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General Thomas gave upthe swordforthe ploughin 1987. (抽象化)
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Paras. 1-3
I remember the very day that I became black. Up to my thirteenth year I lived in the little Negro town of Eatonville, Florida. It is exclusively a black town. The only white people I knew passed through the town going to or coming from Orlando, Florida. The native whites rode dusty horses, and the northern tourists traveled down the sandy village road in automobiles. The town knew the Southerners and never stopped chewing sugar cane when they passed. But the Northerners were something else again. They were peered at cautiously from behind curtains by the timid. The bold would come outside to watch them go past and got just as much pleasure out of the tourists as the tourists got out of the village.
The front deck might seem a frightening place for the rest of the town, but it was a front row seat for me. My favorite place was on top of the gatepost. Not only did I enjoy the show, but I didn't mind the actors knowing that I liked it. I usually spoke to them in passing. I'd wave at them and when they returned my wave, I would say a few words of greeting. Usually the automobile or the horse paused at this, and after a strange exchange of greetings, I would probably "go a piece of the way" with them, as we say in farthest Florida, and follow them down the road a bit. If one of my family happened to come to the front of the house in time to see me, of course the conversation would be rudely broken off.
During this period, white people differed from black to me only in that they rode through town and never lived there. They liked to hear me "speak pieces" and sing and wanted to see me dance, and gave me generously of their small silver for doing these things, which seemed strange to me, for I wanted to do them so much that I needed bribing to stop. Only they didn't know it. The colored people gave no coins. They disapproved of any joyful tendencies in me, but I was their Zora nevertheless. I belonged to them, to the nearby hotels, to the country—everybody's Zora.
My impressions of the white as a child:
A.var txt = new Array="George","John","Thomas
B.var txt = new Array（1:"George",2:"John",3:"Thomas"）
C.var txt = new Array（"George","John","Thomas"）
D.var txt = new Array:1=（"George"）2=（"John"）3=（"Thomas"）
A.var txt=new Array=“George”,“John”,“Thomas”)
B.var txt=new Array:1=(“George”)2=(“John”)3=(“Thomas”)
C.var txt=new Array(1:“George”,2:“John”,3:“Thomas”)
D.var txt=new Array(“George”,“John”,“Thomas”)
A.by heart
B.by mind
C.by the way
D.by book
Which of the following is not Thomas Pynchon s works？
A．V.
B．The Crying of Lot 49
C．Gravity" s Rainbow
D．Letters
