| It was the night before the composition
was due. As I looked a the list of topics (题目), "The Art of Eating Spaghetti
(意大利面条 )" caught my eye. The word "spaghetti" brought back the{{U}} (13)
{{/U}} of an evening at Uncle Alien's in Belleville{{U}} (14)
{{/U}}all of us were seated around the table and Aunt Pat{{U}} (15)
{{/U}}spaghetti for supper. Spaghetti was an exotic(外来的)treat in{{U}}
(16) {{/U}}days. Never had I eaten spaghetti, and{{U}} (17)
{{/U}}of the grown-ups had enough experience to be{{U}} (18)
{{/U}}it. What laughing{{U}} (19) {{/U}}we had about the{{U}}
(20) {{/U}}respectable method for moving spaghetti from plate to
mouth.{{U}} (21) {{/U}}, I wanted to write about that, but I wanted
to{{U}} (22) {{/U}}it down simply for my own{{U}} (23) {{/U}},
not for Mr. Fleagle, my composition teacher. {{U}}(24) {{/U}}, I would
write something else. When I finished it the night was half gone and there was no {{U}}(25) {{/U}}left to write a proper composition for Mr. Fleagle. There was no choice next morning but to{{U}} (26) {{/U}}my work. Two days passed before Mr. Fleagle returned the{{U}} (27) {{/U}}papers. He said, "Now, class, I want to read you a composition, The Art of Eating Spaghetti." My words! He was reading my words out{{U}} (28) {{/U}}to the whole class,{{U}} (29) {{/U}}laughed, then the whole class was laughing with open-hearted enjoyment. I did my best not to show{{U}} (30) {{/U}}, but what I was feeling was pure happiness,{{U}} (31) {{/U}}my words had the power to make people{{U}} (32) {{/U}}. |