题目内容
He is waiting for the airline ticket counter when he first notices the young woman. She has glossy black hair pulled tightly into a knot at the back of her head and carries over the shoulder of her leather coat a heavy black purse. She wears black boots of soft leather and her beauty quickens his heart beat. The airline clerk interrupts. The man gives up looking at the woman -- he thinks she may be about twenty-five -- and buys a round-trip, coach class ticket to an eastern city. His flight leaves in an hour. To kill time, the man steps into one of the airport cocktail bars and orders a scotch and water. While he sips it he catches sight of the black-haired girl in the leather coat. She is standing near a Travelers Aid counter, deep in conversation with a second girl, a blond in a cloth coat trimmed with gray fur. He wants somehow to attract the brunette’s attention, to invite her to have a drink with him before her own flight leaves for wherever she is traveling, but even though he believes for a moment she is looking his way he cannot catch her eye from out of the shadows of the bar. In another instant the two women separate; neither of their direction is toward him. He orders a second Scotch and water. When next he sees her, he is buying a magazine to read during the flight and becomes aware that someone is jostling him. At first he is startled that anyone would be so close as to touch him, but when he sees who it is he musters a smile. "Busy place," he says. She looks up at him -- is she blushing -- and an odd grimace crosses her mouth and vanishes. She moves away from him and joins the crowds in the terminal. The man is at the counter with his magazine, but when he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet the pocket is empty. Where could I have lost it He thinks. His mind begins enumerating the credit cards, the currency, the membership and identification cards; his stomach churns with something very like fear. The girl who was so near to me, he thinks -- and all at once he understands that she has picked his pocket. What is he to do He still has his ticket, safely tucked inside his suitcoat -- he reaches into the jacket to feel the envelope, to make sure. He can take the flight, call someone to pick him up at his destination -- since he cannot even afford bus fare -- conduct his business and fly home. But in the meantime he will have to do something about the lost credit cards -- call home, have his wife get the numbers out of the top desk drawer, phone the card companies -- so difficult a process, the whole thing suffocating. What shall he do First, find a policeman, tell what has happened, describe the young woman, damn her. He grits his teeth. He will probably never see his wallet again. He is trying to decide if he should save time for talking to a guard near the X-ray machines when he is appalled and elated to see the black-haired girl. She is seated against a front window of the terminal, taxis and private cars moving sluggishly beyond her in the gathering darkness: she seems engrossed in a book. A seat beside her is empty, and the man occupies it. "I’ve been looking for you," he says. She glances at him with no sort of recognition. "I don’t know you," she says. "Sure you do." She sighs and puts the book aside. "Is this all you characters think about -- picking up girls like we were stray animals What do you think I am" "You lifted my wallet," he says. He is pleased to have said "lifted", thinking it sounds wordier than stole or took or even ripped off. "I beg your pardon" the girl says. "I know you did -- at the magazine counter. If you’ll just give it back, we can forget the whole thing, If you don’t, then I’ll hand you over to the police." She studies him, her face serious. "All right," she says. She pulls the black bag onto her lap, reaches into it and draws out a wallet. He takes it from her. "Wait a minute," be says. "This isn’t mine." The girl runs, he bolts after her until he hears a woman’s voice behind him: "Stop, thief! Stop that man!" Ahead of him the brunette disappears around a comer and in the same moment a young man in a marine uniform puts out a foot to trip him up. He falls hard, banging knee and elbow on the tile floor of the terminal, but manages to hang on to the wallet which is not his. The wallet is a woman’s, fat with money and credit cards, and it belongs to the blonde in the fur trimmed coat -- the blonde he has earlier seen in conversation with the criminal brunette. She, too, is breathless, as is the police man with her. "That’s him," the blonde girl says. "He lifted my billfold." It occurs to the man that he cannot even prove his own identity to the policeman. Two weeks later -- the embarrassment and rage have diminished, the family lawyer has been paid, the confusion in his household has receded -- the wallet turns up without explanation in one morning’s mall. It is intact, no money is missing, all the cards are in place. Though he is relieved, the man thinks that for the rest of his life he will feel guilty around policemen, and ashamed in the presence of women. The man sat beside the black-haired girl to ______.
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He is waiting for the airline ticket counter when he first notices the young woman. She has glossy black hair pulled tightly into a knot at the back of her head and carries over the shoulder of her leather coat a heavy black purse. She wears black boots of soft leather and her beauty quickens his heart beat. The airline clerk interrupts. The man gives up looking at the woman -- he thinks she may be about twenty-five -- and buys a round-trip, coach class ticket to an eastern city. His flight leaves in an hour. To kill time, the man steps into one of the airport cocktail bars and orders a scotch and water. While he sips it he catches sight of the black-haired girl in the leather coat. She is standing near a Travelers Aid counter, deep in conversation with a second girl, a blond in a cloth coat trimmed with gray fur. He wants somehow to attract the brunette’s attention, to invite her to have a drink with him before her own flight leaves for wherever she is traveling, but even though he believes for a moment she is looking his way he cannot catch her eye from out of the shadows of the bar. In another instant the two women separate; neither of their direction is toward him. He orders a second Scotch and water. When next he sees her, he is buying a magazine to read during the flight and becomes aware that someone is jostling him. At first he is startled that anyone would be so close as to touch him, but when he sees who it is he musters a smile. "Busy place," he says. She looks up at him -- is she blushing -- and an odd grimace crosses her mouth and vanishes. She moves away from him and joins the crowds in the terminal. The man is at the counter with his magazine, but when he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet the pocket is empty. Where could I have lost it He thinks. His mind begins enumerating the credit cards, the currency, the membership and identification cards; his stomach churns with something very like fear. The girl who was so near to me, he thinks -- and all at once he understands that she has picked his pocket. What is he to do He still has his ticket, safely tucked inside his suitcoat -- he reaches into the jacket to feel the envelope, to make sure. He can take the flight, call someone to pick him up at his destination -- since he cannot even afford bus fare -- conduct his business and fly home. But in the meantime he will have to do something about the lost credit cards -- call home, have his wife get the numbers out of the top desk drawer, phone the card companies -- so difficult a process, the whole thing suffocating. What shall he do First, find a policeman, tell what has happened, describe the young woman, damn her. He grits his teeth. He will probably never see his wallet again. He is trying to decide if he should save time for talking to a guard near the X-ray machines when he is appalled and elated to see the black-haired girl. She is seated against a front window of the terminal, taxis and private cars moving sluggishly beyond her in the gathering darkness: she seems engrossed in a book. A seat beside her is empty, and the man occupies it. "I’ve been looking for you," he says. She glances at him with no sort of recognition. "I don’t know you," she says. "Sure you do." She sighs and puts the book aside. "Is this all you characters think about -- picking up girls like we were stray animals What do you think I am" "You lifted my wallet," he says. He is pleased to have said "lifted", thinking it sounds wordier than stole or took or even ripped off. "I beg your pardon" the girl says. "I know you did -- at the magazine counter. If you’ll just give it back, we can forget the whole thing, If you don’t, then I’ll hand you over to the police." She studies him, her face serious. "All right," she says. She pulls the black bag onto her lap, reaches into it and draws out a wallet. He takes it from her. "Wait a minute," be says. "This isn’t mine." The girl runs, he bolts after her until he hears a woman’s voice behind him: "Stop, thief! Stop that man!" Ahead of him the brunette disappears around a comer and in the same moment a young man in a marine uniform puts out a foot to trip him up. He falls hard, banging knee and elbow on the tile floor of the terminal, but manages to hang on to the wallet which is not his. The wallet is a woman’s, fat with money and credit cards, and it belongs to the blonde in the fur trimmed coat -- the blonde he has earlier seen in conversation with the criminal brunette. She, too, is breathless, as is the police man with her. "That’s him," the blonde girl says. "He lifted my billfold." It occurs to the man that he cannot even prove his own identity to the policeman. Two weeks later -- the embarrassment and rage have diminished, the family lawyer has been paid, the confusion in his household has receded -- the wallet turns up without explanation in one morning’s mall. It is intact, no money is missing, all the cards are in place. Though he is relieved, the man thinks that for the rest of his life he will feel guilty around policemen, and ashamed in the presence of women. The word "brunette" in the third paragraph refers to ______.
A funny thing happened on the way to the communications revolution: we stopped talking to one another. I was walking in the park with a friend recently, and his cell phone rang, interrupting our conversation. There we were, walking and talking on a beautiful sunny day and -- poof! -- I became invisible, absent from the conversation. The park was filled with people talking on their cell phones. They were passing other people without looking at them, saying hello, noticing their babies or stopping to pet their puppies. Evidently, the untethered electronic voice is preferable to human contact. The telephone used to connect you to the absent. Now it makes people sitting next to you feel absent. Recently I was in a car with three friends. The driver shushed the rest of us because he could not hear the person on the other end of his cell phone. There we were, four friends zooming down the highway, unable to talk to one another because of a gadget designed to make communication easier. Why is it that the more connected we get, the more disconnected I feel Every advance in communications technology is a setback to the intimacy of human interaction. With e-mail and instant messaging over the Internet, we can now communicate without seeing or talking to one another. With voice mail, you can conduct entire conversations without ever reaching anyone. If my mom has a question, I just leave the answer on her machine. As almost every conceivable contact between human beings gets automated, the alienation index goes up. You can’t even call a person to get the phone number of another person anymore. Directory assistance is almost always fully automated. Pumping gas at the station Why say good-morning to the attendant when you can swipe your credit card at the pump and save yourself the both. Making a deposit at the bank Why talk to a clerk who might live in the neighborhood when you can just insert your card into the ATM Pretty soon you won’t have the burden of making eye contact at the grocery store. Some supermarket chains are using a self-scanner so you can check yourself out, avoiding those annoying clerks who look at you and ask how you are doing. I am no Luddite. I own a cell phone, an ATM card, a voice-mall system, an e-mail account. Giving them up isn’t an option -- they’re great for what they’re intended to do. It’s their unintended consequences that make me cringe. More and more, I find myself hiding behind e-mall to do a job meant for conversation. Or being relieved that voice mail picked up because I didn’t really have time to talk. The industry devoted to helping me keep in touch is making me lonelier -- or at least facilitating my antisocial instincts. So I’ve put myself on technology restriction: no instant messaging with people who live near me, no cell-phoning in the presence of friends, no letting the voice mall pick up when I’m home. What good is all this gee-whiz technology if there’s no one in the room to hear you exclaim, "Gee whiz\ What does the author think of communications technology
He is waiting for the airline ticket counter when he first notices the young woman. She has glossy black hair pulled tightly into a knot at the back of her head and carries over the shoulder of her leather coat a heavy black purse. She wears black boots of soft leather and her beauty quickens his heart beat. The airline clerk interrupts. The man gives up looking at the woman -- he thinks she may be about twenty-five -- and buys a round-trip, coach class ticket to an eastern city. His flight leaves in an hour. To kill time, the man steps into one of the airport cocktail bars and orders a scotch and water. While he sips it he catches sight of the black-haired girl in the leather coat. She is standing near a Travelers Aid counter, deep in conversation with a second girl, a blond in a cloth coat trimmed with gray fur. He wants somehow to attract the brunette’s attention, to invite her to have a drink with him before her own flight leaves for wherever she is traveling, but even though he believes for a moment she is looking his way he cannot catch her eye from out of the shadows of the bar. In another instant the two women separate; neither of their direction is toward him. He orders a second Scotch and water. When next he sees her, he is buying a magazine to read during the flight and becomes aware that someone is jostling him. At first he is startled that anyone would be so close as to touch him, but when he sees who it is he musters a smile. "Busy place," he says. She looks up at him -- is she blushing -- and an odd grimace crosses her mouth and vanishes. She moves away from him and joins the crowds in the terminal. The man is at the counter with his magazine, but when he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet the pocket is empty. Where could I have lost it He thinks. His mind begins enumerating the credit cards, the currency, the membership and identification cards; his stomach churns with something very like fear. The girl who was so near to me, he thinks -- and all at once he understands that she has picked his pocket. What is he to do He still has his ticket, safely tucked inside his suitcoat -- he reaches into the jacket to feel the envelope, to make sure. He can take the flight, call someone to pick him up at his destination -- since he cannot even afford bus fare -- conduct his business and fly home. But in the meantime he will have to do something about the lost credit cards -- call home, have his wife get the numbers out of the top desk drawer, phone the card companies -- so difficult a process, the whole thing suffocating. What shall he do First, find a policeman, tell what has happened, describe the young woman, damn her. He grits his teeth. He will probably never see his wallet again. He is trying to decide if he should save time for talking to a guard near the X-ray machines when he is appalled and elated to see the black-haired girl. She is seated against a front window of the terminal, taxis and private cars moving sluggishly beyond her in the gathering darkness: she seems engrossed in a book. A seat beside her is empty, and the man occupies it. "I’ve been looking for you," he says. She glances at him with no sort of recognition. "I don’t know you," she says. "Sure you do." She sighs and puts the book aside. "Is this all you characters think about -- picking up girls like we were stray animals What do you think I am" "You lifted my wallet," he says. He is pleased to have said "lifted", thinking it sounds wordier than stole or took or even ripped off. "I beg your pardon" the girl says. "I know you did -- at the magazine counter. If you’ll just give it back, we can forget the whole thing, If you don’t, then I’ll hand you over to the police." She studies him, her face serious. "All right," she says. She pulls the black bag onto her lap, reaches into it and draws out a wallet. He takes it from her. "Wait a minute," be says. "This isn’t mine." The girl runs, he bolts after her until he hears a woman’s voice behind him: "Stop, thief! Stop that man!" Ahead of him the brunette disappears around a comer and in the same moment a young man in a marine uniform puts out a foot to trip him up. He falls hard, banging knee and elbow on the tile floor of the terminal, but manages to hang on to the wallet which is not his. The wallet is a woman’s, fat with money and credit cards, and it belongs to the blonde in the fur trimmed coat -- the blonde he has earlier seen in conversation with the criminal brunette. She, too, is breathless, as is the police man with her. "That’s him," the blonde girl says. "He lifted my billfold." It occurs to the man that he cannot even prove his own identity to the policeman. Two weeks later -- the embarrassment and rage have diminished, the family lawyer has been paid, the confusion in his household has receded -- the wallet turns up without explanation in one morning’s mall. It is intact, no money is missing, all the cards are in place. Though he is relieved, the man thinks that for the rest of his life he will feel guilty around policemen, and ashamed in the presence of women. It can be inferred that ______.
He is waiting for the airline ticket counter when he first notices the young woman. She has glossy black hair pulled tightly into a knot at the back of her head and carries over the shoulder of her leather coat a heavy black purse. She wears black boots of soft leather and her beauty quickens his heart beat. The airline clerk interrupts. The man gives up looking at the woman -- he thinks she may be about twenty-five -- and buys a round-trip, coach class ticket to an eastern city. His flight leaves in an hour. To kill time, the man steps into one of the airport cocktail bars and orders a scotch and water. While he sips it he catches sight of the black-haired girl in the leather coat. She is standing near a Travelers Aid counter, deep in conversation with a second girl, a blond in a cloth coat trimmed with gray fur. He wants somehow to attract the brunette’s attention, to invite her to have a drink with him before her own flight leaves for wherever she is traveling, but even though he believes for a moment she is looking his way he cannot catch her eye from out of the shadows of the bar. In another instant the two women separate; neither of their direction is toward him. He orders a second Scotch and water. When next he sees her, he is buying a magazine to read during the flight and becomes aware that someone is jostling him. At first he is startled that anyone would be so close as to touch him, but when he sees who it is he musters a smile. "Busy place," he says. She looks up at him -- is she blushing -- and an odd grimace crosses her mouth and vanishes. She moves away from him and joins the crowds in the terminal. The man is at the counter with his magazine, but when he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet the pocket is empty. Where could I have lost it He thinks. His mind begins enumerating the credit cards, the currency, the membership and identification cards; his stomach churns with something very like fear. The girl who was so near to me, he thinks -- and all at once he understands that she has picked his pocket. What is he to do He still has his ticket, safely tucked inside his suitcoat -- he reaches into the jacket to feel the envelope, to make sure. He can take the flight, call someone to pick him up at his destination -- since he cannot even afford bus fare -- conduct his business and fly home. But in the meantime he will have to do something about the lost credit cards -- call home, have his wife get the numbers out of the top desk drawer, phone the card companies -- so difficult a process, the whole thing suffocating. What shall he do First, find a policeman, tell what has happened, describe the young woman, damn her. He grits his teeth. He will probably never see his wallet again. He is trying to decide if he should save time for talking to a guard near the X-ray machines when he is appalled and elated to see the black-haired girl. She is seated against a front window of the terminal, taxis and private cars moving sluggishly beyond her in the gathering darkness: she seems engrossed in a book. A seat beside her is empty, and the man occupies it. "I’ve been looking for you," he says. She glances at him with no sort of recognition. "I don’t know you," she says. "Sure you do." She sighs and puts the book aside. "Is this all you characters think about -- picking up girls like we were stray animals What do you think I am" "You lifted my wallet," he says. He is pleased to have said "lifted", thinking it sounds wordier than stole or took or even ripped off. "I beg your pardon" the girl says. "I know you did -- at the magazine counter. If you’ll just give it back, we can forget the whole thing, If you don’t, then I’ll hand you over to the police." She studies him, her face serious. "All right," she says. She pulls the black bag onto her lap, reaches into it and draws out a wallet. He takes it from her. "Wait a minute," be says. "This isn’t mine." The girl runs, he bolts after her until he hears a woman’s voice behind him: "Stop, thief! Stop that man!" Ahead of him the brunette disappears around a comer and in the same moment a young man in a marine uniform puts out a foot to trip him up. He falls hard, banging knee and elbow on the tile floor of the terminal, but manages to hang on to the wallet which is not his. The wallet is a woman’s, fat with money and credit cards, and it belongs to the blonde in the fur trimmed coat -- the blonde he has earlier seen in conversation with the criminal brunette. She, too, is breathless, as is the police man with her. "That’s him," the blonde girl says. "He lifted my billfold." It occurs to the man that he cannot even prove his own identity to the policeman. Two weeks later -- the embarrassment and rage have diminished, the family lawyer has been paid, the confusion in his household has receded -- the wallet turns up without explanation in one morning’s mall. It is intact, no money is missing, all the cards are in place. Though he is relieved, the man thinks that for the rest of his life he will feel guilty around policemen, and ashamed in the presence of women. Before the man lost his wallet, he had seen the black-haired girl ______.
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