TEXT C I cry easily. I once burst into tears when the curtain came down on the Kirov Ballets "Swan Lake". I still choke up every time I see a film of Roger Bannister breaking the "impossible" four minute mark for the mile. I figure I am moved by witnessing men and women at their best. But they need not be great men and women, doing great things. 　 Take the night, some years ago, when my wife and I were going to dinner at a friends house in New York city. It was sleeting. As we hurried toward the house, with its welcoming light, I noticed a car pulling out from the curb. Just ahead, another car was waiting to back into the parking space —— a rare commodity in crowded Manhattan. But before he could do so another car came up from behind, and sneaked into the spot. Thats dirty pool, I thought. 　 While my wife went ahead into our friends house. I stepped into the street to give the guilty driver a piece of my mind. A man in work clothes rolled down the window. 　 "Hey," I said, "this parking space belongs to that guy," I gestured toward the man ahead, who was looking back angrily. I thought I was being a good Samaritan, I guess —— and I remember that the moment I was feeling pretty manly in my new trench coat. 　 "Mind your own business!" the driver told me. 　 "No," I said. "You dont understand. That fellow was waiting to back into this space." 　 Things quickly heated up, until finally he leaped out of the car. My God, he was colossal. He grabbed me and bent me back over the hood of his car as if I was a rag doll. The sleet stung my face. I glanced at the other driver, looking for help, but he gunned his engine and hightailed it out of there. 　 The huge man shook his rock of a fist of me, brushing my lip and cutting the inside of my mouth against my teeth. I tasted blood. I was terrified. He snarled and threatened, and then told me to beat it. Almost in a panic, I scrambled to my friends front door. As a former Marine, as a man, I felt utterly humiliated. Seeing that I was shaken, my wife and friends asked me what had happened. All I could bring myself to say was that I had had an argument about a parking space. They had the sensitivity to let it go at that. 　 I sat stunned. Perhaps half an hour later, the doorbell rang. My blood ran cold. For some reason I was sure that the bruiser had returned for me. My hostess got up to answer it, but I stopped her. I felt morally bound to answer it myself. 　 I walked down the hallway with dread. Yet I knew I had to face up to my fear. I opened the door. There he stood, towering. Behind him, the sleet came down harder than ever. 　 "I came back to apologize," he said in a low voice. "When I got home, I said to myself, what right I have to do that? Im ashamed of myself. All I can tell you is that the Brooklyn Navy Yard is closing. Ive worked there for years. And today I got laid off. Im not myself. I hope youll accept my apology." 　 I often remember that big man. I think of the effort and courage it took for him to come back to apologize. He was man at last. 　 And I remember that after I closed the door, my eyes blurred, as I stood in the hallway for a few moments alone.
　　42. On what occasion is the author likely to be moved?
　　A) A young person cheated of the best things in life.
　　B) A genius athlete breaks a world record.
　　C) A little girl suffers from an incurable disease.
　　D) When the curtain comes down on a touching play.
　　43. What does "dirty pool" at the end of the second paragraph mean?
　　A) Improper deeds
　　B) Bribery
　　C) Chicanery
　　D) Dirty transaction
　　44. Why didn't the writer's wife and friends ask him what had happened?
　　A) They sensed that something terrible happened, they didn't dare to ask.
　　B) They were afraid that the writer might lose face if they asked.
　　C) They'd like to let it be for it was not their business.
　　D) They tried to calm the writer in this way.
　　45. What touched the writer in the end?
　　A) The big man's courage to admit his mistake.
　　B) The big man's sincerity and confession.
　　C) The big man's wretched experience.
　　D) The man at his best.