It was the night before the composition was due. As I looked at the list of topics(题目), "The Art of Eating Spaghetti (意大利面条) "caught my eyes. The word "spaghetti" brought back the (21) of an evening at Uncle Alien’s in Belleville (22) all of us were seated around the table and Aunt Pat (23) spaghetti, for supper. Spaghetti was an exotic (外来的) treat in (24) days. Never had I eaten spaghetti, and (25) of the grown-ups had enough experience to be good at it. What laughing (26) we had about the socially respectable method for moving spaghetti from plate to mouth. (27) ,I wanted to write about that, but I wanted to (28) it down simply for my own (29) , not for Mr. Fleagle, my composition teacher. As for him, I would write something else. When I finished it the night was half gone and there was no (30) left to write a proper composition for Mr. Fleagle. There was no choice next morning but to hand in my work. Two days passed before Mr. Fleagle returned the (31) papers. He said, "Now, class, I want to read you a composition, ’The Art of Eating Spaghetti’." My words! He was reading my words out (32) to the whole class. (33) laughed, then the whole class was laughing with open-hearted enjoyment. I did my best not to show (34) , but what I was feeling was pure happiness, for my words had the power to make people (35) .23（） A．cooked B．served C．got D．made