Question

I was fourteen, a thin, red-headed, unimaginative little tomboy(假小子）, fond of baseball. My parents were dead, k1. in an accident a year before, and I lived with an aunt and uncle in Braeburn Heights, a suburb( 郊 區(qū) ） of a small city in Kansas. Rudely transplanted from the life I had known-- a happy-go-lucky life in the brown hills of California-- I was l2. beyond words. The house was strange, the neighboring children were strange. I felt dry and hard and empty inside m3. day after day. I used to take my bicycle and r4. out into the country, but the country was strange, too, and ugly , all flat and dull.

And then, o5. day I found White Creek Row. It was the town’s Hooverville( 貧 民 窟 ）, a row of shanties（棚屋）between the creek(小溪） and the railroad, little huts(簡陋的小房子）l 6.the playhouse that I had built back in the hills with the children of our Mexican gardener. But to my e7., it was romantic and delightful as my aunt’s house in Braeburn Heights was not.

It was in White Creek Row that I made my first real f8. in Kansas. The people l9. in the row were shy of me at first, as I was shy of the people in Braeburn Weights. My smart clothes, my bicycle, made me alien. And still, somehow or other, I m10. to develop a friendship with Posy Moreno

Answer 1