At exactly eleven Sir Percival knocked and entered, with anxiety and worry in every line of his face. This meeting would decide his future life，and he obviously knew it.

    "You may wonder, Sir Percival,”said Laura calmly, “if I am going to ask to be released (免除）from my promise to many you. I am not going to ask this. I respect my father's wishes too much.”

    His face relaxed a little, but one of his feet kept beating the carpet.

    "No, if we are going to withdraw. (退出）from our planned marriage, it will be because of your wish, not mine.

     “Mine?” he said in great surprise. “What reason could I have for withdrawing?^'

    "A reason that is very hard to tell you," she answered. "There is a change in me.”

    His face went so pale that even his lips lost their color. He turned his head to one side.

    "What change?" he asked, trying to appear calm.

     “When the promise was made two years ago,” she said, ⁴⁴ my love did not belong to anyone. Will you forgive me, Sir Percival, if I tell you that it now belongs to another person?”

    “I wish you to understand, “Laura continued, “that I will never see this person again, and that if you leave me, you only allow mc to remain a single woman for the rest of my life. All I ask is that you forgive mc and keep my secret."

    ‘I will do both those things, “he said. Then he looked at Laura, as if he was waiting to hear more.

    "I think I have said enough to give you reason to withdraw from our marriage, “she added quietly.

    “No. You have said enough to make it the dearest wish of my life to marry you, ” he said.

    It was very late and everyone had left the cafe except an old man who sat in the shadow the leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the day time the street was dusty, but at night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and now at night it was quiet and he felt the difference. The two waiters inside the cafe knew that the old man was a little drunk, and while he was a good client they knew that if he became too drunk he would leave without paying, so they kept watch on him.

     “Last week he tried to commit suicide,” one waiter said. “Why?” “He was in despair.” “What about?” “Nothing.” “How do you know it was nothing?” “He has plenty of money.”

    They sat together at a table that was close against the wall near the door of the cafe and looked at the terrace where the tables were all empty except where the old man sat in the shadow of the leaves of the tree that moved slightly in the wind. A girl and a soldier went by in the street. The street light shone on the brass number on his collar. The girl wore no head covering and hurried beside him.

     “The guard will pick him up,” one waiter said. “What does it matter if he gets what he's after?” “He had better get off the street now. The guard will get him. They went by five minutes ago.”

    The old man sitting in the shadow rapped on his saucer with his glass. The younger waiter went over to him.

     “What do you want?” The old man looked at him. “Another brandy,” he said.

     “You'll be drunk,” the waiter said. The old man looked at him. The waiter went away.

     “He'll stay all night,” he said to his colleague. “I'm sleepy now. I never get into bed before three o'clock. He should have killed himself last week.”

    The waiter took the brandy bottle and another saucer from the counter inside the cafe and marched out to the old man's table. He put down the saucer and poured the glass full of brandy.

     “You should have killed yourself last week,” he said to the deaf man. The old man motioned with his finger. “A little more,” he said. The waiter poured on into the glass so that the brandy slopped over and ran down the stem into the top saucer of the pile. “Thank you,” the old man said. The waiter took the bottle back inside the cafe.He sat down at the table with his colleague again.

     “He's drunk now,” he said. “He's drunk every night.” “What did he want to kill himself for?” “How should I know.” “How did he do it?” “He hung himself with a rope.” “Who cut him down?” “His niece.” “Why did they do it?” “Fear for his soul.” “How much money has he got?” “He's got plenty.” “He must be eighty years old.” “Anyway I should say he was eighty.” “I wish he would go home.I never get to bed before three o'clock. What kind of hour is that to go to bed?” “He stays up because he likes it.” “He's lonely. I'm not lonely. I have a wife waiting in bed for me.” “He had a wife once too.” “A wife would be no good to him now.” “You can't tell. He might be better with a wife.” “His niece looks after him.You said she cut him down.” “I know.” “I wouldn't want to be that old.An old man is a nasty thing.” “Not always.This old man is clean.He drinks without spilling.Even now, drunk.Look at him.” “I don't want to look at him.I wish he would go home.He has no regard for those who must work.”

    The old man looked from his glass across the square, then over at the waiters.

     “Another brandy,” he said, pointing to his glass.The waiter who was in a hurry came over.

     “Finished,” he said, speaking with that omission of syntax stupid people employ when talking to drunken people or foreigners. “No more tonight. Close now.”

     “Another,” said the old man.

     “No. Finished.” The waiter wiped the edge of the table with a towel and shook his head.

    The old man stood up, slowly counted the saucers, took a leather coin purse from his pocket and paid for the drinks, leaving half a peseta tip. The waiter watched him go down the street, a very old man walking unsteadily but with dignity.

     “Why didn't you let him stay and drink?” the unhurried waiter asked. They were putting up the shutters. “It is not half past two.” “I want to go home to bed.” “What is an hour?” “More to me than to him.” “An hour is the same.” “You talk like an old man yourself.He can buy a bottle and drink at home.” “It's not the same.” “No, it is not,” agreed the waiter with a wife. He did not wish to be unjust. He was only in a hurry. “And you? You have no fear of going home before your usual hour?” “Are you trying to insult me?” “No, hombre, only to make a joke.”

     “No,” the waiter who was in a hurry said, rising from pulling down the metal shutters.“I have confidence.I am all confidence.” “You have youth, confidence, and a job,” the older waiter said.“You have everything.” “And what do you lack?” “Everything but work.” “You have everything I have.” “No.I have never had confidence and I am not young.” “Come on. Stop talking nonsense and lock up.” “I am of those who like to stay late at the cafe,” the older waiter said.“With all those who do not want to go to bed.With all those who need a light for the night.” “I want to go home and into bed.” “We are of two different kinds,” the older waiter said.He was now dressed to go home.“It is not only a question of youth and confidence although those things are very beautiful. Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be someone who needs the cafe.” “Hombre, there are bodegas open all night long.” “You do not understand.This is a clean and pleasant cafe.It is well lighted. The light is very good and also, now, there are shadows of the leaves.”

“Good night,” said the younger waiter.

     “Good night,” the other said. Turning off the electric light he continued the conversation with himself. It was the light of course but it is necessary that the place be clean and pleasant. You do not want music.Certainly you do not want music.Nor can you stand before a bar with dignity although that is all that is provided for these hours. What did he fear? It was not a fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada.

    He smiled and stood before a bar with a shining steam pressure coffee machine.

     “What's yours?” asked the barman.

     “Nada.” “Otro loco mas,” said the barman and turned away.

     “A little cup,” said the waiter.

    The barman poured it for him.

     “The light is very bright and pleasant but the bar is unpolished,” the waiter said.

    The barman looked at him but did not answer.It was too late at night for conversation.

     “You want another copita?” the barman asked.

     “No, thank you,” said the waiter and went out.He disliked bars and bodegas.A clean, well-lighted cafe was a very different thing.Now, without thinking further, he would go home to his room.He would lie in the bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep.After all, he said to himself, it's probably only insomnia. Many must have it.

    This could be Micah Fitz, first spring without football practices. The 14-year-old has been playing since he was 3, but because he's home-schooled, he can't try out for the local team at Patriot High School in Prince William County, Virginia.

    “I can't play this half of the year and my friends are going to be playing five or six times a week,” he said. “They're going to be getting better and stronger playing with kids that are good.”

Micah and his family—along with many other home-schooling families across Virginia—are hoping the Virginia General Assemble will approve a bill this year that would allow kids like him to try out for sports on public school athletic teams. The bill, called the “Tebow bill”, is named after football player Tim Tebow, who was home-schooled but was allowed to play on a high school team before going to the University of Florida, where he led his team to two national championships.

    Many major statewide education organizations said the bill wouldn't be fair to public school students. Ken Tilley, the executive director of the Virginia High School League, said the bill would violate two of the league's most long-standing standards for qualification: enrollment (注册入学) and academic standing.

    Home-school advocates argue that they are required by the law to document academic progress. But many opponents say students always have the option of attending public high school. That might be what Sydney Bowman, a 12-year-old from Luchetts, will do to keep wrestling, although she would prefer to continue to be taught at home. In her case, girls' wrestling teams are rare enough that there aren't many options other than public school.

    But Micah' mom, Terri Fits, a former public school teacher, said that although they support the local schools and love to cheer on the teams, they like the flexibility of home-schooling.

    I had an experience some years ago, which taught me something about the ways in which people make a bad situation worse by blaming themselves. One January, I had to hold two funerals for two elderly women in my community. Both had died "full of years", as the Bible would say. Their homes happened to be near each other, so I paid condolence(吊唁) calls on the two families on the same afternoon.

    At the first home, the son of the deceased(过世的)woman said to me, "If only I had sent my mother to Florida and gotten her out of this cold and snow, she would be alive today. It's my fault that she died." At the second home, the son of the other deceased woman said, "If only I hadn't insisted on my mother's going to Florida, she would be alive today. That long airplane ride, the sudden change of climate, was more than she could take. It's my fault that she's dead."

    You see that any time there is a death, the survivors will feel guilty. Because the course of action they took turned out bad, they believe that the opposite course—keeping Mother at home, putting off the operation—would have turned out better. After all, how could it have turned out any worse?

    There seem to be two elements involved in our willingness to feel guilty. The first is our need to believe that the world makes sense, that there is a cause for every effect and a reason for everything that happens. That leads us to find patterns and connections both where they really exist and where they exist only in our minds.

    The second element is the view that we are the cause of what happens, especially the bad things that happen. It seems to be a short step from believing that every event has a cause to believing that every disaster is our fault. The roots of this feeling may lie in our childhood.

    A baby comes to think that the world exists to meet his needs, and that he makes everything happen in it. He wakes up in the morning and summons the rest of the world to his tasks. He cries, and someone comes to attend to him. When he is hungry, people feed him, and when he is wet, people change him. Very often, we do not completely outgrow that childish view that our wishes cause things to happen.

Thanksgiving Day is special holiday in the United States and Canada. Families and friends gather to eat and give thanks for their blessing.

Thanksgiving Day is really a harvest festival. This is why it is celebrated in late fall, after the crops are in. But one of the first thanksgivings in America had nothing to do with a good harvest. On December 4, 1619, the Pilgrims (清教徒) from England landed near what is now Charles City, Virginia. They knelt down and thanked God for their safe journey across the Atlantic.

The first New England Thanksgiving did celebrate a rich harvest. The Pilgrims landed at what is now Plymouth, Massachusetts, in 1620. They had a difficult time and the first winter was cruel. Many of the Pilgrims died. But the next year, they had a good harvest. So Governor Bradford declared a three­day feast. The Pilgrims invited Indian friends to join them for their special feast. Everyone brought food.

In time, other colonies (殖民地) began to celebrate a day of thanksgiving. But it took years before there was a national Thanksgiving Day. During the Civil War, Sarah Josepha Hale persuaded Abraham Lincoln to do something about it. He proclaimed (宣布) the last Thursday of November 1863 as a day of thanksgiving. Today, Americans celebrate this happy harvest festival on the fourth Thursday in November. Canadians celebrate Thanksgiving Day in much the same way as their American neighbours. But the Canadian Thanksgiving Day falls on the second Monday in October.

Robins(知更鸟) are considered as a symbol of the festive season and are known for their lively, curious nature around humans. But even robins get road rage because they can become aggressive when there's noise, a new study shows.

Researchers from the UK found that the sound of traffic made rural robins—not urban robins—"more aggressive". The study was conducted by experts at Anglia Ruskin University in Cambridge. Human activity has a colossal effect on wildlife, including on their social behavior," the team said in their paper.

For their study, the team investigated the behavior of male European robins living in urban parks and rural forests in Istanbul. They measured aggression towards another robin intruder, which wasn't a real robin but instead a model in the shape of an adult bird. The fake robin was equipped with a speaker, through which the team could play audio, and then attached to trees at the parks and forests. The audio consisted of recordings of robin songs, while additional traffic noise was added through another separate speaker nearby.

After recording the birds' behavior during interactions with the fake intruder, they found the urban robins typically displayed more physical aggression than rural robins. However, rural robins became more aggressive with the addition of traffic noise—possibly because they're less used to traffic noise than urban birds, which are already living in noisier habitats. What's more, physical displays of territoriality could increase because the traffic noise interferes with their birdsong. "In normally quiet surroundings, we found that additional traffic noise leads to rural robins becoming more aggressive," said Dr Caglar Akcay at ARU. "We believe this is because the noise is interfering with their communication."

Overall, by comparing urban and rural robin reactions, the study provides a valuable glimpse into how urban-living species adapt to "life in a noisy world". "Our results show that human-produced noise can have a range of effects on robins, depending on the habitat they live in," said Dr Akcay.