阅读下文，回答问题。

       保尔背上又挨了一拳，被推进了一间黑屋子，伸出的两手撞在墙壁上。他摸来摸去，摸到一个木板床似的东西，坐了下来。他受尽了折磨和毒打，心情十分沉重。

       保尔完全没有想到会被捕。“佩特留拉匪徒怎么会知道的呢？压根儿没人看见我呀！现在该怎么办呢？ A 在哪儿呢？”

       保尔是在克利姆卡家同水兵  A  分手的。他又去看了谢廖沙， A 就留在克利姆卡家，好等天黑混出城去。

      “幸亏我把手枪藏到老鸹窝里去了，”保尔想。“要是让他们翻到，我就没命了。但是，他们怎么知道是我呢？”这个问题叫他伤透了脑筋，就是找不到答案。

       佩特留拉匪徒并没有从柯察金家里翻到什么有用的东西。衣服和手风琴被哥哥拿到乡下去了。妈妈也带走了她的小箱子。匪兵们翻遍各个角落，捞到的东西却少得可怜。

       然而，从家里到司令部这一路上的遭遇，保尔却是永远忘不了的。漆黑的夜，伸手不见五指。天空布满了乌云。匪兵们推搡他，从背后或两侧对他不停地拳打脚踢，毫不留情。

       保尔昏昏沉沉地木然向前走着。

       门外有人在谈话。司令部的警卫就住在外间屋。屋门下边透进一条明亮的光线。保尔站起身来，扶着墙壁，摸索着在屋里走了一圈。在板床对面，他摸到了一个窗户，上面安着结实的参差不齐的铁栏杆。用手摇了一下——纹丝不动。看样子这里以前是个仓库。

       他又摸到门口，停下来听了听动静。然后，轻轻地推了一下门把手。门讨厌地吱呀了一声。“妈的，真活见鬼！”保尔骂了一句。

       从打开的门缝里，他看见床沿上有两只脚，十个脚趾叉开着，皮肤很粗糙。他又轻轻地推了一下门把手，门又毫不留情地尖叫起来。一个睡眼惺忪、头发蓬乱的家伙从床上坐了起来。他用五个手指头恶狠狠地挠着生满虱子的脑袋，懒洋洋地扯着单调的嗓音破口大骂起来。骂过一通之后，摸了一下放在床头的步枪，有气无力地吆喝说：“把门关上！再往外瞧，就打死你……”

       保尔掩上门，外面房间里响起了一阵狂笑声。

       这一夜保尔翻来覆去想了许多。他柯察金第一次参加斗争，就这么不顺利，刚刚迈出第一步，就像老鼠一样让人家捉住，关在笼子里了。

       他坐在那里，心神不宁地打起瞌睡来。这时候，母亲的形象在脑海中浮现出来：她面孔瘦削，满脸皱纹，那双眼睛是多么熟悉，多么慈祥啊！他想：“幸亏妈不在家，少受点罪。”

       从窗口透进来的光线照在地上，映出一个灰色的方块。

       黑暗在逐渐退却。黎明已经临近了。

    One day when I was 12, my mother gave me an order: I was to walk to the public library, and borrow at least one book for the summer. This was one more weapon for her to defeat my strange problem — inability to read.

    In the library, I found my way into the “Children's Room.” I sat down on the floor and pulled a few books off the shelf at random. The cover of a book caught my eye. It presented a picture of a beagle. I had recently had a beagle, the first and only animal companion I ever had as a child. He was my secret sharer, but one morning, he was gone, given away to someone who had the space and the money to care for him. I never forgot my beagle.

    There on the book's cover was a beagle which looked identical to my dog. I ran my fingers over the picture of the dog on the cover. My eyes ran across the title, Amos, the Beagle with a Plan. Unknowingly, I had read the title. Without opening the book, I borrowed it from the library for the summer.

    Under the shade of a bush, I started to read about Amos. I read very, very slowly with difficulty. Though pages were turned slowly, I got the main idea of the story about a dog who, like mine, had been separated from his family and who finally found his way back home. That dog was my dog, and I was the little boy in the book. At the end of the story, my mind continued the final scene of reunion, on and on, until my own lost dog and I were, in my mind, running together.

    My mother's call returned me to the real world. I suddenly realized something: I had read a book, and I had loved reading that book. Everyone knew I could not read. But I had read it. Books could be incredibly wonderful and I was going to read them.

    I never told my mother about my “miraculous” (奇迹般地) experience that summer, but she saw a slow but remarkable improvement in my classroom performance during the next year. And years later, she was proud that her son had read thousands of books, was awarded a PhD in literature, and authored his own books, articles, poetry and fiction. The power of the words has held.

如图所示，小男孩拿着一个直径比较大的放大镜，伸直手臂观察窗外远处的物体，可以看到物体的像。小男孩观察到的是(    )