Part ¢ó Text B Summer Reading
As a summer job the author used to cut Mr. Ballou's lawn. The only problem was that Mr. Ballou
never seemed to have any money to pay for it. But what he did have to give was something that turned out to be far more valuable.
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1 When I was fourteen, I earned money in the summer by cutting lawns, and within a few weeks I
had built up a body of customers. I got to know people by the flowers they planted that I had to
remember not to cut down, by the things they lost in the grass or stuck in the ground on purpose. I
reached the point with most of them when I knew in advance what complaint was about to be spoken,
which particular request was most important. (1) And I learned something about the measure of my
neighbors by their preferred method of payment: by the job, by the month ©¤ or not at all.
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2 Mr. Ballou fell into the last category, and he always had a reason why. On one day he had no
change for a fifty, on another he was flat out of checks, on another, he was simply out when I knocked
on his door. Still, except for the money part, he was a nice enough old guy, always waving or tipping
his hat when he'd see me from a distance. I figured him for a thin retirement check, maybe a
work-related injury that kept him from doing his own yard work. Sure, I kept track of the total, but I
didn't worry about the amount too much. (2) Grass was grass, and the little that Mr. Ballou's property comprised didn't take long to trim.
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3 Then, one late afternoon in mid-July, the hottest time of the year, I was walking by his house and
he opened the door, motioned me to come inside. The hall was cool, shaded, and it took my eyes a minute to adjust to the dim light.
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Ñô¹â£¬¹ýÁËÒ»»á¶ùÎÒµÄÑÛ¾¦²ÅÊÊÓ¦ÊÒÄڵݵµ¹âÏß¡£ 4 \r. Ballou began, \ \ÎÒÇ·Ä㹤Ǯ£¬\°Í¬ÏÈÉú¿ª¿ÚµÀ£¬\²»¹ý¡¡\
5 I thought I'd save him the trouble of thinking up a new excuse. \it.\
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6 \ignoring my words. \
up in a day or two. But in the meantime I thought perhaps you could choose one or two volumes for a down payment.\
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7 He gestured toward the walls and I saw that books were stacked everywhere. It was like a library, except with no order to the arrangement.
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8 \keep. Find something you like. What do
you read?\
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9 \generally read what was in front of me, what I could get from the
paperback stack at the drugstore, what I found at the library, magazines, the back of cereal boxes,
comics. The idea of consciously seeking out a special title was new to me, but, I realized, not without
appeal ©¤ so I started to look through the piles of books. \ÎÒ²»ÖªµÀ¡£\ÎÒµÄÈ·²»ÖªµÀ¡£ÎÒͨ³£ÊÇŪµ½Ê²Ã´¾Í¶Áʲô£¬´ÓÒ©·¿ÀïÂòµ½µÄƽװÊ飬ͼÊé¹ÝÀï½èµÃµ½µÄÊé¡¢ÔÓ
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11 \what I've kept, the ones worth looking at a second time.\
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13 He raised his eyebrows, cocked his head, and regarded me as though measuring me for a suit.
After a moment, he nodded, searched through a stack, and handed me a dark red hardbound book, fairly thick.
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14 \The Last of the Just,\What's it about?\
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16 I started after supper, sitting outdoors on an uncomfortable kitchen chair. (3) Within a few
pages, the yard, the summer, disappeared, and I was plunged into the aching tragedy of the
Holocaust, the extraordinary clash of good, represented by one decent man, and evil. Translated
from French, the language was elegant, simple, impossible to
resist. When the evening light finally
failed I moved inside, read all through the night. Íí·¹ºóÎÒ×øÔÚÊÒÍâÒ»ÕŲ»Êæ·þµÄ²ÍÒÎÀï´ò¿ªÁËÊé¡£(3)¶ÁÁ˼¸Ò³£¬Ôº×Ó¾ÍÏûʧÁË£¬ÏÄÒ¹Ò²ÏûʧÁË£»ÎÒÒ»ÏÂ×Ӿͽø
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17 To this day, thirty years later, I vividly remember the experience. It was my first voluntary
encounter with world literature, and I was stunned by the concentrated power a novel could contain.
I lacked the vocabulary, however, to translate my feelings into words, so the next week, when Mr.
Ballou asked, \
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18 \\ÄǾÍÁô×Űɣ¬\Ëû˵£¬\Òª²»ÒªÎÒÔÙ½éÉÜÒ»±¾£¿\
19 I nodded, and was presented with the paperback edition of Margaret Mead's Coming of Age in Samoa.
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20 To make two long stories short, Mr. Ballou never paid me a cent for cutting his grass that year
or the next, but for fifteen years I taught anthropology at Dartmouth College. (4) Summer reading
was not the innocent entertainment I had assumed it to be, not a light-hearted, instantly forgettable
escape in a hammock (though I have since enjoyed many of those, too). A book, if it arrives before
you at the right moment, in the proper season, at an interval in the daily business of things, will
change the course of all that follows.
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