题目内容

Going to the beach is many Americans’favorite activity. In the area near New York City, nine million people used to go to the beach every summer. They went swimming in the ocean without giving a thought to what was underwater. But those days are long gone. In the summer of 1988. the government was forced to shut down beaches all over America. Many of the beaches had to be closed because garbage from hospitals was found in the water. The garbage included glass bottles with samples of blood, and people were afraid they might get AIDS from the blood. Where the medical garbage came from is anybody’s guess. At some beaches, sewage (生活污水) was found in the water. Americans were shocked by this state of affairs. They had long taken for granted that oceans were big enough to stay clean, even if garbage and sewage were dumped into them. People didn’t think of the underwater garbage because it was out of sight. Some of the most polluted waters still look beautiful at first glance. San Francisco Bay is a good example of a beautiful bay that’s full of chemicals. Scientists discovered pollution in some lakes and rivers when they found fish with rotting skin. In many parts of America, people are told not to eat too much fish because of pollution. Most American cities put their garbage in the ground. But New York and a few other cities put their garbage in the ocean. Boston Harbor is so polluted that scientists say it won’t recover until the next century at best. The city of Boston puts its sewage in the water. The government has ordered the city to build a sewage treatment plant. Cleaning up oceans won’t be easy, but people can no longer ignore this challenge. If fish live in polluted waters people should not ______.

查看答案

搜索结果不匹配？点我反馈

更多问题

Start at the beginning: Civil Service clerk, temporary, at the local Ministry of Works depot in my hometown, can’t get any lower than that. At the base of the bureaucratic pyramid, buried alive in fact, the temporary clerk is the navy of the Civil Service, without status or security. When I took the job I’d only worked in factories, and so I was a bit in awe of the office world I was about to enter. As an apprentice, queuing in the spotless corridor on Thursday outside the wage windows, peering in at the comparative purity of desks and paper and slick, dandified staff, you got a queer, dizzy sensation. My brother was a clerk himself, at the Council House, but I never connected him with this Thursday vision. On my first day as a clerk, going down the street with my brother, I confessed how nervous I was." Listen,"he said, " you can write your name, can’t you You can add up Then you can be a clerk. " It was true. The depot was a big old house near the city centre, with the offices upstairs. My boss had a room at the front to himself, and behind him was a door leading to my den, which contained three others. This boss, a big, bumbling, embarrassed man, addressed us all with the "Mr. " fixed firmly between, as if to maintain his distance. Everyone accepted his remoteness as inevitable, something which struck me as weird from the beginning, especially as you had to go to and fro behind his chair to the outer door every time you went anywhere. The boss sat through it all encased in silence and dignity, like an Under Secretary. Holed up in the back room it was snug and at first I liked it, till the novelty wore off and the chronic, stagnant boredom began to take over. An old man, the only other temporary, made tea in the corner where he sat, and he did all the menial labouring jobs, stamping and numbering timesheets, sorting vouchers: so at first I helped him. The other two did the more skilled entering and balancing, working on wage sheets and other mysteries I never penetrated. It seemed to culminate, their activity, in the grand climax of pay-day, which was Friday. Then the boss, for an hour or so, came out of his fastness and was nearly human. He would march in smiling with the box stuffed full of money, and together they would count and parcel it. Out went the box again, stuffed with pay envelopes. The old man was treated with amiable contempt by the established clerks, who asserted their superiority now and again, and, as the old man was deaf, kept up a running commentary, half fun and half malice, which they evidently found necessary to break the monotony. Before long I needed it as much as they did. The worst aspect of a clerk’s existence was being rubbed into me: it’s how prison must be. At first you don’t even notice, then it starts to bite in. Because of the terrible limitation of your physical freedom-chained to a desk is right-you are soon forced to make your own amusements in order to make life bearable. You have to liven it up. And with the construction comes inevitably an undertow of bitterness and all kinds of petty behaviour arise out of the robbing frustration, the enforced closeness. Plenty of it is malicious. Another clerical job, at a builder’s merchants, was redeemed to some extent by the fact that you were actually in the warehouse, among storemen, sales reps, and all the tangible, fascinating paraphernalia of the trade. Racks and bins and lofts stacked with it. One occupational hazard facing a clerk is always the sense of futility he struggles against, or is more often just overwhelmed by. Unlike even the humblest worker on a production line, he doesn’t produce anything. He battles with phantoms, abstracts; runs in a paper chase that goes on year after year, and seems utterly pointless. How can there be anything else other than boredom in it for him What kind of jobs did the old man in the writer’s office room do

Start at the beginning: Civil Service clerk, temporary, at the local Ministry of Works depot in my hometown, can’t get any lower than that. At the base of the bureaucratic pyramid, buried alive in fact, the temporary clerk is the navy of the Civil Service, without status or security. When I took the job I’d only worked in factories, and so I was a bit in awe of the office world I was about to enter. As an apprentice, queuing in the spotless corridor on Thursday outside the wage windows, peering in at the comparative purity of desks and paper and slick, dandified staff, you got a queer, dizzy sensation. My brother was a clerk himself, at the Council House, but I never connected him with this Thursday vision. On my first day as a clerk, going down the street with my brother, I confessed how nervous I was." Listen,"he said, " you can write your name, can’t you You can add up Then you can be a clerk. " It was true. The depot was a big old house near the city centre, with the offices upstairs. My boss had a room at the front to himself, and behind him was a door leading to my den, which contained three others. This boss, a big, bumbling, embarrassed man, addressed us all with the "Mr. " fixed firmly between, as if to maintain his distance. Everyone accepted his remoteness as inevitable, something which struck me as weird from the beginning, especially as you had to go to and fro behind his chair to the outer door every time you went anywhere. The boss sat through it all encased in silence and dignity, like an Under Secretary. Holed up in the back room it was snug and at first I liked it, till the novelty wore off and the chronic, stagnant boredom began to take over. An old man, the only other temporary, made tea in the corner where he sat, and he did all the menial labouring jobs, stamping and numbering timesheets, sorting vouchers: so at first I helped him. The other two did the more skilled entering and balancing, working on wage sheets and other mysteries I never penetrated. It seemed to culminate, their activity, in the grand climax of pay-day, which was Friday. Then the boss, for an hour or so, came out of his fastness and was nearly human. He would march in smiling with the box stuffed full of money, and together they would count and parcel it. Out went the box again, stuffed with pay envelopes. The old man was treated with amiable contempt by the established clerks, who asserted their superiority now and again, and, as the old man was deaf, kept up a running commentary, half fun and half malice, which they evidently found necessary to break the monotony. Before long I needed it as much as they did. The worst aspect of a clerk’s existence was being rubbed into me: it’s how prison must be. At first you don’t even notice, then it starts to bite in. Because of the terrible limitation of your physical freedom-chained to a desk is right-you are soon forced to make your own amusements in order to make life bearable. You have to liven it up. And with the construction comes inevitably an undertow of bitterness and all kinds of petty behaviour arise out of the robbing frustration, the enforced closeness. Plenty of it is malicious. Another clerical job, at a builder’s merchants, was redeemed to some extent by the fact that you were actually in the warehouse, among storemen, sales reps, and all the tangible, fascinating paraphernalia of the trade. Racks and bins and lofts stacked with it. One occupational hazard facing a clerk is always the sense of futility he struggles against, or is more often just overwhelmed by. Unlike even the humblest worker on a production line, he doesn’t produce anything. He battles with phantoms, abstracts; runs in a paper chase that goes on year after year, and seems utterly pointless. How can there be anything else other than boredom in it for him How many people shared an office room with the writer

Start at the beginning: Civil Service clerk, temporary, at the local Ministry of Works depot in my hometown, can’t get any lower than that. At the base of the bureaucratic pyramid, buried alive in fact, the temporary clerk is the navy of the Civil Service, without status or security. When I took the job I’d only worked in factories, and so I was a bit in awe of the office world I was about to enter. As an apprentice, queuing in the spotless corridor on Thursday outside the wage windows, peering in at the comparative purity of desks and paper and slick, dandified staff, you got a queer, dizzy sensation. My brother was a clerk himself, at the Council House, but I never connected him with this Thursday vision. On my first day as a clerk, going down the street with my brother, I confessed how nervous I was." Listen,"he said, " you can write your name, can’t you You can add up Then you can be a clerk. " It was true. The depot was a big old house near the city centre, with the offices upstairs. My boss had a room at the front to himself, and behind him was a door leading to my den, which contained three others. This boss, a big, bumbling, embarrassed man, addressed us all with the "Mr. " fixed firmly between, as if to maintain his distance. Everyone accepted his remoteness as inevitable, something which struck me as weird from the beginning, especially as you had to go to and fro behind his chair to the outer door every time you went anywhere. The boss sat through it all encased in silence and dignity, like an Under Secretary. Holed up in the back room it was snug and at first I liked it, till the novelty wore off and the chronic, stagnant boredom began to take over. An old man, the only other temporary, made tea in the corner where he sat, and he did all the menial labouring jobs, stamping and numbering timesheets, sorting vouchers: so at first I helped him. The other two did the more skilled entering and balancing, working on wage sheets and other mysteries I never penetrated. It seemed to culminate, their activity, in the grand climax of pay-day, which was Friday. Then the boss, for an hour or so, came out of his fastness and was nearly human. He would march in smiling with the box stuffed full of money, and together they would count and parcel it. Out went the box again, stuffed with pay envelopes. The old man was treated with amiable contempt by the established clerks, who asserted their superiority now and again, and, as the old man was deaf, kept up a running commentary, half fun and half malice, which they evidently found necessary to break the monotony. Before long I needed it as much as they did. The worst aspect of a clerk’s existence was being rubbed into me: it’s how prison must be. At first you don’t even notice, then it starts to bite in. Because of the terrible limitation of your physical freedom-chained to a desk is right-you are soon forced to make your own amusements in order to make life bearable. You have to liven it up. And with the construction comes inevitably an undertow of bitterness and all kinds of petty behaviour arise out of the robbing frustration, the enforced closeness. Plenty of it is malicious. Another clerical job, at a builder’s merchants, was redeemed to some extent by the fact that you were actually in the warehouse, among storemen, sales reps, and all the tangible, fascinating paraphernalia of the trade. Racks and bins and lofts stacked with it. One occupational hazard facing a clerk is always the sense of futility he struggles against, or is more often just overwhelmed by. Unlike even the humblest worker on a production line, he doesn’t produce anything. He battles with phantoms, abstracts; runs in a paper chase that goes on year after year, and seems utterly pointless. How can there be anything else other than boredom in it for him How did the writer feel when he first went to the Civil Service office with his brother

Y(for Yes) if the statement agrees with the information given in the passage; N (for No) if the statement contradicts the information given in the passage; NG(for Not Given) if the information is not given in the passage. The Outdoor Centre Opening times Water sports: 10 am-6 pm Play Park: 10 am-5:30 pm Entrance/Car park fees Low season: Weekdays ￡2.00 per car Weekends ￡3.00 per car High season: 23 July-11 September Weekdays and weekends ￡3.00 per car Fees are for cars with four people. Each extra person is 50p. Fees to be paid at the main orifice. The center is not a private club; it is an organization whose aim is to provide outdoor sports and recreation facilities for the public. Group visitors are requested to inform the center in advance of their intended visit. Windsurfing-One-day course Beginner windsurfing course is offered on Saturdays and Sundays when the weather is good enough. Learning to windsurf is a lot of fun. The excitement when you sail across the water for the first time is not easily forgotten. Boards with small sails are available for beginners. Course fee: ￡32.50(this includes all equipment) One-day adventure course This is an opportunity you have been waiting for. Come and try sailing, climbing, surfing and archery. This course is intended to introduce outdoor activities to adults in a fun, leisurely manner. You do not need to be extremely fit or to have had previous experience of the activities. All you need is to be interested. Course fee: ￡22.50 Play Park The Play Park is suitable for children from two to ten years of age. It is one of the best of its type in the country. It has sand and water play, slides, large ball pool, play castle and much, much more. Next year the center will open a new Play Palace and Play Ship. Summer adventure holidays(for 14-18 years of age) Sailing Climbing Windsurfing Fun Games Statement: Safety is of primary importance at the Outdoor Center. All staff members are fully trained in First Aid, and qualified to teach the activities on offer. We also make certain that all children only take part in activities that are suitable for their age and physical abilities. For this programme children must be able to swim 25 metres and be in good physical health. Statements: The centre has special equipment for people who learn to sail.