stranger and I. Then we went   37  our way after saying goodbye.
But at     38   , a different story is told. How we treat our loved ones, young and old. Later in the kitchen, as I    39   the meal, my daughter walked up to me, very still. When I turned, I    40   knocked her down. “Get out of the way!” I shouted with a frown (皱眉). She stepped away silently, with her little heart    41  . I didn’t realize how rudely I had spoken.
That night, when I lay    42   in bed, God’s quiet voice spoke to me and said, “While    43   with a stranger, you are calm and polite, but with those you love, you are quick to excite.  Go to look around on the kitchen floor, you’ll find some flowers there by the    44   . Those are the flowers she brought for you. She    45    them herself — pink, yellow, and your favorite blue. She stood there quietly and you never saw the    46    in her eyes.”
By this time, I felt sad and small and now my own tears began to fall. I quietly went and knelt (跪) by her    47   . “Wake up, my dear,” I said. “Are these the flowers you picked up for me?” She smiled, “I found them out by the tree, I    48      them in a napkin（纸巾）, just for you. I knew you’d like them, especially the     49   .” I said, “I am so sorry that I missed them today. And I    50   have fussed (大惊小怪) at you that way. ”
And she whispered, “Mommy, that’s OK… I still love you     51   .” I hugged her and said, “I love you, too and I love the flowers.”
Do you know that: if you die tomorrow, the    52   you are working for could easily replace you in a matter of days. But the family you leave    53  will feel the loss for the rest of their lives. And come to think of it, we pour ourselves more into our    54   than into our families--- an unwise investment (投资) indeed.
Remember that   55  =" (F)ATHER" + (A)ND + (M)OTHER + (I ) + (L)OVE + (Y)OU.

I was born disabled．A difficult birth, feet first, my head  46  in the birth canal（产道）． 47  I was 3, the Hospital in Boston told my father I had cerebral palsy（脑瘫）．A loss of oxygen to my brain had destroyed brain  48  to the right side of my body．But  49  son of my dad’s was going to be disabled．Every day my dad  50  me on the bedroom floor to  51  my right leg．His job was to craft（用手精心推拉） them straight, at any  52 ．Back and forth, up and down, my dad pushed and pulled the muscles into  53 ．But my dad’s help didn’t stop there． 54  my 13^th birthday, he threw me a special party．When everybody was gone, he brought me a set of boxing gloves．We put them on．My dad continued to  55  me mercilessly．Each time I  56  him to stop．He told me I was a man now and things would be extra  57  for me．That same year, I was the only kid in my neighborhood that wasn’t  58  for Little League．Everybody laughed at me．Two weeks  59 , Dad started the Shed Park Minor League．Dad coached the Yankees and  60  me a pitcher（棒球投手）．In high school, I became a football star．The  61  of my dad’s love guaranteed I walked and more．In 1997, a brain doctor in San Jose told me I didn’t have cerebral palsy  62 ．
My dad never knew the whole truth  63  he passed away years ago．But all that  64  is the bottom line．After all his  65 , on this Father’s Day, like every Father’s Day, I’m no longer disabled．

The old shopkeeper led me through to the back of the shop. The room was filled with boxes and photographs of people dressed in old-fashioned clothes, holding packages in their hands.
“Who are these people?” I asked.
“Satisfied customers,” answered young Mr. Hopkins. “We have a very wide choice of items for sale. Whenever I serve a new customer, I always take their picture.” Mr. Hopkins pointed to an ancient camera standing next to one wall. “Now, how can I serve you?” he added.
By this time, I had started to trust Mr. Hopkins and had begun to appreciate the lovely items on sale. I needed to buy Christmas presents for my family and friends, and this seemed to be the perfect place to purchase them. I spent a very pleasant hour being shown the commodities in Mr. Hopkins’shop. No matter what I asked for, Mr. Hopkins found it for me. Finally, I bought an antique jewelry box, a pair of riding boots, a leather-bound edition of the Complete Works of Mark Twain, and a sewing machine.
I was very excited that I had found such a good little shop. I promised Mr. Hopkins that I would come back soon. “I will tell all my friends about your lovely place,” I told the shopkeeper.
“Please do not do that, sir”, said Mr. Hopkins. “This is a special place for special people. You must keep this shop a secret.” Then he took my photograph, and handed me the picture straight away.
“That was quick!” I exclaimed. I looked at the photograph. In the picture I looked proud and excited holding the presents I had bought in Mr. Hopkins’ dusty shop.
On Christmas Day, my friends and relatives were delighted with the presents I had bought for them. For weeks, my brother begged me to show him where to find this wonderful little shop. I finally agreed to take him to London to show him.
When we arrived in London, we walked along Oxford Street, past the department store and found...nothing. The little shop was no longer there. In its place was an empty space being used as a car park. I checked the area again. There was the music shop, and there was the department store. In between should have been Hopkins and Son, but it wasn’t there.
As I was staring at the place where the shop should have been, an old policeman came along. “Are you looking for something sir?” he asked.
I turned and said “I am looking for a little shop called Hopkins and Son. I thought it was here.”
“Oh yes,” said the policeman. “There was a shop here once called Hopkins and Son. It sold all sorts of things, but it was knocked down over 30 years ago.”
I looked again at the place where the shop had been. Then I reached into my pocket and took out the photograph that Mr. Hopkins had taken of me holding my presents in the little shop.
“How strange” I exclaimed.
【小题1】How did the writer like the shop?