Seomate

Topics: Laughter, Olympic Games, Olympic Flame Pages: 16 (4029 words) Published: June 30, 2013
SỞ GIÁO DỤC VÀ ĐÀO TẠOKỲ THI TUYỂN SINH LỚP 10 THPT HỆ CHUYÊN
LONG AN NĂM HỌC 2011-2012
ĐỀ CHÍNH THỨCMÔN THI: TIẾNG ANH
Ngày thi: 30-6-2011
Thời gian làm bài: 120 phút

LƯU Ý: THÍ SINH LÀM BÀI TRÊN TỜ PHIẾU TRẢ LỜI (ANSWER SHEET), KHÔNG LÀM BÀI TRỰC TIẾP LÊN ĐỀ THI NÀY

I. You are going to read an extract from a novel. For questions 1-8, choose the answer (A, B, C or D) which you think fits best according to the text. (8 points) On Saturday mornings I worked in the family shop. I started cycling down to the shop with Dad on Saturdays as soon as I was big enough. I thought of it as giving him a hand and so I didn’t mind what I did, although it was mostly just fetching and carrying at a run all morning. I managed not to think of it as work and I looked forward to the bar of chocolate my grandmother passed me unsmiling as I left. I tried not to look at her; I had reason to feel guilty because I’d generally already eaten some dried fruits or a sliver of cheese when no one was looking. As soon as I was fifteen, though, Dad said, ‘That’s it, our Janet. You’re of working age now and you’re not coming to work unless your grandmother pays you properly.’ He did his best to make his chin look determined. ‘I shall speak to her.’ The next Saturday, Gran called me into her little office behind the shop. I always hated going in there. She had an electric heater on full blast, and the windows were always kept tightly closed whatever the weather. There were piles of dusty catalogues and brochures on the floor. ‘You’re wanting to get paid, I hear,’ Gran said. ‘Yes, please,’ I replied. It was rather like visiting the headmistress at school, so I was very quiet and respectful. Gran searched through the mess of papers on her crowded desk, sighing and clicking her tongue. Eventually she produced an official-looking leaflet and ran her fingers along the columns of figures. ‘How old are you?’ ‘Fifteen ... Gran,’ I added for extra politeness, but she looked at me as if I had been cheeky. ‘Full-timers at your age get forty pounds for a thirty-five-hour week,’ she announced in such a way as to leave no doubt that she wasn’t in favour of this. ‘No wonder there’s no profit in shop keeping! So, Janet, what’s that per hour?’ Questions like that always flustered me. Instead of trying to work them out in my head, I would stand there, unable to think straight. ‘I’ll get a pencil and paper,’ I offered. ‘Don’t bother,’ snapped Gran angrily, ‘I’ll do it myself. I’ll give you a pound an hour, take it or leave it.’ ‘I’ll take it, please.’ ‘And I expect real work for it, mind. No standing about, and if I catch you eating any of the stock, there’ll be trouble. That’s theft, and it’s a crime.’ From then on, my main job at the shop was filling the shelves. This was dull, but I hardly expected to be trusted with handling the money. Once or twice, however, when Dad was extra busy, I’d tried to help him by serving behind the counter. I hated it. It was very difficult to remember the prices of everything and I was particularly hopeless at using the till. Certain customers made unkind remarks about this, increasing my confusion and the chances of my making a fool of myself. It was an old-established village shop, going back 150 years at least and it was really behind the times even then. Dad longed to be able to make the shop more attractive to customers, but Gran wouldn’t hear of it. I overheard them once arguing about whether to buy a freezer cabinet. ‘Our customers want frozen food,’ Dad said. ‘They see things advertised and if they can’t get them from us, they’ll go elsewhere.’ ‘Your father always sold fresh food,’ Gran replied. ‘People come here for quality, they don’t want all that frozen stuff.’ - 2 -

Actually, she gave way in the end over the freeze. Mr Timson, her great rival, installed one in his shop at the other end of the village and customers started making loud comments...
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