题目内容
8月17日的下午，约克逊号邮船无数的窗眼里，飞出五色飘扬的纸带，远远的抛到岸上，任凭送别的人牵住的时候，我的心是如何的飞扬而凄恻! 痴绝的无数的送别者，在最远的江岸，仅仅牵着这终于断绝的纸条儿放这庞然大物，载着最重的离愁，飘然西去! 船上生活，是如何的清新而活泼。除了三餐外，只是随意游戏散步。海上的头三日，我竟完全回到小孩子的境地中去了，套圈子，抛沙袋，乐此不疲，过后又绝然不玩了。后来自己回想很奇怪，无他，海唤起了我童年的回忆，海波声中，童心和游伴都跳跃到我脑中来。
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TEXT A Theodoric Voler had been brought up, from infancy to the confines of middle age, by a fond mother whose chief solicitude had been to keep him screened from what she called the coarser realities of life. When she died she left Theodoric alone in a world that was as real as ever, and a good deal coarser than he considered it had any need to be. To a man of his temperament and upbringing even a simple railway journey was crammed with petty annoyances and minor discords, and as he settled himself down in a secondclass compartment one September morning he was conscious of ruffled feelings and general mental discomposure. He had been staying at a country vicarage, the inmates of which had been certainly neither brutal nor bacchanalian, but their supervision of the domestic establishment had been of that lax order which invites disaster. The pony carriage that was to take him to the station had never been properly ordered, and when the moment for his departure drew near, the handyman who should have produced the required article was nowhere to be found. In this emergency Theodoric, to his mute but very intense disgust, found himself obliged to collaborate with the vicar’s daughter in the task of harnessing the pony, which necessitated groping about in an ill-lighted outbuilding called a stable, and smelling very like one--except in patches where it smelled of mice. As the train glided out of the station Theodoric’s nervous imagination accused himself of exhaling a weak odour of stable yard, and possibly of displaying a mouldy straw or two on his unusually well-brushed garments. Fortunately the only other occupation of the compartment, a lady of about the same age as himself, seemed inclined for slumber rather than scrutiny; the train was not due to stop till the terminus was reached, in about an hour’s time, and the carriage was of the old-fashioned sort that held no communication with a corridor, therefore no further travelling companions were likely to intrude on Theodoric’s semiprivacy. And yet the train had scarcely attained its normal speed before he became reluctantly but vividly aware that he was not alone with the slumbering lady; he was not even alone in his own clothes. A warm, creeping movement over his flesh betrayed the unwelcome and highly resented presence, unseen but poignant, of a strayed mouse, that had evidently dashed into its present retreat during the episode of the pony harnessing. Furtive stamps and shakes and wildly directed pinches failed to dislodge the intruder, whose motto, indeed, seemed to be Excelsior; and the lawful occupant of the clothes lay back against the cushions and endeavoured rapidly to evolve some means for putting an end to the dual ownership. Theodoric was goaded into the most audacious undertaking of his life. Crimsoning to the hue of a beetroot and keeping an agonised watch on his slumbering fellow traveller, he swiftly and noiselessly secured the ends of his railway rug to the racks on either side of the carriage, so that a substantial curtain hung athwart the compartment. In the narrow dressing room that he had thus improvised he proceeded with violent haste to extricate himself partially and the mouse entirely from the surrounding casings of tweed and half-wool. As the unravelled mouse gave a wild leap to the floor, the rug, slipping its fastening at either end, also came down with a heart-curdling flop, and almost simultaneously the awakened sleeper opened her eyes. With a movement almost quicker than the mouse’s, Theodoric pounced on the rug and hauled its ample folds chin-high over his dismantled person as he collapsed into the farther corner of the carriage. The blood raced and beat in the veins of his neck and forehead, while he waited dumbly for the communication cord to be pulled. The lady, however, contented herself with a silent stare at her strangely muffled companion. How much had she seen, Theodoric queried to himself; and in any case what on earth must she think of his present posture Which of the following statements is TRUE about the lady of the compartment
在本节中，你将听到15个对话，每个对话有一个问题。请从A、B、C三个选项中选出答案，并标在试卷的相应位置。每段话后有15秒钟的停顿，以便回答问题和阅读下一问题及其选项。每段对话读两遍。 下面，请听这些对话。 Will Jane see her uncle tomorrow
TEXT B For admissions officers, reviewing applications is like final-exam week for students except it lasts for months. Great applications tell us we’ve done our job well, by attracting top-caliber students. But it’s challenging to maintain the frenetic pace without forgetting these are all real people with real aspirations--people whose life stories we are here to unravel, if they will let us. The essay is a key piece of learning those life stories. I live near Los Angeles, where every day screenplays are read without regard for human context. The writer’s life and dreams don’t matter--all that matters is the writing, the ideas, the end product. On the other hand, in reading essays, context does matter: who wrote this We are driven to put the jigsaw puzzle together because we think we are building a community, not just choosing neat stories. When I pick up a file, I want to know whether the student has sib lings or not, who his parents are, where he went to high school. Then I want the essay to help the rest of the application make sense, to humanize all the numbers that flow past. I am looking for insight. A brilliantly written essay may compel me to look beyond superficial shortcomings in an application. But if no recommendation or grade or test score hints at such writing talent, I may succumb to cynicism and assume the writer had help--maybe too much. In the worst cases, I may find that I have read it be fore--with name and place changed--on the Internet, in an essay-editing service or a "best essays" book. The most appealing essays take the opportunity to show a voice not rendered homogeneous and pasteurized. But sometimes the essays tell us too much. Pomona offers this instruction with one essay option: "We realize that not everything done in life is about getting into college. Tell us about something you did that was just plain fun. "One student grimly reported that nothing was fun because in his family everything was about getting into college. Every activity, course choice and spare moment. It did spark our sympathy, but it almost led to a call to Child Protective Services as well. Perfection isn’t required. We have seen phenomenal errors in essays that haven’t damaged a student at all. I recall a student who wrote of the July 1969 lunar landing of-I kid you not--Louis Armstrong. I read on, shaking my head. This student was great--a jazz trumpeter who longed to study astronomy. It was a classic slip and perhaps a hurried merging of two personal heroes. He was offered admission, graduated and went on for a PhD in astrophysics. He may not have been as memorable if he had named "Neil" instead of "Louis" in his essay’s opening line. Hey, we’re human, too. An essay that is rough around the edges may still be compelling. Good ideas make an impression, even when expressed with bad punctuation and spelling errors. Energy and excitement can be communicated. I’m not suggesting the "I came, I saw, I conquered" approach to essay writing, nor the "I saved the world" angle taken by some students who write about community service projects. I’m talking about smaller moments that are well captured. Essays don’t require the life tragedy that so many seem to think is necessary. Not all admission offers come out of sympathy! Admissions officers, even at the most selective institutions, really aren’t looking for perfection in 17 and 18-year-olds. We are looking for the human being behind the roster of activities and grades. We are looking for those who can let down their guard just a bit to allow others in We are looking for people whose egos won’t get in the way of learning, students whose investment in ideas and words tells us in the context of their records--that they are aware of a world beyond their own homes, schools, grades and scores. A picture, they say, is worth a thousand words. To us, an essay that reveals a student’s unaltered voice is worth much, much more. Admissions officers are looking for all the following qualities of applicants in the essay EXCEPT ______.
Both of them are successful writers of books intended for audience ranging from ________.
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