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甲企业与乙企业均为坐落在市区的增值税一般纳税人，甲企业是生产企业，乙企业是商业企业，丙企业足交通运输企业且为货物运输业自开票纳税人，丙企业所在地为该市市区邻近县城。2009年2月各企业经营情况如下： (1)乙企业从甲企业购进商品，取得增值税专用发票，注明价款210万元；货物由丙企业负责运输，运费由甲企业负担；丙企业收取运输费用7万元、装卸费2万元，并给甲企业开具了运费发票。 (2)乙企业以收取手续费方式销售一批代销货物，开具普通发票，注明金额152.1万元。向购买方收取送货运费5万元，向委托方收取代销手续费3万元本业务符合税法规定的代销条件。 (3)甲企业1年前销售给乙企业一批自产产品，合同规定货到付款，因乙企业资金紧张，一直拖欠货款，经协商双方同意进行债务重组。甲企业应收账款21.4万元，乙企业以总价值(含增值税)为18.72万元的货物抵偿债务，并开具了增值税专用发票，注明价款16万元、增值税2.72万元；甲企业将其销售给丙企业，取得含税销售收入20万元。 (4)甲企业从国营农场购进免税农产品，收购凭证上注明支付货款20万元，支付丙企业运费3万元，取得运赞发票。将收购农产品的10%作为职工福利，15%的部分捐赠给受灾地区，其余作为生产材料加工食品，所加工的食品在企业非独立核算门市部销售，并取得含税销售收入25.74万元。 (5)甲企业销售使用过半年的一台设备，取得销售收入28万元，该设备原值35万元。 (6)乙企业以库存的货物和一栋办公楼向甲企业投资，经税务机关核定，库存货物含税价93.6万元，办公楼评估价为600万元，已向甲企业开具库存货物的增值税专用发票。 (7)丙企业本月另取得运输收入62万元，其中包括收取的公路建设基金4万元；出租车辆取得机金收入42万元。 (8)丙企业本月进口一台大货车自用，海关确定的完税价格56万元，关税税率为10%。假定本月取得的相关发票均在本月认证并抵扣。 根据上述资料吲答下列问题： 乙企业应纳增值税（）万元。
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代理出口业务在“视同买断”方式之下，实际的出口价格（）。
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TEXT E The style that Urrea has adopted to tell Teresita’s—and Mexico’s—story in his book "The Hummingbird’ s Daughter" partakes of this politics as well, being simultaneously dreamy, telegraphic and quietly lyrical. Like a vast mural, the book displays a huge cast of workers, whores, cowboys, rich men, bandits and saints while simultaneously making them seem to float on the page. Urrea’s sentences are simple, short and muscular; he mixes low humor with metaphysics, bodily functions with deep and mysterious stirrings of the soul. These 500 pages- though they could have been fewer—slip past effortlessly, with the amber glow of slides in a magic lantern, each one a tableau of the progress of earthy grace: Teresita crouched in the dirt praying over the souls of ants, Teresita having a vision of God’s messenger not as the fabled white dove but as an indigenous hummingbird, Teresita plucking lice from the hair of a battered Indian orphan in a "pus-shellacked jacket." Ferociously female though curiously asexual, Teresita has a particular ability to deliver babies while soothing the pains of laboring mothers. This, Urrea is saying, is what matters. ,Miracles," Teresita realizes as she learns mid- wifely, "are bloody and sometimes come with mud sticking to them." The salty cradle of life is the true church. Urrea’ s love for Teresita, "the Mexican Joan of Arc," and for the world she helps bring into existence is one of the strongest elements of the book. He is unstintingly, unironically and unselfconsciously tender. He is a partisan. With such passion and care in abundant evidence, one wishes to believe. Teresita is a saint we could really use right now, and I fervently hope she can be summoned to save the galaxy. But there is a quality to Urrea’s novel that, for all the salt and blood and childbirth, is somehow a bit distant. "The Hummingbird’s Daughter" has the woodcut feeling of a bedtime story, or of family legends that have been told so many times they’ ye gone smooth, like the lettering on old gravestones. Teresita is the motherland and the mother of us all, an emissary from the Time Before, permanently encircled by butterflies and hummingbirds and the upraised rifles of revolutionaries. She is, according to the precepts of a certain perspective, entirely perfect. Her "flaws"—her love of the lowly and the sick, her unladylike strength, her uncouth habits—are clearly marks of virtue to anyone but the most bloodless capitalist. Even after she’s declared dead, she manages to win. Myths, of course, both defy and rebuke this sort of quibbling: the gods always arise from a time much larger and deeper than the present moment, and we invent them because we need to believe in someone—or something—greater than ourselves. In Vargas Llosa’s scheme of things, isn’t Teresita the invention we need to ignite a better world But it is exactly this aspect of "The Hummingbird’s Daughter" that makes it seem sealed off from the kaleidoscopic, indeterminate, loss-riven borderlands of modernity that Urrea has written about in earlier books with such depth. Toward the end of the novel, as some of the main characters flee to "great, dark North America," they feel as if the country they’ve left is "a strange dream." As beautiful as that dream—that notion of the unbroken whole—may be, at this late date none of us live there. We’re all citizens of a haunted, mongrel terrain where nothing, not even the most appealing saint, is that simple. From this passage we may note that this book______
TEXT D A full moon was shining down on the jungle. Accompanied only by an Indian guide, the American explorer and archaeologist Edward Herbert Thompson—thirteen hundred years after the Mayas had left their cities and made a break for the country farther north—was riding through the New Empire that they had built for themselves, which had collapsed after the arrival of the Spaniards. He was searching for Chichen Itza, the largest, most beautiful, mightiest, and most splendid of all Mayan cities. Horses and men had been suffering intense hardships on the trail. Thompson’s head sagged on his breast from fatigue, and each time his horse stumbled be all but fell out of the saddle. Suddenly his guide shouted to him. Thompson woke up with a start. He looked ahead and saw a fairyland. Above the dark treetops rose a mound, height and steep, and on top of the mound was a temple, bathed in cool moonlight. In the hush of the night it towered over the treetops like the Parthenon of some Mayan acropolis. It seemed to grow in size as they approached. The Indian guide dismounted, unsaddled his horse, and roiled out his blanket for the night’s sleep. Thompson could not tear his fascinated gaze from the great structure. While the guide prepared his bed, he sprang from his horse and continued on foot. Steep stairs overgrown with grass and bushes, and in part fallen into ruins, led from the base of the mound up to the temple. Thompson was acquainted with this architectural form, which was obviously some kind of pyramid. He was familiar, too, with the function of pyramids as known in Egypt. But this Mayan version was not a tomb, like the pyramids of Gizeh. Externally it rather brought to mind a ziggurat, but to a much greater degree than the Bablyloinan ziggurats it seemed to consist mostly of a stony hill providing support or the enormous stairs rising higher and higher, towards the gods of the sun and moon. Thompson climbed up the steps. He looked at the ornamentation, the rich reliefs. On top, almost 96 feet above the jungle, he surveyed the scene, lie counted one two-three-a half dozen scattered buildings, half-hidden in shadow, often revealed by nothing more than a gleam of moonlight on stone. This, then, was Chichen-Itza. From its original status as advance outpost at the beginning of the great trek to the north, it had grown into a shining metropolis, the heart of the New Empire. Again and again during the next few days Thompson climbed on to the old ruins." I stood upon the roof of this temple one morning" he writes" just as the first rays of the sun reddened the distant horizon. The morning stillness was profound. The noises of the night had ceased, and those of the day were not yet begun. All the sky above and the earth below seemed to be breathlessly waiting for something. Then the great round sun came up, flaming splendidly, and instantly the whole world sang and hummed. The birds in the trees and the insects on the ground sang a grand Te Deum. Nature herself taught primal man to be a sun worshipper and man in his heart of hearts still follows the ancient teaching." Thompson stood where he was, immobile and enchanted. The jungle melted away before his gaze. Wide spaces opened up, processions crept up to the temple site, music sounded, palaces became filled with reveling, the temples hummed with religious adjuration. He try to recognize his task. For out there in the jungle green he could distinguish a narrow path, barely traced out in the weak light, a path that might lead to Chichen-Itza’s most exciting mystery: the Sacred Well. What was Thompson’s first reaction to the scene ahead
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