His o________（目标，目的) was to play golf and win.

Jim Thorpe was a Native American. He was born in 1888 in an Indian Territory( 印第安人 保护区)that is now Oklahoma. Like most Native American children then, he liked to fish, hunt, swim, and play games outdoors. (76) He was healthy and strong, but he had very little formal education. In 1950, Jim Thorpe was named the greatest American football player. He was also an Olympic gold medal winner. But Thorpe had many tragedies in his life. Jim had a twin brother who died when he was nine years old. By the time he was 16, his mother and father were also dead, Jim then went to a special school in Pennsylvania for Native American children. There, he learned to read and write and also began to play sports. Jim was poor, so he left school for two years to earn some money. During this time, he played on a baseball team. (77)The team paid him only $ 15 a week. Soon he returned to school to complete his education. Jim was a star athlete ( 运动员) in several sports, including baseball, running, and football. He won many awards for his athletic ability, mainly for football. In many games, he scored all or most of the points for his team. In 1912, when Jim Thorpe was 24 years old, he became part of the U.S Olympic team. He competed in two very difficult events: the pentathlon and the decathlon. Both require great ability and strength. The pentathlon has five track and filed events, including the long jump and the 1500-meter race. The decathlon has ten track and field events, with running, jumping and throwing contests. People thought it was impossible for an athlete to compete in both the pentathlon and the decathlon. So everyone was surprised when Thorpe won gold medals in both events. When the King of Sweden presented Thorpe with his two gold medals , he said, “Sir, you are the greatest athlete in the world. ” Thorpe was a simple and honest man. He just answered, “Thanks, King. ” From the passage we learn that Jim Thorpe was born in _______.

A.India

B.Pennsylvania

C.Oklahoma

D.Sweden

1 Mr. Duffy raised his eyes from the paper and gazed out of his window on the cheerless evening landscape. The river lay quiet beside the empty distillery and from time to time a light appeared in some house on Lucan Road. What an end! The whole narrative of her death revolted him and it revolted him to think that he had ever spoken to her of what he held sacred. The cautious words of a reporter won over to conceal the details of a commonplace vulgar death attacked his stomach. Not merely had she degraded herself; she had degraded him. His soul's companion. He thought of the hobbling wretches whom he had seem carrying cans and bottles to be filled by the barman. Just God, what an end! Evidently she had been unfit to live, without any strength of purpose, an easy prey to habits, one of the wrecks on which civilization has been reared. But that she could have sunk so low! Was it possible he had deceived himself so utterly about her? He remembered her outburst of that night and interpreted it in a harsher sense than he had ever done. He had no difficulty now in approving of the course he had taken.

2 As the light failed and his memory began to wander he thought her hand touched his. The shock which had first attacked his stomach was now attacking his nerves. He put on his overcoat and hat quickly and went out. The cold air met him on the threshold; it crept into the sleeves of his coat. When he came to the public-house at Chapel Bridge he went in and ordered a hot punch.

3 The proprietor served him obsequiously but did not venture to talk. There were five or six working-men in the shop discussing the value of a gentleman's estate in County Kildare. They drank at intervals from their huge pint tumblers, and smoked, spitting often on the floor and sometimes dragging the sawdust over their heavy boots. Mr. Dully sat on his stool and gazed at them, without seeing or hearing them. After a while they went out and he called for another punch. He sat a long time over it. The shop was very quiet. The proprietor sprawled on the counter reading the newspaper and yawning. Now and again a tram was heard swishing along the lonely road outside.

4 As he sat there, living over his life with her and evoking alternately the two images on which he now conceived her, he realized that she was dead, that she had ceased to exist, that she had become a memory. He began to feel ill at ease. He asked himself what else could he have done. He could not have lived with her openly. He had done what seemed to him best. How was he to blame? Now that she was gone he understood how lonely her life must have been, sitting night after night alone in that room. His life would be lonely too until he, too, died, ceased to exist, became a memory -- if anyone remembered him.

Mr. Duffy's immediate reaction to the report of the woman's death was that of

A．disgust.

B．guilt.

C．grief.

D．compassion.

Mr Duffy raised his eyes from the paper and gazed out of his window on the cheerless evening landscape. The river lay quiet beside the empty distillery and from time to time a light appeared in some house on Lucan Road. What an end! The whole narrative of her death revolted him and it revolted him to think that he had ever spoken to her of what he held sacred. The cautious words of a reporter won over to conceal the details of a commonplace vulgar death attacked his stomach. Not merely had she degraded herself; she had degraded him. His soul's companion! He thought of the hobbling wretches whom he had seen carrying cans and bottles to be filled by the barman. Just God, what an end! Evidently she had been unfit to live, without any strength of purpose, an easy prey to habits, one of the wrecks on which civilization has been reared. But that she could have sunk so low! Was it possible he had deceived himself so utterly about her? He remembered her outburst of that night and interpreted it in a harsher sense than he had ever done. He had no. difficulty now in approving of the course he had taken.

As the light failed and his memory began to wander he thought her hand touched his. The shock which had first attacked his stomach was now attacking his nerves. He put on his overcoat and hat quickly and went out. The cold air met him on the threshold; it crept into the sleeves of his coat. When he came to the public house at Chapel Bridge he went in and ordered a hot punch.

The proprietor served him obsequiously but did not venture to talk. There were five or six working-men in the shop discussing the value of a gentleman's estate in County Kildare. They drank at intervals from their huge pint tumblers, and smoked, spitting often on the floor and sometimes dragging the sawdust over their heavy boots. Mr Duffy sat on his stool and gazed at them, without seeing or hearing them. After a while they went out and he called for another punch. He sat a long time over it. The shop was very quiet. The proprietor sprawled on the counter reading the newspaper and yawning. Now and again a tram was heard swishing along the lonely road outside.

As he sat there, living over his life with her and evoking alternately the two images on which he now conceived her, he realized that she was dead, that she had ceased to exist, that she had become a memory. He began to feel ill at ease. He asked himself what else could he have done. He could not have lived with her openly. He had done what seemed to him best. How was he to blame? Now that she was gone he understood how lonely her life must have been, sitting night after night alone in that room. His life would be lonely too until he, too, died, ceased to exist, became a memory -- if anyone remembered him.

Mr Duffy's immediate reaction to the report of the woman's death was that of

A．disgust.

B．guilt.

C．grief.

D．compassion.

Mr Duffy raised his eyes from the paper and gazed out of his window on the cheerless evening landscape. The river lay quiet beside the empty distillery and from time to time a light appeared in some house on Lucan Road. What an end! The whole narrative of her death revolted him and it revolted him to think that he had ever spoken to her of what he held sacred. The cautious words of a reporter won over to conceal the details of a commonplace vulgar death attacked his stomach. Not merely had she degraded herself, she had degraded him. His soul's companion! He thought of the hobbling wretches whom he had seen carrying cans and bottles to be filled by the barman. Just God, what an end! Evidently she had been unfit to live, without any strength of purpose, an easy prey to habits, one of the wrecks on which civilization has been reared. But that she could have sunk so low! Was it possible he had deceived himself so utterly about her? He remembered her outburst of that night and interpreted it in a harsher sense than he had ever done. He had no difficulty now in approving of the course he had taken.

As the light failed and his memory began to wander he thought her hand touched his. The shock which had first attacked his stomach was now attacking his nerves. He put on his overcoat and hat quickly and went out. The cold air met him on the threshold; it crept into the sleeves of his coat. When he came to the public-house at Chapel Bridge he went in and ordered a hot punch.

The proprietor served him obsequiously but did not venture to talk. There were five or six working-men in the shop discussing the value of a gentleman's estate in County Kildare. They drank at intervals from their huge pint tumblers, and smoked, spitting often on the floor and sometimes dragging the sawdust over their heavy boots. Mr Duffy sat on his stool and gazed at them, without seeing or hearing them. After a while they went out and he called for another punch. He sat a long time over it. The shop was very quiet. The proprietor sprawled on the counter reading the newspaper and yawning. Now and again a tram was heard swishing along the lonely road outside.

As he sat there, living over his life with her and evoking alternately the two images on which he now conceived her, he realized that she was dead, that she had ceased to exist, that she had become a memory. He began to feel ill at ease. He asked himself what else could he have done. He could not have lived with her openly. He had done what seemed to him best. How was he to blame? Now that she was gone he understood how lonely her life must have been, sitting night after night alone in that room. His life would be lonely too until he, too, died, ceased to exist, became a memory--if anyone remembered him.

Mr Duffy's immediate reaction to the report of the woman's death was that of______.

A．disgust

B．guilt

C．grief

D．compassion

听力原文：W: Jackson, I heard that everything went on well with you several years ago...

M: De let me forget it. At that time I had a wonderful life and was on top of the world. I don't know what drove me to seek diversion in poker machines. So pretty soon I was going to play the pokies quite often and yes I was enjoying myself and sometimes even won a few dollars.

W: Is the game so attractive?

M: You never know. It has a kind of magic. I was totally consumed. Anyway the whole story is long and covers the last seven years and though I have tried to be unemotional. I must say now that I have been through hell and I've felt as if I was already dead.

W: For so long a time, haven't you ever thought to wash your hands?

M: When I am gambling, I don't care about anything else. I know I was addicted and powerless to stop. I've lost much. Even so all I can dream of is the big win.

W: Several years has passed, tell us what your feeling is now?

M: I end up just as bad, and hate myself. My health suffered, my finance was in ruin, and I didn't have the willpower to stop. I have been homeless many times and my life has become unmanageable.

W: That's a crying shame. It's high time you turned over a new leaf. Wish you success.

Which one of the following was NOT among the conditions of the man several years ago?

A．He was a plane pilot.

B．The man enjoyed a comfortable life.

C．He was soon crazy about poker machines.

D．Everything went well and he felt very happy.

听力原文：W: Jackson, I heard that everything went on well with you several years ago.

M: Do let me forget it. At that time I had a wonderful life and was on top of the world. I don't know what drove me to seek diversion in poker machines. So pretty soon I was going to play the pokies quite often and yes I was enjoying myself and sometimes even won a few dollars.

W: Is the game so attractive?

M: You never know. It has a kind of magic. I was totally consumed. Anyway the whole story is long and covers the last seven years and though I have tried to be unemotional. I must say now that I have been through hell and I've felt as if I was already dead.

W: For so long a time, haven't you ever thought to wash your hands?

M: When I am gambling, I don't care about anything else. I know I was addicted and powerless to stop. I've lost much. Even so all I can dream of is the big win.

W: Several years has passed, tell us what your feeling is now?

M: I end up just as bad, and hate myself. My health suffered, my finance was in ruin, and I didn't have the willpower to stop. I have been homeless many times and my life has become unmanageable.

W: That's a crying shame. It's high time you turned over a new leaf. Wish you success.

Which one of the following was NOT among the conditions of the man several years ago?

A．He was a plane pilot.

B．The man enjoyed a comfortable life.

C．He was soon crazy about poker machines.

D．Everything went well and he felt very happy.