单选题
It was the night before the composition was due. As I looked at the list of topics, "The Art of Eating Spaghetti (意大利面条)" caught my eyes. The word "spaghetti" brought back the
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of an evening at Uncle Allen"s in Belleville
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all of us were seated around the table and Aunt Pat
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spaghetti for supper. Spaghetti was an exotic (外来的) treat in
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days. Never had I eaten spaghetti, and
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of the grown-ups had enough experience to be good
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it. Eating Spaghetti was a funny story.
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, I wanted to write about that, but I wanted to
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it down simply for my own
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, not for Mr. Fleagle, my composition teacher. As for him, I would write something else.
When I finished it the night was half gone and there was no
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left to write a proper composition for Mr. Fleagle. There was no choice next morning hut to hand in my work. Two days passed before Mr. Fleagle returned the
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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
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to the whole class.
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laughted, then the whole class were laughing with open-hearted enjoyment. I did my best not to show
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, but what I was feeling was pure happiness, for my words had the power to make people
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.