halt
n. a stop or pause

hatred
n. strong feelings of dislike

hesitate
v. to pause 猶豫不決

intricate
adj. very complicated

introduction
n. present for the first time 介紹

irritated
adj. annoyed

joyfully
adv. very happily

lift
v. 抬；舉；weight lifters: those who compete in contests of strength by lifting heavy objects

misgiving
n. （常用復數）feelings of doubt and fear 顧慮

nap
n. a short sleep during the day

observant
adj. careful to observe (rules)遵守規則的

opportunity
n. a chance

overlook
v. to see a place from a building or window 俯視

palm
n. 棕櫚樹；date ～ : 椰棗樹

paradise
n. heaven 天堂

perseverance
n. to keep trying to do sth. in spite of the difficulties 頑強拼搏

physical
adj. of material substance; often refers to human body 肉體的；身體的

rank
n. a line (of people)

revolve
v. to move or turn in a circle around a central point

rivalry
n. 競爭

scold
v. to angrily criticize sb. , especially a child

single
adj. only one

sort
n. , v. The noun means a kind or a type; the verb means to put things in a particular order

spin
v. to turn round and round

startled
adj. surprised and often slightly frightened

stream
n. a natural flow of water; anything that moves on continuously; a ～ of: 一連串的

stretch
v. 伸展；～ out: 伸出

sunset
n. the time when the sun is seen to disappear as night begins 日落

surface
n. 表面

sweetheart
n. a person one loves

trace
n. a sign that sth. is there 跡象；痕跡

trick
n. （魔術）戲法

unclouded
adj. without any cloud, clear, untroubled

uniform
n. a special set of clothes which all members of a group wear, especially in a school, the army or the police

universe
n. 宇宙

vain
n. in ～ : without result

variety
n. different kinds of the same thing 豐富多彩；品種多樣

various
adj. several of a variety

vast
adj. very large

whisper
v. to say something very quietly so that other people cannot hear what you are saying

yell
v. to shout loudly because you are very excited, angry, or in pain

TEXT B

The Edge Kathleen Louise Smiley

The night before I left for Israel was spent in the same kind of conversations that had filled the previous week. "But why Israel?" my father would ask, in the same tone he used when he asked "Why China?" or "Why Russia?" or "why" any other country I had announced I wanted to visit. "There's war over there, you know," he would add. "Yes, Dad, I know. There are wars everywhere," I would answer. He would ask why I insisted on going to such dangerous places. Finally, I would hear the words I've heard all my life: "Well, you've never listened to me before. Why should I think you'd listen now?" In typical fashion, he would close his eyes, heave a long sigh and shake his head.

When these "discussions" took place, my sister, Kristy, would always try to diffuse the tension. Although she realized long ago that it would never work, she' d try just the same. "Kath, " she' d suggest, "why don' t you go to England for summer school. It's not dangerous there. " But as always, she didn't understand.
None of my family has ever really understood me. I've never fit my family' s idea of the way I should live my life. England was not exciting enough. I wanted to go somewhere and experience something different. My soul has always been restless to venture into unknown places. My mother has always said that I have "gypsy" in my blood.
My sister and I are three and a half years apart in age, but a world apart in the way we live our lives. She is conservative and quiet. I take too many risks, and the only time I'm really quiet is when I'm asleep. I've spent most of my adult life apologizing to my sister and the rest of my family for being different, for embarrassing them by something I wear, something I do or something I say.
Since my sister is so different from me—or since I' m so different from her—we aren't very close. The older we get, the busier we become, and the less we see of each other, even though we live only half a mile apart. When we do get together, I feel that she's holding her breath and waiting for me to do or say something "wrong" while I'm walking on eggshells and praying that I don't. But inevitably, I do.
Because my sister seemed the least upset with my summer plans, I humbly asked her for a ride to the airport. "No problem, " she said casually, "but don't tell Dad! " I smiled and agreed. It's not that our father is some kind of tyrant. We know that he loves us very much; that's evident from all the sacrifices he has made for us. I would not have gone to law school if it weren't for him. He's just worried and has a hard time separating his worry from his love.
On the way to the airport the next day, my sister was quiet as usual. But for the first time since I'd decided to go, she started asking questions about my trip: where I was planning to travel, where I was going to stay. She seemed truly interested.
My family is not big on emotional goodbyes, so with a "have a good time" and a quick "love you too, " my sister was gone. I was sad because I felt she just couldn't understand. I wished at that moment that she could come with me, but I knew she wouldn't.
I checked in, took my seat and started to get organized. I glanced inside my bag which my sister had loaded in the trunk before we left for the airport. There, along with my passport, traveler's checks and other important items, was a small white envelope with "Kath" written on it in my sister's handwriting. I opened the envelope and found a bon voyage card. It was a lighthearted, funny card with a cartoon on the front. Most cards my family members give are funny cards, and this was no different—or so I thought.
When I opened the card and read what was inside, I realized that my sister—who I had decided just couldn't understand—actually did understand. It seemed there was a small part of her that wished she were me, maybe a small part of her that always had wished she were me. The card was blank except for what my sister had written:

I really admire you for experiencing life in such a full way.
I love you.
Your sister,
Kristy