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Now when I had mastered the language of this water, and had come to know every trifling features that bordered the great river as familiarly as I knew the letters of the alphabet, I had made a valuable acquisition. But I had lost something too. I had lost something which could never be(1)to me while I lived. All the grace, the beauty, the poetry had gone out of the majestic river! I still keep in(2)a certain wonderful sunset which I witnessed when steam-boating was new to me. A broad expanse of the river was turned to blood; in the middle distance the red hue brightened into gold,(3)which a solitary log came floating black and conspicuous, in one place a long, slanting mark lay sparking upon the water; in(4)the surface was broken by boiling, tumbling rings, that were as many-tinted as an opal;(5)the ruddy flush was faintest, was a smooth spot that was covered with graceful circles and radiating lines, ever so delicately traced; the shore(6)our left was densely wooded and the somber shadow that(7)from this forest was broken in one place by a long, ruffled trail that shone like silver; and high(8)the forest wall a clean-stemmed dead tree waved a single leafy bough that glowed like a flame in the unobstructed splendor that was flowing from the sun. There were graceful curves, reflected images, soft distances; and over the whole scene,(9)and near, the dissolving lights drifted steadily enriching(10)every passing moment with new marvels of coloring.

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I had visited the capital before although my friend Arthur had not, I first visited London as a student, reluctantly released from the bosom of a tearful mum, with a traveling trunk stuffed full of home-made fruit cakes and woolly vests. I was ill-prepared for the Spartan standards of the South. Through even the grimmest post-war days, as kids we had ploughed our way through corner cuts of beef and steamed puddings. So you can imagine my dismay when I arrived, that first day, at my London digs to be faced with a plate of tuna-paste sandwiches and a thin slice of cake left curling under a tea-towel. And that was supposed to be Sunday lunch!When I eventually caught up with my extremely irritating landlady, I met with a vision of splendor more in keeping with the Royal Enclosure at the races than the area in which she lived. Festooned with jewels and furs and plastered with exclusive cosmetics, she was a walking advert for Bond Street.Now, we have a none too elegant but very apt phrase for this in the North of England, and it was the one my friend Arthur to describe London after three days there: “All fur coat and nothing underneath.”Take our hotel. The reception area was plush and inviting, the lounge and dining-room poor enough to start Arthur speaking “properly”. But journey upstairs from one landing to the next, at the veneers of civilization fell away before your eyes. By the time we reached our room, all pretension to refinement and comfort had disappeared. The fur coat was off (back in the bands of the hire purchase company), and what we were really expected to put up with for a small fortune a night was exposed in all its shameful nakedness. It was little more than a garret, a shabby affair with patched and peeling walls. There was a stained sink with pipes that grumbled and muttered all night long and an assortment of furnishings that would have disgraced Her Majesty’s Prison Service. But the crowning glory was the view from the window. A peek behind the handsome facade of our fabled city, rank gardens choked with rubbish, all the debris of life piled against the back door. It was a good job the window didn’t open, because from it all arose the unmistakable odor of the abyss.Arthur, whose mum still polishes her back step and disinfects her dustbin once a week, slumped on to the bed in a sudden fit of depression. “Never mind,” I said, drawing the curtains. “You can watch telly.” This was one of the hotel’s luxuries, which in the newspaper ad had persuaded us we were going to spend the week in style. It turned out to be a yellowing plastic thing with a picture which rolled over and over like a floundering fish until you took your fist to it. But Arthur wasn’t going to be consoled by any cheap technological gimmicks.He was sure his dad had forgotten to feed his pigeons and that his dogs were pining away for him. He grew horribly homesick. After a terrible night spent tossing and turning to a ceaseless cacophony of pipes and fire doors, traffic, drunks and low-flying aircraft, Arthur surfaced next day like a claustrophobic mole. London had got squarely on top of him. Seven million people had sat on him all night, breathed his air, generally fouled his living space, and come between him and that daily quota of privacy and peace which prevents us all from degenerating into mad axemen or reservoir poisoners.Arthur had to be got out of London for a while.1.When the writer first came to the capital( ).2.The writer was surprised at what he received for Sunday lunch because( ).3.The landlady seemed to epitomize a phrase used in the North of England to indicate that things were( ).4.The room which the writer and his friend were to share( ).5.The writer feels that in order to remain sane, one needs a certain amount of( ).

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A trade group for liquor retailers put out a press release with an alarming headline: “Millions of Kids Buy Internet Alcohol, Landmark Survey Reveals.”The announcement, from the Wine and Spirits Wholesalers of America received wide media attention. On NBC’s Today Show, Lea Thompson said, “According to a new online survey, one in 10 teenagers have an underage friend who has ordered beer, wine or liquor over the internet. More than a third think they can easily do it and nearly half think they won’t get caught.” Several newspapers mentioned the study, including USA Today and the Record of New Jersey. The news even made Australia’s Gold Coast Bulletin.Are millions of kids really buying booze online? To arrive at that jarring headline, the group used some questionable logic to pump up results from a survey that was already tilted in favor of finding a large number of online buyer.For starters, consider the source. The trade group that commissioned the survey has long fought efforts to expand online sales of alcohol; its members are local distributors who compete with online liquor sellers. Some of the news coverage pointed out that conflict of interest, though reports didn’t delve more deeply into how the numbers were computed.The Wine and Spirits Wholesalers of America hired Teenage Research Unlimited, a research company, to design the study. Teenage Research, in turn, hired San Diego polling firm Luth Research to put the questions to 1,001 people between the ages of 14 and 20in an online survey. Luth gets people to participate in its surveys in part by advertising them online and offering small cash awards—typically less than $5 for short surveys.People who agree to participate in online surveys are, by definition, internet users, something that not all teens are. (Also, people who actually take the time to complete such surveys may be more likely to be active, or heavy internet users.) It’s safe to say that kids who use the internet regularly are more likely to shop online than those who don’t. Teenage Research Unlimited told me it weighted the survey results to adjust for age, sex, ethnicity and geography of respondents, but had no way to adjust for degree of internet usage.Regardless, the survey found that, after weighting, just 2.1 points of the 1,001 respondents bought alcohol online—compared with 56 points who had consumed alcohol. Making the questionable assumption that their sample was representative of all Americans aged 14 to 20 with access to the internet—and not just those with the time and inclination to participate in online surveys—the researchers concluded that 551,000 were buying alcohol online.But that falls far short of the reported “millions of kids”. To justify that headline, the wholesalers’ group focused on another part of the survey that asked respondents if they knew a teen who had purchased alcohol online. Some 12 points said they did. Of course, it’s ridiculous to extrapolate from a state like that—one buyer could be known by many people, and it’s impossible to measure overlap. Consider a high school of 1,000 students, with 20 who have bought booze on line and 100 who know about the purchases. If 100 of the school’s students are surveyed at random, you’d expect to find two who have bought and 10 who know someone who has—but that still represents only two buyers, not 10.(Not to mention the fact that thinking you know someone who has ordered beer online is quite different from ordering a six pack yourself.)Karen Gravois Elliott, a spokeswoman for the wholesalers’ group, told me, “The numbers are real,” but referred questions about methodology to Teenage Research. When I asked her about the potential problems of conducting the survey online, she said the medium was a strength of the survey: “We specifically wanted to look at the teenage online population.”Nahme Chokeir, a vice president of client service for San Diego-based Luth Research Inc., told me that some of his online panel comes from word of mouth, which wouldn’t necessarily skew toward heavy internet users. He added that some clients design surveys to screen respondents by online usage, though Teenage Research didn’t.I asked Michael Wood, a vice president at Teenage Research who worked on the survey, whether one could say, as the liquor trade group did, that millions of teenagers had bought alcohol online. “You can’t,” he replied, adding, “This is their press release.”1.Which of the following is the message that this passage is trying to convey?2.According to the author, what is wrong with the report about kids buying alcohol?3.Which of the following words is closest in meaning to the word “extrapolate” in paragraph 8?4.By saying “To justify that headline, the wholesalers' group focused on another part of the survey that asked respondents if they knew a teen who had purchased alcohol online”, the author implies that( ).5.Which of the following is more likely to be the source for problems in this survey?

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It was unfortunate that, after so trouble-free an arrival, he should stumble in the dark as he was rising and severely twist his ankle on a piece of rock. After the first shock the pain became bearable, and he gathered up his parachute before limping into the trees to hide it as best he could. The hardness of the ground and the deep darkness made it almost impossible to do this efficiently. The pine needles lay several inches deep so he simply piled them on top of the parachute, cutting the short twigs that he could feel around his legs, and spreading them on top of the needles. He had great doubts about whether it would stay buried, but there was very little else that he could do about it.After limping for some distance in an indirect course away from his parachute he began to make his way downhill through the trees. He had to find out where he was, and then decide what to do next. But walking downhill on a rapidly swelling ankle soon proved to be almost beyond his powers. He moved more and more slowly, walking in long sideways movements across the slope, which meant taking more steps but less painful ones. By the time he cleared the trees and reached the valley, day was breaking. Mist hung in soft sheets across the field. Small cottages and farm buildings grouped like sleeping cattle around a village church, whose pointed tower, pointed high into the cold winter air to welcome the morning.“I can’t go no further,” John Harding thought. “Someone is bound to find me, but what can’t I do? I must get a rest before I go on. They’ll look for me first up there on the mountain where the plane crashed. I bet they’re out looking for it already and they’re bound to find the parachute in the end. I can’t believe they won’t. So they’ll know I’m not dead and must be somewhere. They’ll think I’m hiding up there in the trees and rocks so they’ll look for me, so I’ll go down to the village. With luck by the evening my foot will be good enough to get me to the border.”Far above him on the mountainside he could hear the faint echo of voices, startling him after great silence. Looking up he saw lights like little pinpoints moving across the face of the mountain in the grey light. But the road was deserted, and he struggled along, still almost invisible in the first light, easing his aching foot whenever he could, avoiding stones and rough places, and limping quietly and painfully towards the village. He reached the church at last. A great need for peace almost drew him inside, but he knew that would not do. Instead, he limped along its wails towards a very old building standing a short distance from the church doors. It seemed to have been there for ever, as if it had grown out of the hillside. It had the same air of timelessness as the church. John Harding pushed open the heavy wooden door and slipped inside.1.It is known from the passage that John Harding was( ).2.John Harding found it hard to hide his parachute because( ).3.In spite of his bad ankle John Harding was able to( ).4.When John Harding got out of the forest he saw that( ).5.John Harding decided to go down to the village( ).

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Jean left Alice Springs on Monday morning with regret, and flew all day in a “Dragonfly”' aircraft; and it was a very instructive day for her. The machine did not go directly to Cloncurry, but flew to and for across the wastes of Central Australia, depositing small bags of mail at cattle stations and picking up cattle-men and travelers to drop them off after a hundred or a hundred and fifty miles. They landed eight or ten times in the course of the day, at places like Ammaroo and Hatches Creek and many other stations; at each place they would get out of the plane and drink a cup of tea and have a talk with the station manager or owner, and get back into the plane and go on their way. By the end of the day Jean Paget knew exactly what a cattle station looked like, and she was beginning to have a very good idea of what went on there.They got to Cloncurry in the evening, a fairly extensive town on a railway that ran eastward to the sea at Townsville. Here she was in Queensland, and she heard for the first time the slow deliberate speech of the Queensland that reminded her at once of her friend Joe Harman. She was driven into town in a very old open car and deposited at the Post Office Hotel; she got a bedroom but tea was over, and she had to go down the wide, dusty main street to a café for her evening meal. Cloncurry, she found, had none of the clean attractiveness of Alice Springs; it was a town which smelt of cattle, with wide streets through which to drive them down to the stockyard, many hotels, and a few shops. All the houses were of wood with red-painted iron roofs; the hotels had two floors, but very few of the other houses had more than one.She had to spend a day here, because the air service to Normanton and Willstown ran weekly on a Wednesday. She went out after breakfast while the air was still cool and walked in one direction up the huge main street for half a mile till she came to the end of the town, then came back and walked down it a quarter of a mile till she came to the other end. Then she went and had a look at the railway station, and, having seen the airfield, with that she had seen all there was to see in Cloncurry. She looked in at a shop that sold toys and newspapers, but they were sold out of all reading matter except a few books about dress-making; as the day was starting to warm up she went back to the hotel. She managed to borrow a copy of the Australian Women’s Weekly from the manageress of the hotel and took it to her room, and took off most of her clothes and lay down on her bed to sweat it out during the heat of the day. Most of the other citizens of Cloncurry seemed to be doing the same thing.She felt like moving again shortly before tea and had a shower, and went out to the café for an ice. Weighed down by the heavy meal of roast beef and plum-pudding that the Queenslanders call “tea” she sat in a folding chair for a little outside in the cool of the evening, and went to bed again at about eight o’clock. She was called before daybreak, and was out at the airfield with the first light.1.When Jean had to leave Alice Springs, she( ).2.How did Jean get some idea of Australian cattle station?3.Jean's main complaint about Cloncurry in comparison with Alice Springs, was( ).4.For her evening meal on the second day Jean had( ).5.Jean left Cloncurry( ).

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