朗读下面文章,并录音 She left a mess. Her bathroom is an embarrassment of damp towels, rusted shaving blades, hair in the sink, and nearly empty tubes of toothpaste. I bring a box of big black garbage bags upstairs. Eye shadow, face cream, nail polish – all go into the trash. I dump drawers, sweep shelves clear and clean the sink. When I am finished, it is as neat and impersonal as a hotel bathroom. In her bedroom I find mismatched socks under her bed and purple pants on the closet floor. Desk drawers are filled with school papers, filed by year and subject. I catch myself reading through poems and essays, admiring high scores on tests and reading her name, printed or typed neatly in the upper right hand corner of each paper. I pack the desk contents into a box. Six months, I think. I will give her six months to collect her belongings, and then I will throw them all away. That is fair. Grown-ups pay for storage. I have to pause at the books. Comic books, teen fiction, romantic novels, historical novels, and textbooks. A lifetime of reading; each book beloved. I want to be practical, to stuff them in paper sacks for the used bookstore. But I love books as much as she does, so I stack them onto a single bookshelf to deal with later.