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              recently, a particularly officious young<br>
              Customs Officer clearly regarded me as a<br>
              smuggler.<br>
              'Have you anything to declare?' he<br>
              asked, looking me in the eye.<br>
              'No,' I answered confidently.<br>
              'Would you mind unlocking this suit-<br>
              case please ?'<br>
              'NOt at all,' I answered.<br>
              The Officer went through the case with great care. All the things 
              I had packed<br>
              so carefully were soon in a dreadful mess. I felt sure I would never 
              be able to<br>
              close the case again. Suddenly, I saw the Officer's face light up. 
              He had spotted<br>
              a tiny bottle at the bottom of my case and he pounced on it with 
              delight.<br>
              'Perfume, eh?' he asked sarcastically. 'You should have declared 
              that.'<br>
              Perfume is not exempt from import duty.'<br>
              'But it isn't perfume,' I said.' It's hair-oil.' Then I added with 
              a smile,' It's<br>
              a strange mixture I make myself.'<br>
              As I expected, he did not believe me.<br>
              'Try it!' I said encouragingly.<br>
              The Officer unscrewed the cap and put the bottle to his nostrils. 
              He was<br>
              greeted by an unpleasant smell which convinced him that I was telling 
              the truth.<br>
              A few minutes later, I was able to hurry away with precious chalk-marks 
              on my<br>
              baggage.</p>
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            <p>12.<a href="http://www.91pcb.com/download.asp">PCB之家</a></p>
            <p>Most of us have formed an unrealistic<br>
              picture of life on a desert island. We<br>
              sometimes imagine a desert island to be a<br>
              sort of paradise where the sun always<br>
              shines. Life there is simple and good.<br>
              Ripe fruit falls from the trees and you<br>
              never have to work. The other side of the<br>
              picture is quite the opposite. Life on a<br>
              desert island is wretched. You either<br>
              starve to death or live like Robinson<br>
              Crusoe, waiting for a boat which never<br>
              comes. Perhaps there is an element of<br>
              truth in both these pictures, but few of us<br>
              have had the opportunity to find out.<br>
              Two men who recently spent five days<br>
              on a coral island wished they had stayed<br>
              there longer. They were taking a badly damaged boat from the Virgin 
              Islands to<br>
              Miami to have it repaired. During the journey, their boat began 
              to sink. They<br>
              quickly loaded a small rubber dinghy with food, matches, and tins 
              of beer and<br>
              rowed for a few miles across the Caribbean until they arrived at 
              a tiny coral<br>
              island. There were hardly any trees on the island and there was 
              no water, but<br>
              this did not prove to be a problem. The men collected rain-water 
              in the rubber<br>
              dinghy. As they had brought a spear gun with them, they had plenty 
              to eat.<br>
              They caught lobster and fish every day, and, as one of them put 
              it 'ate like<br>
              kings'. When a passing tanker rescued them five days later, both 
              men were<br>
              genuinely sorry that they had to leave.</p>
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            <p>13.<a href="http://www.91pcb.com/download.asp">PCB之家</a></p>
            <p>After her husband had gone to work, Mrs<br>
              Richards sent her children to school and<br>
              went upstairs to her bedroom. She was<br>
              too excited to do any housework that<br>
              morning, for in the evening she would be<br>
              going to a fancy dress party with her<br>
              husband. She intended to dress up as a<br>
              ghost and as she had made her costume<br>
              the night before, she was impatient to try<br>
              it on. Though the costume consisted only<br>
              of a sheet, it was very effective. After<br>
              putting it on, Mrs Richards went down-<br>
              stairs. She wanted to find out whether it<br>
              would be comfortable to wear.<br>
              Just as Mrs Richards was entering the<br>
              dining-room, there was a knock on the<br>
              front door. She knew that it must be the baker. She had todd him 
              to come<br>
              straight in if ever she failed to open the door and to leave the 
              bread on the<br>
              kitchen table. Not wanting to frighten the poor man, Mrs Richards 
              quickly hid<br>
              in the small store-room under the stairs. She heard the front door 
              open and<br>
              heavy footsteps in the hall. Suddenly the door of the store-room 
              was opened<br>
              and a man entered. Mrs Richards realized that it must be the man 
              from the<br>
              Electricity Board who had come to read the meter. She tried to explain 
              the<br>
              situation, saying' It's only me', but it was too late. The man let 
              out a cry and<br>
              jumped back several paces. When Mrs Richards walked towards him, 
              he fled,<br>
              slamming the door behind him.</p>
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            <p>14.<a href="http://www.91pcb.com/download.asp">PCB之家</a></p>
            <p>There was a time when the owners of<br>
              shop and businesses in Chicago had to<br>
              pay large sums of money to gangsters in<br>
              return for' protection' If the money was<br>
              not paid promptly, the gangsters would<br>
              quickly put a man out of business by<br>
              destroying his shop. Obtaining 'protec-<br>
              hon money' is not a modern crime. As<br>
              long ago as the fourteenth century, an<br>
              Englishman, Sir John Hawkwood, made<br>
              the remarkable discovery that people<br>
              would rather pay large sums of money<br>
              than have their life work destroyed by<br>
              gangsters.<br>
              Six hundred years ago, Sir John<br>
              Hawkwood arrived in Italy with a band of<br>
              soldiers and settled near Florence. He soon made a name for himself 
              and came<br>
              to be known to the Italians as Giovanni Acuto. Whenever the Italian 
              city-states<br>
              were at war with each other, Hawkwood used to hire his soldiers 
              to princes who<br>
              were willing to pay the high price he demanded. In times of peace, 
              when business<br>
              was bad, Hawkwood and his men would march into a city-state and, 
              after<br>
              burning down a few farms, would offer to go away if protection money 
              was<br>
              paid to them. Hawkwood made large sums of money in this way. In 
              spite of<br>
              this, the Italians regarded him as a sort of hero. When he died 
              at the age of<br>
              eighty, the Florentines gave him a state funeral and had a picture 
              painted which<br>
              was dedicated to the memory of 'the most valiant soldier and most 
              notable<br>
              leader, Signor Giovanni Haukodue'.</p>
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            <p>15.<a href="http://www.91pcb.com/download.asp">PCB之家</a></p>
            <p>Children always appreciate small gifts of<br>
              money. Father, of course, provides a<br>
              regular supply of pocket-money, but<br>
              uncles and aunts are always a source of<br>
              extra income. With some children, small<br>
              sums go a long way. If sixpences are not<br>
              exchanged for sweets, they rattle for<br>
              months inside money-boxes. Only very<br>
              thrifty children manage to fill up a<br>
              money-box. For most of them, sixpence<br>
              is a small price to pay for a satisfying bar<br>
              of chocolate.<br>
              My nephew, George, has a money-box<br>
              but it is always empty. Very few of the<br>
              sixpences I have given him have found<br>
              their way there. I gave him sixpence<br>
              yesterday and advised him to save it. Instead, he bought himself 
              sixpence<br>
              worth of trouble. On his way to the sweet shop, he dropped his sixpence 
              and it<br>
              rolled along the pavement and then disappeared down a drain. George 
              took off<br>
              his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and pushed his right arm through 
              the drain<br>
              cover. He could not find his sixpence anywhere, and what is more, 
              he could not<br>
              get his arm out. A crowd of people gathered round him and a lady 
              rubbed his<br>
              arm with soap and butter, but George was firmly stuck. The fire-brigade 
              was<br>
              called and two firemen freed George using a special type of grease. 
              George was<br>
              not too upset by his experience because the lady who owns the sweet 
              shop<br>
              heard about his troubles and rewarded him with a large box of chocolates.</p>
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            <p>16.<a href="http://www.91pcb.com/download.asp">PCB之家</a></p>
            <p>Mary and her husband Dimitri lived in<br>
              the tiny village of Perachora in southern<br>
              Greece. One of Mary's prize possessions<br>
              was a little white lamb which her husband<br>
              had given her. She kept it tied to a tree<br>
              in a field during the day and went to<br>
              fetch it every evening. One evening, how-<br>
              ever, the lamb was missing. The rope had<br>
              been cut, so it was obvious that the lamb<br>
              had been stolen.<br>
              When Dimitri came in from the fields,His wife told him what had 
              happened.Dimitri at once set out to find the thief.<br>
              He knew it would not prove difficult in<br>
              such a small village. After telling several<br>
              of his friends about the theft, Dimitri<br>
              found out that his neighbour, Aleko, had suddenly acquired a new 
              lamb.<br>
              Dimitri immediately went to Aleko's house and angrily accused him 
              of stealing<br>
              the lamb. He told him he had better return it or he would call the 
              police. Aleko<br>
              denied taking it and led Dimitri into his back-yard. It was true 
              that he had just<br>
              bought a lamb, he explained, but his lamb was black. Ashamed of 
              having acted<br>
              so rashly, Dimitri apologized to Aleko for having accused him. While 
              they were<br>
              talking it began to rain and Dimitri stayed in Aleko's house until 
              the rain stopped.<br>
              When he went outside half an hour later, he was astonished to find 
              that the little<br>
              black lamb was almost white. Its wool, which had been dyed black, 
              had been<br>
              washed clean by the rain !</p>
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