题目内容
At 14, though not later in life, Henry Robinson Luce was a great supporter of a revolution, the Chinese revolution of 1912. He wrote to a friend who was visiting Luce’s missionary parents in China, welcoming him to "a great land, peopled by a great nation, endowed with a great past, overshadowed by a greater future." It was, he added, "the greatest and most stupendous Reformation in all history." Luce achieved much in his life. By sheer effort he won the glittering prizes at Yale, where he, a poor scholarship boy and undistinguished at games, made Skull and Bones, the secret society that was the nursery of the American establishment. He was helped through university by the wealthy widow of Cyrus McCormick, inventor of the combine harvester, who had been persuaded by Father Luce to stump up for his China mission. With his more flashily gifted Yale chum, Brit Hadden, he founded Time magazine. After Hadden’s early death Luce went on to become the autocratic and fabulously wealthy boss of Time Inc, publisher of Time, Fortune, Life and Sports Illustrated. He persuaded President Eisenhower that Mrs Clare Boothe Luce, his talented, neurotic wife,` should be posted to Rome as the American ambassador. Luce tried, with little success, to play kingmaker in presidential politics. In 1940 Time editors winced as he turned the magazine into a campaign puff for Wendell Willkie, and in 1948 Time was "as wrong as everyone else" in its confidence that Thomas Dewey would beat Harry Truman, whom Luce called "a vulgar little Babbitt". He hated Roosevelt. Where Luce was not wrong was in his famous essay, published in February 1941, that this would be "an American Century". His point was not imperial, but idealistic, even chiliastic. It was America’s time, he wrote, "to be the powerhouse from which the ideals spread throughout the world and do their mysterious work of lifting the life of mankind from the level of the beasts to what the Psalmist called a little lower than the angels." Luce soon forgot the few words of Mandarin he learned from his amah or nanny, but never did he forget his beloved China, the country he had seen through the eyes of a missionary’s child in an impoverished province. He worshipped Chiang Kai-shek, corrupt dictator and historic loser. To an imaginary China, he dedicated his life. In this superb biography Alan Brinkley, a Columbia University historian, has told the curiously depressing story of a brilliant man who got everything wrong, including so many of the things that mattered most to him. Mr Brinkley has an eye for both the telling detail and the broad sweep of Luce’s role as the man who saw the need for a national news magazine and foresaw the American century. Time style, with its heroic epithets and inverted sentences (memorably parodied in a New Yorker profile by Wolcott Gibbs, with its famous last line, "where it all will end, knows God") was the legacy of Luce’s and Hadden’s classical education at Yale. Luce tried to use his magazines to convert Americans to his ideas. He was largely frustrated by his editors, who ignored his political directives. Like Lord Beaverbrook (with whose granddaughter, Jeanne Campbell, Luce had the last serious love affair of his life), he liked left-wing writers, among them Archibald MacLeish, Dwight Macdonald and Daniel Bell, who despised his conservatism. Mr Brinkley pleads that Luce was less "fevered" than other cold warriors, his attitude to domestic communism "more nuanced". He did call for "the liberation of China" and a "rollback of the Iron Curtain with tactical atomic weapons", and once speculated about "plastering Russia with 500 (or 1,000) A bombs". He was a passionate believer in the superior material culture and the "national purpose" of America. He died of a massive heart attack in 1967, just as his crusade against communism in Asia was stumbling towards its own death in Vietnam. (From The Economist; 653 words) According to the passage, which of the following is NOT true of Luce
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Questions 7 and 8 are based on the following news. At the end of the news item, you will be given 20 seconds to answer the questions. Now listen to the news. How did the financial advisor get help
凡是不产生法律意义的行为，一律不能称其为代理。 ( )
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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 friend’s 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. That’s dirty pool, I thought. While my wife went ahead into our friend’s 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 don’t 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 at 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 friend’s 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 I’m ashamed of myself. All I can tell you is that the Brooklyn Navy Yard is closing. I’ve worked there for years. And today I got laid off. I’m not myself. I hope you’ll 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. What does the "dirty pool" refer to in the second paragraph
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