阅读下面短文，从短文后各题所给四个选项（A、B、C和D）中，选出可以填入空白处的最佳选项，并在答题卡上将该项涂黑

    Teachers selected from each district school for the Teacher of the Year competition were recognized.The competition's winner will be1in the spring.All those model teachers got me to think about some of my teachers through the years, and how they2me.

    My college adviser, J.C.Casey, had a big3on my life.She was a teacher and friend.She4me to consider journalism as a career.My high school math teacher,Kathy Cloud,took the time to5math to me in a way I could    6understand.I'd struggled with math until I got in Cloud's classes.She gave me the7to realize I could do it.

    My first-grade teacher, Darlene Dryden, held me back. Now, most people wouldn't8the teacher that kept them back a grade fondly, but Dryden has always been my9teacher.I was the youngest person in my class and very shy. She thought I10another year to mature before moving on to second11.She didn't make me feel12for having to repeat the grade.Instead,he made me feel13.I think I was her favorite, too.

    My senior year of high school, right before14,I wrote Dryden a note letting her know that I'd become a good student and was going to15and that she'd had a16in that.

    The Norman teachers17Wednesday are just a few of the many who are in the classrooms every day making 18in their students' lives.They may not even know the19impact（影响）they're having.I know it's not an20 job, but teachers, just remember that you're a Mrs.Dryden to somebody.

阅读下面的文章，完成下列各题。

乞丐

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       我在街上走着……一个乞丐﹣﹣一个衰弱的老人挡住了我。

       红肿的、流着泪水的眼睛，发青的嘴唇，粗糙、褴褛的表服，龌龊的伤口……呵，贫穷把这个不幸的人折磨成了什么样子啊!

       他向我伸出一只红肿、肮脏的手……他呻吟着，他喃喃地乞求帮助。

       我伸手搜索自己身上所有口袋……既没有钱包，也没有怀表，甚至连一块手帕也没有……我随身什么东西也没有带，

       但乞丐在等待着……他伸出采的手，微微地摆动着和抖颤着。

       我惘然无措，惶惑不安，紧紧地握了握这只肮脏的、发抖的手……“请别见怪，兄弟；我什么也没有带，兄弟。”

       乞丐那对红肿的眼睛凝视着我；他发青的嘴唇微笑了一下﹣﹣接着，他也照样紧握了我的变得冷起来的手指。

       “哪儿的话，兄弟，”他吃力地说道，“这也应当谢谢啦。这也是一种施舍啊，兄弟。”

       我明白，我也从我的兄弟那儿得到了施舍。

（黄伟经 译）

白菜汤

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       一个农家的寡妇死掉了她的独子，这个二十岁的青年是全村庄里最好的工人。

       农妇的不幸遭遇被地主太太知道了。太太便在那儿子下葬的那一天去探问他的母亲。

       那母亲在家里。

       她站在小屋的中央，在一张桌子前面，伸着右手，不慌不忙地从一只漆黑的锅底舀起稀薄的白菜汤来，一调羹一调羹地吞下肚里去，她的左手无力地垂在腰间。

       她的脸颊很消瘦，颜色也阴暗，眼睛红肿着。……然而她的身子却挺得笔直，像在教堂里一样，“呵，天呀！”太太想道，“她在这种时候还能够吃东西！……她们这种人真是心肠硬，全都是一样！”这时候太太记起来了：几年前她死掉了九岁的小女儿之后，她很悲痛，不肯住到彼得堡郊外美丽的别墅去，她宁愿在城里度过整个夏天。然而这个女人却还继续在喝她的白菜汤。

       太太到底忍不住了。“达地安娜，”她说，“啊呀，你真叫我吃惊！难道你真的不喜欢你儿子吗？你怎么还有这样好的胃口？你怎么还能够喝这白菜汤？”“我的瓦西亚死了，”妇人安静地说，悲哀的眼泪又沿着她憔悴的脸颊流下来，“自然我的日子也完了，我活活地给人把心挖了去。然而汤是不应该糟蹋的，里面放得有盐呢。”

       太太只是耸了耸肩，就走开了。在她看来，盐是不值钱的东西。

（巴金译）