15. The sacred flame of Olympics traveled from Greece to the host country in creative ways, such as:

听力原文：M: I didn't see you in creative writing class today. What happened?

W: Oh, just a dentist appointment. That's all. Say, did we get a new assignment for next week?

M: Yeah. A really interesting one, actually. We're supposed to write a short story that has some sort of limitation or, constraints imposed on it.

W: What do you mean? Like rhyming in a poem?

M: Well, that's somewhat the idea. But what we write has to be a prose, as prose poetry. Just to make rhyme in a poem is too easy, I guess. I think Prof. Smith really wants us to challenge ourselves, to put our creativity to the test.

W: Well, did she give any hints about what's on her mind'?

M: Not really, but I may have an idea, the kind of thing what she's looking for. I just finished a really strange book by some French guy. He wrote a whole book without even using a single letter "e".

W: A whole book without a single "e"?. How's that possible? But, wait a minute. I didn't know you can read French.

M: I can't. I read the English translation. But get this. There's not one "e" in that either.

W: No way. Think of the words you couldn't use.

M: I know, but that translator manages it. I got the book at home if you want to check out for yourself. what's really amazing to me is that leaving a letter "e" in English is gonna involve a complete different group of words and ends in French

W: Sometime you have to show me that book. But right now I better get going the writing for next week. I already have a couple of ideas thanks to you. And I think I just might be able to work on it to something interesting.

(20)

A．Bemuse she went shopping.

B．Because she went on a date.

C．Because she went to see the doctor.

D．Because she had a business appointment.

1 Mr. Duffy raised his eyes from the paper and gazed out of his window on the cheerless evening landscape. The river lay quiet beside the empty distillery and from time to time a light appeared in some house on Lucan Road. What an end! The whole narrative of her death revolted him and it revolted him to think that he had ever spoken to her of what he held sacred. The cautious words of a reporter won over to conceal the details of a commonplace vulgar death attacked his stomach. Not merely had she degraded herself; she had degraded him. His soul's companion. He thought of the hobbling wretches whom he had seem carrying cans and bottles to be filled by the barman. Just God, what an end! Evidently she had been unfit to live, without any strength of purpose, an easy prey to habits, one of the wrecks on which civilization has been reared. But that she could have sunk so low! Was it possible he had deceived himself so utterly about her? He remembered her outburst of that night and interpreted it in a harsher sense than he had ever done. He had no difficulty now in approving of the course he had taken.

2 As the light failed and his memory began to wander he thought her hand touched his. The shock which had first attacked his stomach was now attacking his nerves. He put on his overcoat and hat quickly and went out. The cold air met him on the threshold; it crept into the sleeves of his coat. When he came to the public-house at Chapel Bridge he went in and ordered a hot punch.

3 The proprietor served him obsequiously but did not venture to talk. There were five or six working-men in the shop discussing the value of a gentleman's estate in County Kildare. They drank at intervals from their huge pint tumblers, and smoked, spitting often on the floor and sometimes dragging the sawdust over their heavy boots. Mr. Dully sat on his stool and gazed at them, without seeing or hearing them. After a while they went out and he called for another punch. He sat a long time over it. The shop was very quiet. The proprietor sprawled on the counter reading the newspaper and yawning. Now and again a tram was heard swishing along the lonely road outside.

4 As he sat there, living over his life with her and evoking alternately the two images on which he now conceived her, he realized that she was dead, that she had ceased to exist, that she had become a memory. He began to feel ill at ease. He asked himself what else could he have done. He could not have lived with her openly. He had done what seemed to him best. How was he to blame? Now that she was gone he understood how lonely her life must have been, sitting night after night alone in that room. His life would be lonely too until he, too, died, ceased to exist, became a memory -- if anyone remembered him.

Mr. Duffy's immediate reaction to the report of the woman's death was that of

A．disgust.

B．guilt.

C．grief.

D．compassion.

Mr Duffy raised his eyes from the paper and gazed out of his window on the cheerless evening landscape. The river lay quiet beside the empty distillery and from time to time a light appeared in some house on Lucan Road. What an end! The whole narrative of her death revolted him and it revolted him to think that he had ever spoken to her of what he held sacred. The cautious words of a reporter won over to conceal the details of a commonplace vulgar death attacked his stomach. Not merely had she degraded herself; she had degraded him. His soul's companion! He thought of the hobbling wretches whom he had seen carrying cans and bottles to be filled by the barman. Just God, what an end! Evidently she had been unfit to live, without any strength of purpose, an easy prey to habits, one of the wrecks on which civilization has been reared. But that she could have sunk so low! Was it possible he had deceived himself so utterly about her? He remembered her outburst of that night and interpreted it in a harsher sense than he had ever done. He had no. difficulty now in approving of the course he had taken.

As the light failed and his memory began to wander he thought her hand touched his. The shock which had first attacked his stomach was now attacking his nerves. He put on his overcoat and hat quickly and went out. The cold air met him on the threshold; it crept into the sleeves of his coat. When he came to the public house at Chapel Bridge he went in and ordered a hot punch.

The proprietor served him obsequiously but did not venture to talk. There were five or six working-men in the shop discussing the value of a gentleman's estate in County Kildare. They drank at intervals from their huge pint tumblers, and smoked, spitting often on the floor and sometimes dragging the sawdust over their heavy boots. Mr Duffy sat on his stool and gazed at them, without seeing or hearing them. After a while they went out and he called for another punch. He sat a long time over it. The shop was very quiet. The proprietor sprawled on the counter reading the newspaper and yawning. Now and again a tram was heard swishing along the lonely road outside.

As he sat there, living over his life with her and evoking alternately the two images on which he now conceived her, he realized that she was dead, that she had ceased to exist, that she had become a memory. He began to feel ill at ease. He asked himself what else could he have done. He could not have lived with her openly. He had done what seemed to him best. How was he to blame? Now that she was gone he understood how lonely her life must have been, sitting night after night alone in that room. His life would be lonely too until he, too, died, ceased to exist, became a memory -- if anyone remembered him.

Mr Duffy's immediate reaction to the report of the woman's death was that of

A．disgust.

B．guilt.

C．grief.

D．compassion.

Mr Duffy raised his eyes from the paper and gazed out of his window on the cheerless evening landscape. The river lay quiet beside the empty distillery and from time to time a light appeared in some house on Lucan Road. What an end! The whole narrative of her death revolted him and it revolted him to think that he had ever spoken to her of what he held sacred. The cautious words of a reporter won over to conceal the details of a commonplace vulgar death attacked his stomach. Not merely had she degraded herself, she had degraded him. His soul's companion! He thought of the hobbling wretches whom he had seen carrying cans and bottles to be filled by the barman. Just God, what an end! Evidently she had been unfit to live, without any strength of purpose, an easy prey to habits, one of the wrecks on which civilization has been reared. But that she could have sunk so low! Was it possible he had deceived himself so utterly about her? He remembered her outburst of that night and interpreted it in a harsher sense than he had ever done. He had no difficulty now in approving of the course he had taken.

As the light failed and his memory began to wander he thought her hand touched his. The shock which had first attacked his stomach was now attacking his nerves. He put on his overcoat and hat quickly and went out. The cold air met him on the threshold; it crept into the sleeves of his coat. When he came to the public-house at Chapel Bridge he went in and ordered a hot punch.

The proprietor served him obsequiously but did not venture to talk. There were five or six working-men in the shop discussing the value of a gentleman's estate in County Kildare. They drank at intervals from their huge pint tumblers, and smoked, spitting often on the floor and sometimes dragging the sawdust over their heavy boots. Mr Duffy sat on his stool and gazed at them, without seeing or hearing them. After a while they went out and he called for another punch. He sat a long time over it. The shop was very quiet. The proprietor sprawled on the counter reading the newspaper and yawning. Now and again a tram was heard swishing along the lonely road outside.

As he sat there, living over his life with her and evoking alternately the two images on which he now conceived her, he realized that she was dead, that she had ceased to exist, that she had become a memory. He began to feel ill at ease. He asked himself what else could he have done. He could not have lived with her openly. He had done what seemed to him best. How was he to blame? Now that she was gone he understood how lonely her life must have been, sitting night after night alone in that room. His life would be lonely too until he, too, died, ceased to exist, became a memory--if anyone remembered him.

Mr Duffy's immediate reaction to the report of the woman's death was that of______.

A．disgust

B．guilt

C．grief

D．compassion

More attention was paid to the quality of production in France at the time of Rene Coty. Charles Deschanel was then the financial minister. He stressed that workmanship and quality were more important than quantity for industrial production. It would be necessary to produce quality goods for the international market to balance its import and export trade.

French industrial and agricultural production was still inadequate to meet the immediate needs of the people, let alone longranged developments. Essential imports had stretched (使…紧张) the national credit to the breaking point. Rents were tightly controlled, but the extreme inflation(通货膨胀) affected general population most severely through the cost of food. Food costs took as much as 80 percent of the workers'income. Wages, it is true, had risen. Extensive family allowances and benefits were paid by the state, and there was fulltime and overtime employment. Taken together, these factors enabled the working class to exist but allowed them no sense of security. In this precarious(危险的) and discouraging situation, workmen were willing to work overseas for higher wages.

The government was reluctant to let workers leave the country. It was feared this migration of workers would deplete (使减少、使枯竭) the labor force. The lack of qualified workers might hinder the improvement in the quality of industrial products produced. Qualified workers employed abroad would only in crease the quantity of quality goods produced in foreign countries. Also the quantity of quality goods produced in France would not be able to increase as part of its qualified labor force moved to other countries.

In the view of Charles Deschanel, ______ was significant for industrial production.

A．improving quality of products

B．increasing quantity of products

C．increasing the number of imported products

D．improving working conditions

Unforgettable Olympic Moments

Since French baron Pierre de Coubertin gave fresh life to the Olympic movement in 1896, the Games have been witness to some of the most unforgettable moments in sports. Some of those moments have been dazzling athletic achievements. Others have been moments that organizers would have preferred never happened. But good or had, these events have helped create the memories that shape our perceptions of the Olympic Games to the present day. So here, in no particular order, are seven unforgettable moments from the Summer Olympic Games.

Jesse Owens--Berlin 1936

In 1936, Nazi Germany played host to the Summer Olympics, and Germany's Adolf Hitler was determined to prove the superiority of the Aryan race. African-American track star Jesse Owens, a son of a sharecropper and the grandson of slaves, had other plans. In a display that dealt a tremendous blow to the Nazi's racist ideology, Owens won the 100-meter dash, the 200-meter dash and the long jump. He was also a key member of the 400-meter relay team that won the gold medal.

He set records in three of those events. He was the first American to ever win four medals in an Olympic Games.

But as Owens himself later noted, his single-handed destruction of Hitler's myth of Aryan superiority did little at the time to advance the cause of African-Americans in the US.

"When I came hack to my native country, after all the stories about Hitler, I couldn't ride in the front of the bus," Owens said. "I had to go to the back door. I couldn't live where 1 wanted. I wasn't invited to shake hands with Hitler, but I wasn't invited to the White House to shake hands with the president, either. ' The Soviet Union-USA Gold Medal Basketball

Final-Munich 1972

It was as had a call by officials as has ever been made in a sporting contest. The 1972 gold medal basketball game between the United States and the Soviet Union was a real squeaker, but it looked as if the Americans had pulled it out. But that was not to be, as long-time Monitor sports writer and now sports blogger (博客) Ross Atkins recalled recently:

After the US appeared to have kept its perfect Olympic record intact and escaped a huge upset by the Soviets in the men's final, the referees twice decided to put three seconds back on the clock. The Soviets managed to score the winning basket on the second replay and win the gold medal. Distraught by what they considered an injustice, the members of US team voted unanimously to refuse their silver medals. They've never reneged, and to this day the medals sit in a Swiss vault.

How seriously do the American players who played on that team take this boycott? Team captain Kenny Davis actually placed in his will a request that his wife and children can never, ever receive the silver medal from that game.

Ethiopian Abebe Bikila Wins a Gold Medal While Running Barefoot--Rome 1960

Abebe Bikila was a young member of the Imperial Bodyguard of Ethiopia when he ran the marathon in the 1960 Games in Rome. Up until that time, no black African had ever won a gold medal in the Olympic Games, let alone a prestigious track and field event like the marathon. But Bikila, running without his shoes in the chilly dawn of a Roman summer day, broke that dry spell, and set a new world record at the same time.

It was fitting that his win came in Italy, the nation that had invaded his homeland three decades earlier. His feat captured the imagination of the entire world. Four years later in Tokyo, he repeated it, becoming the first man to ever win gold 'in two Olympic. marathons (a feat only duplicated once) .

He also established a trend that has to this day dominated long-distance events around the globe: the superiority of runners from eastern Africa.

Mark Spitz' Seven Gold Medals-Munich 1972

A．Y

B．N

C．NG