BERLIN—A German woman, fearful that a burglar was trying to break into her second -storey apartment, called police after she heard someone climbing up to her balcony shortly after midnight, police said Thursday. Police discovered the “burglar” was a man carrying flowers and a bottle of wine who turned out to be the woman's boyfriend. But then arrested him on an outstanding reason.

    “He was trying to surprise her with the flowers and a bottle of wine but it all went wrong,” said Korbach police spokesman Volker Koenig. He said the man jumped down from the balcony and tried to escape but was quickly caught by police.

    “He gave the police who were taking him to jail the bottle of wine as a gesture of thanks for the friendly treatment after the arrest. ” Koenig said．

LONDON—A smoker who died after battling emphysema (肺气肿) has had his dying wish granted with the placement of a “SMOKING KILLED ME” sign on his hearse (灵车) and his grave.

    Albert Whittamore blamed his youthful smoking habit for the lung disease. He said before he died in February that he wanted the sign to serve as a warning to young people about the dangers of tobacco smoking.

    The sign was designed to look like the health warning on a packet of cigarettes. The printed notice at his grave will be left in place for a week. The hearse carrying his body through the town of Dover 100 miles (160 kilometers) southeast of London and several of the printed signs shown in the windows.

    Shoppers in the UK are spending less money on toilet paper to save money, research has shown.

    Penny saving UK consumers choose cheaper products from discounters such as Aldi and Lidi rather than expensive alternatives.

    This has wiped 6% off the value of the soft tissue paper market in the UK. It has reduced from £1.19 billion in 2011 to £1.12 billion in 2015, according to a new report from market research company Mintel. Furthermore, the future of the market looks far from positive, with sales expected to fall further to £1.11 billion in 2016.

    In the last year alone, despite an increase in the UK population and a rise in the number of households, sales of toilet paper fell by 2%, with the average household reducing their toilet roll spending from £43 in 2014 to £41 in 2015.

Overall, almost three in five people say they try to limit their usage of paper – including facial tissue and kitchen roll    to save money. “Strength, softness and thickness remain the leading signs of toilet paper quality, with just a small part of consumers preferring more expensive alternatives, such as those with flower patterns or perfume,” said analyst Jack Duckett. “These extra features are considered unnecessary by the majority of shoppers, which probably reflects how these types of products are typically more expensive than regular toilet paper, even when on special offer.”

    While consumers are spending less on toilet paper, they remain particular about it when it comes to paper quality. One in 10 buyers rank toilet rolls made from recycled paper among their top considerations, clearly showing how overall the environment is much less of a consideration for shoppers than product quality. In a challenge for makers, 81% of paper product users said they would consider buying recycled toilet tissue if it were comparable in quality to standard paper.

    I was waiting for my train and on the subway station's floor was a man just sitting there. I looked around and nobody stopped so I just went my way. After a few steps, I turned and asked him whether he needed help. He told me his house was one station further and he would only need to take the train there. So I reached for his hand to help him stand up.

    He wanted to take the stairs but I feared that he would hurt himself since he seemed too weak to walk, so I asked him to take the elevator. Even though my mind was trying to turn the danger lights on, I put the thought that I should not go alone with a drunken man out of my mind and accompanied him on the elevator.

    We arrived on the platform with no incidents. The man's knees seemed to soften, so I asked him to rest on a bench. While sitting there, he thanked me, telling me that I saved him. No, I said, I really did nothing; he saved himself as he walked on his own feet.

    At the next station, we said our goodbyes. Before I knew it, he left 100 dollars and dashed out of the train. There was no way to give him back his money. I wanted to leave it on the seat, but a young woman who thought it belonged to me ran after me and gave me the note.

    My initial reaction to getting that money was of shame and I even felt offended. Then I thought he just wanted to thank me, the best way he knew how. Now, my question is — what act of kindness shall I do with these 100 dollars?

    A few weeks ago, I called an Uber to take me to the Boston airport for a flight home for the holidays. As I slid into the back seat of the car, the warm intonations(语调) of the driver's accent washed over me in a familiar way.

    I learned that he was a recent West African immigrant with a few young children, working hard to provide for his family. I could relate: I am the daughter of two Ethiopian immigrants who made their share of sacrifices to ensure my success. I told him I was on a college break and headed home to visit my parents. That's how he found out I go to Harvard. An approving eye glinted at me in the rearview window, and quickly, we crossed the boundaries of rider and driver. I became his daughter, all grown up — the product of his sacrifice.

    And then came the fateful question: "What do you study?" I answered "history and literature" and the pride in his voice faded, as I knew it might. I didn't even get to add "and African-American studies" before he cut in, his voice thick with disappointment, "All that work to get into Harvard, and you study history?"

    Here I was, his daughter, squandering the biggest opportunity of her life. He went on to deliver the age-old lecture that all immigrant kids know. We are to become doctors (or lawyers, if our parents are being generous) — to make money and send money back home. The unspoken demand, made across generations, which my Uber driver laid out plainly, is simple: Fulfill your role in the narrative(故事) of upward mobility so your children can do the same.

    I used to feel anxious and backed into a corner by the questioning, but now as a junior in college, I'm grateful for their support more than anything. This holiday season, I've promised myself I won't huff and get annoyed at their inquiries. I won't defensively respond with "but I plan to go to law school!" when I get unrequested advice. I'll just smile and nod, and enjoy the warmth of the occasion.

    One day when I was 12, my mother gave me an order: I was to walk to the public library, and borrow at least one book for the summer. This was one more weapon for her to defeat my strange problem—inability to read.

    In the library, I found my way into the "Children's Room." I sat down on the floor and pulled a few books off the shelf at random. The cover of a book caught my eye. It presented a picture of a beagle. I had recently had a beagle, the first and only animal companion I ever had as a child. He was my secret sharer, but one morning, he was gone, given away to someone who had the space and the money to care for him. I never forgot my beagle.

    There on the book's cover was a beagle which looked identical (相同的)to my dog. Iran my fingers over the picture of the dog on the cover. My eyes ran across the title, Amos, the Beagle with a Plan. Unknowingly, I had read the title. Without opening the book, I borrowed it from the library for the summer.

    Under the shade of a bush, I started to read about Amos. I read very, very slowly with difficulty. Though pages were turned slowly, I got the main idea of the story about a dog who, like mine, had been separated from his family and who finally found his way back home. That dog was my dog, and I was the little boy in the book. At the end of the story, my mind continued the final scene of reunion, on and on, until my own lost dog and I were, in my mind, running together.

    My mother's call returned me to the real world. I suddenly realized something: I had read a book, and I had loved reading that book. Everyone knew I could not read. But I had read it. Books could be incredibly wonderful and I was going to read them.

    I never told my mother about my "miraculous" (奇迹般的) experience that summer, but she saw a slow but remarkable improvement in my classroom performance during the next year. And years later, she was proud that her son had read thousands of books, was awarded a PhD in literature, and authored his own books, articles, poetry and fiction. The power of the words has held.

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Amazon Basics backpack

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