题目内容
It’s good that wireless companies have agreed to warn customers when they are about to exceed monthly limits on voice, text or data usage or incur international roaming fees, which can result in thousands of dollars of extra charges. But consumers need more protection. The voluntary agreement announced between the main wireless industry group and the Federal Communications Commission only scratches the surface of troublesome pricing practices that have flourished in an industry that faces insufficient competition. The deal imposes no penalties on the wireless companies for violations. It might work, but the F. C. C. must convince carriers that violations will lead to real regulations with bite. Carriers often fail to respond to complaints without intervention from government regulators. For years,Verizon Wireless incorrectly billed millions of customers for data access that they did not use. Last year, the company publicly acknowledged the problem and agreed to pay $53 million in refunds and a $25 million settlement with the F. C. C. —after the agency opened an investigation. The wireless industry argues that it should remain as unregulated as possible because it is very competitive. But this is not true. Most customers, locked into their contracts by high early-termination penalties, have no easy way to switch providers. There are some unlocked plans, but they can be more expensive and offer more limited service. And two companies—Verizon and AT&T—now control 60 percent of the market nationwide. Wireless pricing policies reflect this uncompetitive landscape Take cellphone text messaging. Companies typically charge from $5 for 250 texts a month (2 cents per message) to $20 for an unlimited package. Pay-as-you-go rates can be as high as 20 cents a message. But the cost of sending a text message is about a third of a penny, according to Congressional testimony from Srinivasan Keshav, a professor at the University of Waterloo. The markup is enormous. Even the most expensive monthly wireless data plans, costing about $15 for 250 megabytes or 6 cents per megabyte, are orders of magnitude cheaper than cellphone text pricing. It is hugely profitable for companies to segregate voice, data and text into different plans and to force customers to buy a different plan for each device, like a phone or a tablet. But, on today’s networks, segregating services makes little sense technologically. This expensive segregation would be more difficult to maintain if the market were truly competitive and consumers could easily switch from one company to another that offers a better deal. The regulatory outlook is not promising. The F. C. C. has shied away from asserting that voice and data moving on wireless networks are the same thing,which would allow it to apply its greater authority over phones to broadband access services. But it could curtail high early-termination fees on phone contracts,which are subject to more intense regulation. This would increase competition by making it easier for customers to change carriers. If Congress allows the F. C. C. to reallocate television broadcasters’ unused spectrum and auction it for wireless broadband, the F. C. C. could set rules to ensure that the spectrum is available to more competitors. Perhaps the most effective path would be for the F. C. C. to declare broadband access to be a telecommunication service over which it has more control. Without action, consumers are stuck with a deregulated, less-than-competitive market. Which of the following statements is TRUE of the wireless industry
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At the top of Green Mountain, the central peak of Ascension Island, there is a small pond, dotted with lilies,shadowed to one side by the fronds of a pandan tree. It is the only open body of fresh water on the island—and for a thousand kilometres in any direction. Around Dew Pond grows a grove of towering bamboo,beyond which the trade winds blow incessantly from the southeast. Within the grove the air is still and damp. Along the trailing ridge of the summit are fig trees, Cape yews and a garland of remarkably vigorous ginger. Below,on the mountain’s lee side, trees and shrubs from all parts of the world spread down the hillside to a landscape of casuarina trees—ironwood, or she-oak—and thorny chaparral around its base. Even on the bleaker windward slope, grasses and sedges are dotted with Bermuda cedar and guava bushes. Above, the bamboo scratching at their bellies, are the clouds the trade winds bring; some days they cover the mountain top. Once seen as too dry to be worth inhabiting, Ascension Island is becoming greener at an increasing rate. People are responsible. In part, their contribution was unwitting: the thorny mesquite that anchors a lot of the island’s scrub was introduced for a landscaping project just 50 years ago. But the forest on the peak of Green Mountain represents a deliberate attempt to change the island’s climate to make it more habitable. It is the centrepiece of a small but startling ecological transformation which is part experiment and part accident, part metaphor and part inspiration. Ascension was discovered by the Portuguese in 1501. Just to the west of the mid-ocean ridge that separates South America’s tectonic plate from Africa’s, it is the top of a volcano which rises steeply from abyssal plains more than four kilometres below the surface of the ocean. The volcano made it above that surface only a million or so years ago, since when the island has grown to about 100 square kilometres. Before people arrived it was home to just a flightless bird, a land crab and no more than 30 species of plant, none as big as a bush. It was so barren and isolated that during the following three centuries of assiduous empire-building neither the Portuguese nor any other nation bothered to claim it. When Captain Cook passed by in 1775, Georg Forster—later to become renowned for his accounts of exploration—wrote it off as a "ruinous heap of rocks", drearier even than Tierra del Fuego and Easter Island. Islands had a particular hold on the imaginations of explorers like Forster. It had long been widely held that the varieties of humankind reflected the action of different climates. In the late 18th century the opposite notion began to take hold among sailors, scientists and administrators: that humankind might itself act to change the climate, either for the worse or for the better, mainly through what it did or didn’t do to trees. A decade after Cook and the Forsters, a French explorer, La Pérouse, visited Easter Island. Noting the island’s "dreadful aridity" in the midst of an immense ocean, he blamed the ancestors of the island’s inhabitants, who had cut down the trees. Those imprudent ancestors have become symbols for mankind’s short-sighted carelessness with his environment. As environmentalists began to preach the gospel of finite resources, and satellites sent home images of the Earth looking like a small island in a vast dark sea, the fate of Easter Island seemed like a fearful parable. In his jeremiad, "Collapse", Jared Diamond described Easter Island’s story as "the closest approximation that we have to an ecological disaster unfolding in complete isolation". Yet it would be a mistake to place too much weight on this tale. The familiar story—deforestation leading to environmental degradation; subsequent population collapse, possibly including cannibalism; eventual endemic misery—has been revised in recent years. Some suggest that the Easter Islanders’ fate was not purely self-inflicted: seed-eating rats, European slavers and climate change were in part responsible. And although apocalyptic stories have a power that brighter tales lack, mankind’s record is more nuanced than the Easter Island story suggests. People have created fertile ecosystems as well as destroyed them. Ascension Island is a supreme example. The contrast of the Easter Island and Ascension Island exemplifies the concept that
函数fun()的功能是：统计substr所指子字符串在str所指字符串中出现的次数。例如，若字符串为aaas 1kaaas，子字符串为as，则应输出2。 #include＜stdio.h＞ int fun(char*str,char*substr) int i,j,k,num=0; /**********found**********/ for(i=0,str[i],i++) for(j=i,k=0;substr[k]==str[j];k++,j++) /**********found**********/ If(substr[k+1]==’\0’) num++; break; return num; main() char str[80],substr[80]; printf("Input a string:"); gets(str); printf("Input a substring:"); gets(substr); printf("%d\n",fun(str,substr));
At the little town of Vevey, in Switzerland, there is a particularly comfortable hotel. There are, indeed, many hotels, for the entertainment of tourists is the business of the place, which, as many travelers will remember, are seated upon the edge of a remarkably blue lake—a lake that it behooves every tourist to visit. The shore of the lake presents an unbroken array of establishments of this order, of every category, from the "grand hotel" of the newest fashion, with a chalk-white front, a hundred balconies, and a dozen flags flying from its roof, to the little Swiss pension of an elder day, with its name inscribed in German- looking lettering upon a pink or yellow wall and an awkward summerhouse in the angle of the garden. One of the hotels at Vevey, however, is famous, even classical, being distinguished from many of its upstart neighbors by an air both of luxury and of maturity. In this region, in the month of June, American travelers are extremely numerous; it may be said, indeed, that Vevey assumes at this period some of the characteristics of an American watering place. There are sights and sounds which evoke a vision, an echo, of Newport and Saratoga. There is a flitting hither and thither of "stylish" young girls, a rustling of muslin flounces, a rattle of dance music in the morning hours, a sound of high-pitched voices at all times. You receive an impression of these things at the excellent inn of the "Trois Couronnes" and are transported in fancy to the Ocean House or to Congress Hall. But at the "Trois Couronnes," it must be added, there are other features that are much at variance with these suggestions: neat German waiters, who look like secretaries of legation; Russian princesses sitting in the garden; little Polish boys walking about held by the hand, with their governors; a view of the sunny crest of the Dent du Midi and the picturesque towers of the Castle of Chillon. I hardly know whether it was the analogies or the differences that were uppermost in the mind of a young American, who, two or three years ago, sat in the garden of the "Trois Couronnes," looking about him, rather idly, at some of the graceful objects I have mentioned. It was a beautiful summer morning, and in whatever fashion the young American looked at things, they must have seemed to him charming. He had come from Geneva the day before by the little steamer, to see his aunt, who was staying at the hotel. But his aunt had a headache—his aunt had almost always a headache—and now she was shut up in her room, smelling camphor, so that he was at liberty to wander about. He was some seven-and-twenty years of age; when his friends spoke of him, they usually said that he was at Geneva "studying. " When his enemies spoke of him, they said—but, after all, he had no enemies; he was an extremely amiable fellow, and universally liked. What I should say is, simply, that when certain persons spoke of him they affirmed that the reason of his spending so much time at Geneva was that he was extremely devoted to a lady who lived there—a foreign lady—a person older than himself. Very few Americans—indeed, I think none—had ever seen this lady, about whom there were some singular stories. But Winterbourne had an old attachment for the little metropolis of Calvinism; he had been put to school there as a boy, and he had afterward gone to college there-circumstances which had led to his forming a great many youthful friendships. Many of these he had kept, and they were a source of great satisfaction to him. After knocking at his aunt’s door and learning that she was under the weather, he had taken a walk about the town, and then he had come in to his breakfast. He had now finished his breakfast; but he was drinking a small cup of coffee, which had been served to him on a little table in the garden by one of the waiters who looked like an attache. At last he finished his coffee and lit a cigarette. Presently a small boy came walking along the path—an urchin of nine or ten. The child, who was diminutive for his years, had an aged expression of countenance, a pale complexion, and sharp little features. He was dressed in knickerbockers, with red stockings, which displayed his poor little spindle-shanks; he also wore a brilliant red cravat. He carried in his hand a long alpenstock, the sharp point of which he thrust into everything that he approached—the flowerbeds, the garden benches, the trains of the ladies’ dresses. In front of Winterbourne he paused, looking at him with a pair of bright, penetrating little eyes. Which of the following statements is NOT true of Winterbourne
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