3 . 阅读下面材料, 根据其内容和所给段落开头语续写两段, 使之构成一篇完整的短文。

Lily was renowned for her desire to achieve perfection in everything she undertook. Whether it was school projects, art assignments, or even helping her parents with household chores, Lily’s commitment to excellence was unwavering.   

One sunny summer day, Lily’s family decided to spend a day at the beach. As they arrived, Lily’s eyes were immediately drawn by a group of children who playfully built and then tore down their sandcastles. They giggled and shouted, their excitement on full display. “How silly, ” she thought, not quite getting why they enjoyed doing that.   

Lily, being herself, decided to build a perfect sandcastle that would become the envy of all beachgoers. She began to plan every detail in her mind, from the balanced structures of the towers to the delicate decorations. Then, she set about piling sand to make the towers and walls of her sandcastle. Painstakingly, she crafted each feature of her work, carefully smoothed the surfaces and adjusting every detail to her vision.   

Jake, Lily’s younger brother, didn’t seem too concerned with building a fantastic sandcastle. He picked a spot nearby and amused himself with the sand. He scooped up handfuls of sand, let it slip through his fingers like grains of time, and then molded it into careless shapes with the carefree abandon of a child. Jake’s happiness was contagious. Mom and Dad joined him, laughing and joking over Jake’s playful creations. From time to time, they called out to Lily and invited her to join the fun, knowing that the pursuit of perfection could be exhausting.   

Nevertheless, Lily stayed where she was, determined to create an impressive sandcastle. She frowned at Jake’s unconventional, abstract art-like sandcastle shapes and persisted in her efforts. However, the process didn’t go as smoothly as she had anticipated. The sand didn’t always hold its shape, and the waves constantly lapped at the edges of her creation.   

Para 1: As the day wore on, Lily’s sandcastle kept losing its form.   

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Para 2: With bitter smile, Lily decided to join her family.

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I want to tell you all about Clare. I refer to her as Little Clare because I know so many Clares. I have a feeling no matter how old she gets, she’ll always be Little Clare to me.

My school goes all the way from classes for five years old to classes for 18 years old, with a separate area for the junior and senior school. Last year, I came across my old grade 5 teacher in the library. My teacher called me over and asked how I was going. Then she told me about Clare. “I have a girl in my grade 3 class. Her name’s Clare and she reminds me so much of you, Cassie. She seems a little bit lost in class. Do you think you could come down one lunch time and maybe have a chat with her?” Of course I was very keen to do this and to meet Clare in order to find out how, exactly, she was like me.

Clare turned out to be a pale little girl, slim and small for her age, with beautiful dark eyes and long dark hair in two plaits that reached right down her back. She had a small face with delicate features and was very quiet. Unluckily I said a lot, but I didn’t find out what problems the 8-year-old girl had.

The quiet girl always focused on reading books without any friends. I finally found that she was extremely shy just like me when I was young. So I started visiting the junior school as often as I could during break time to read aloud some of the books to Clare. After a while, other girls started coming to listen, too and I started getting a reputation in the junior school as the “big reading girl”. Some days I didn’t read and instead just talked to Clare. I told her about the work I was doing sometimes and she always surprised me so much with her great intelligence.

One day when I finished my reading, I finally got her response.

I still go to see Clare as often as I can.

The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read beneath a willow tree. It must be as sick, for the branches were kind of yellow and dry. I was a deserted girl. Endless quarrels with my parents had left me nowhere to go but this desolate (荒无人烟的) corner of the park. As I sat on the bench, things that happened recently began to flash through. Days seemed months to me recently. No cozy home to stay. No happy memories about my life. No considerate family members to talk to. Even the book I was reading was no fun. Not content with life, I had a good reason to frown, for the world was intended to drag me down.

And if that were not enough to ruin my day, a young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play. He stood right in front of me with his head tilted (倾斜) down and said with great excitement, “Look what I found!” In his hand was a flower. What a pitiful sight, its petals (花瓣) were all worn—not enough rain, or too little light. He must have picked the flower from somewhere shady and sunless, just like where I was staying these days. I couldn’t help being self-pitying. Wanting him to take his dead flower away and go off to play, I faked a smile and then looked away. “Why couldn’t everyone just leave me be!” I thought to myself, upset and gloomy.

But instead of leaving, he sat next to me and placed the flower to his nose and declared loudly with certainty, “It sure smells pretty and it must be beautiful, too. That’s why I picked it; here, it is for you.” The “weed” before me was dying or dead, not vibrant with colors, orange, yellow or red—anyone having eyes can see that clearly! But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave. So I reached for the flower, and replied, “Just what I need.” Strangely, instead of placing the flower in my hand, he held it in mid-air without any reason or plan.

Casting a curious glance at the boy’s eyes, I was hugely shocked.

“I had to make a change,” I thought to myself.

Merchant Tovel loved attention. Knowing that people would listen if he had news to share, he went around his village making up stories about the local rabbi (犹太教神职人员).

“He mixes dairy and meat!” said Tovel.

The townspeople shook their heads, for they all knew that dairy and meat must not be mixed in the course of any meal.

“And he sneaks (偷拿) food on Yom Kippur,” added Tovel.

“Not Yom Kippur!” cried the townspeople.

For not only is Yom Kippur the most important fasting day of the year, but it is also the holiest Jewish holiday.

Later, alone in his home, the talebearer felt bad about what he had done. His stories about the rabbi had spread quickly. “I will go to the rabbi and beg him for forgiveness,” he decided. Then all would be well again.

The next morning, he went to the temple and knocked on the door. “Rabbi,” he called, “it is merchant Tovel, coming to see you about an important matter.”

“Come in, Tovel,” the rabbi said warmly, opening the door.

In a matter of moments, Tovel told the rabbi all the things he had said. Then he asked, “What can I do to make things right?”

The rabbi thought for a moment, then told him, “You must take a feather pillow (枕头), cut it open, and feed the feathers to the wind.”

Tovel thought that the rabbi’s suggestion was strange, but the task seemed simple enough. And if it would take away the guilt he felt, then why not do it? Tovel thanked the rabbi and quickly left the temple. At home, the talebearer grabbed a feather pillow, waited for the afternoon winds to pick up, then climbed to the top of a hill. There, he cut open the pillow and watched the feathers float far and wide across the land. Satisfied, Tovel returned to tell the rabbi of his deed. “Now go and gather those feathers,” the rabbi commanded.

“But they are everywhere!” Tovel cried. “How will I get them all?”

Feeling disappointed, Tovel returned to tell the rabbi about the feathers he couldn’t collect.

Broken Shells

It was a warm summer afternoon at the Jersey shore. My four-year-old son and I just loved walking along the beach just before dinner. With a bucket in hand, we’d hit the sand and start our adventure.

I remember the days not so long ago when a trip to the beach was just unbearable for my little boy. My son, Will, was diagnosed with ASD (孤独症). His sensitivities to sights, sounds, and touches would prevent us from enjoying everyday activities. The beach is now one of his favorite places to visit.

Presently, we are able to walk along the edge of the water almost daily in the summer months, looking for seashells to fill our bucket. On this particular day, there didn’t seem to be too many shells washed up on the shore. Will began picking up whatever shells he saw lying in the sand. After a while, I looked into the bucket and saw nothing but broken shells. “Will,” I said, “all of these shells are broken and no good.” “You need to find shells like this,” I continued, as I held up a perfectly shaped shell. Will gave me a puzzled look and continued on his way, gathering whatever shells he saw and dropping them into the bucket.

I continued my search for some time, and again, I stopped, but this time I asked in a firm voice, “Will, why do you insist on filling our bucket with shells that are broken?” He looked up at me and replied, “Mom, there are more shells on the beach that are broken than there are perfect ones that you are searching for. We’ll get the bucket filled faster with the broken ones.” True, I thought, but who wanted a bucketful of broken shells? Will stared at me as if he knew what I was thinking. “Mom, these shells are broken. but they are still beautiful.” he added. Just then he began commenting on different shells’ uniqueness. “It has the color purple on it. Mom, none of yours have purple on them. It reminds me of a clown (小丑). This one is like the sun, and these ones are like butterfly wings,” he said with such pride.

Touched by what he said, I realized changes are to be made to our shell trip.

Back home with great joy, we agreed to make more shell trips and build a “broken shell garden”.