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The little girlgrasped her mother's hand as she crossed the street.
A: understood
B: had a hold over
C: took hold of
D: left hold of
B: had a hold over
C: took hold of
D: left hold of
参考答案
参考解析
解析：句意：过马路时，这个小女孩抓住她妈妈的手。句中的grasp意为“抓住”。 C . takehold of意为“抓住，控制住”，与grasp意思相近；A. understand意为“懂得，理解”。grasp也有“懂得”的意思，但在该句中不是这个意思；B . have a hold over意为“控制，对……有影响”; D. leave hold of意为“放开”。
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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 passage shows that _______
A.mother was cold on the surface but kind in her heart to her daughter
B.mother was too serious about everything her daughter had done
C.mother cared much about her daughter in words
D.mother wrote to her daughter in careful words
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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
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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's the best title of the passage?
A.My Letter to Mother
B.Mother and Children
C.Mv Mother's Desk
D.Talks hetween Mother and Me
考题
根据下列内容，回答186-190题。
I've loved my mother's desk since I was just tall enough to see above the top of it as mothersat writing letters. Standing by her chair, looking at the ink bottle, pens, and white paper, I de-cided that the act of writing must be the more wonderful thing in the world. Years later, during herfinal illness, mother kept different things for my sister and brother."But the desk," she'd said a-gain, "it's for Elizabeth."
I never saw her angry, never saw her cry. I knew she loved me; she showed it in action. Butas 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 fami-ly. I wrote to her in careful words and asked her to let me know in any way she chose that she didforgive me. I posted the letter and waited for her answer. None came. My hope turned to disap-pointment, then little interest and, finally, peace--it seemed that nothing happened. I couldn't besure that the letter had even got to mother. I only knew that I had written it, and ! could stop try-ing 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 thatwriting was my chosen work. I cleaned the desk carefully and found some papers inside--a photoof my father and a one-page letter, folded and refolded many times. Give me an answer, my letterasks, in any way you choose. Mother, you always chose the act that speaks louder than words.
The writer began to love her mother's desk__________.A.after mother died
B.before she became a writer
C.when she was a child
D.when mother gave it to her
考题
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 word "gulf" in the passage means _______
A.deep understanding between the old and the young
B.different ideas between the mother and the daughter
C.free talks between mother and daughter
D.part of the sea going far in land
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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.
考题
The little girl grasped her mother's hand as she crossed the street.A:understood
B: had a hold over
C:.took hold of
D: left hold of
考题
The little girl graspedher mother's arm as she crossed the street.A:understood
B: had a hold over
C: took hold of
D: left hold of
考题
The little girl grasped her mother's arm as she crossed the street.A:understood
B:had a hold over
C:took hold of
D:left hold of
考题
The little girl grasped her mother's arm as she crossed the street.A:understand
B:had a hold over
C:took hold of
D:left hold of
考题
单选题How ______Cindy grows! She’s almost as tall as her mother now.A
cuteB
strongC
fastD
straight
考题
单选题The writer began to love her mother’s desk _____.A
after mother diedB
before she became a writerC
when she was a childD
when mother gave it to her
考题
问答题Practice 7 When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the English Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse herself with gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made to understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep the child out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark faces of her Ayah and the other native servants. And as they always obeyed her and gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem Sahib would be angry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years old she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. The young English governess who came to teach her to read and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when other governesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorter time than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to know how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all.
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