专业英语八级（阅读）模拟试卷210 (题后含答案及解析)
题型有： 2. READING COMPREHENSION
谚语大全100条
PART II READING COMPREHENSION
SECTION A MULTIPLE-CHOICE QUESTIONSIn this ction there are veral passages followed by fourteen multiple-choice questions. For each multiple-choice question, there are four suggested answers marked [A] , [B], [C] and [D]. Choo the one that you think is the best answer.
李白古风
(1)I went back to the Devon School not long ago, and found it looking oddly newer than when I was a student there fifteen years before. It emed more tranquil than I remembered it, more perpendicular and strait-laced, with narrower windows and shinier woodwork, as though a coat of paint had been put over everything for better prervation. But, of cour, fifteen years before there had been a war going on Perhaps the school wasn’东京艺术大学t as well kept up in tho days; perhaps paint along with everything el, had gone to 曲奇饼干的配料和做法
板儿鞋>爱国题材手抄报war. (2)I didn’t entirely like this glossy new surface, becau it made the school look like a muum, and that’s exactly what it was to me, and what I did not want it to be. In the deep, tacit way in which feeling becomes stronger than thought, I had always felt that the Devon School came into existence the day I entered it, was vibrantly real while I was a student there, and then blinked out like a candle the day I left. (3)Now here it was after all, prerved by some considerate hand with paint and wax. Prerved along with it, like stale air in an unopened room, was the well known fear which had surrounded and filled tho days, so much of it that I hadn’珠宝设计图>失眠睡不着图片t even known it was there. Becau, unfamiliar with the abnce of fear and what that was like, I had not been able to identify its prence. (4)Looking back now across fifteen years, I could e with great clarity the fear I had lived in, which must mean that in the interval I had succeeded in a very important undertaking: I must have made my escape from it. (5)I felt fear’s echo, and along with that I felt the unhinged, uncontrollable joy which had been its accompaniment and opposite face, joy which had broken out sometimes in tho days like Northern Lights across black sky. (6)There were a couple of places now which I wanted to e. B
oth were fearful sites, and that was why I wanted to e them. So after lunch at the Devon Inn I walked back toward the school. It was a raw, nondescript time of year, toward the end of November, the kind of wet, lf-pitying November day when every speck of dirt stands out clearly. Devon luckily had very little of such weather—the icy clamp of winter, or the radiant New Hampshire summers, were more characteristic of it—but this day it blew wet, moody gusts all around me. (7)I walked along Gilman Street, the best street in town. The hous were as handsome and as unusual as I remembered. Clever modernizations of old Colonial mans, extensions in Victorian wood, capacious Greek Revival temples lined the street, as impressive and just as forbidding as ever. I had rarely en anyone go into one of them, or anyone playing on a lawn, or even an open window. Today with their failing ivy and stripped, moaning trees the hous looked both more elegant and more lifeless than ever. (8)Like all old, good schools, Devon did not stand isolated behind walls and gates but emerged naturally from the town which had produced it. So there was no sudden moment of encounter as I approached it; the hous along Gilman Street began to look more defensive, which meant that I was near the school, and
then more exhausted, which meant that I was in it. (9)It was early afternoon and the grounds and buildings were derted, since everyone was at sports. There was nothing to distract me as I made my way across a wide yard, called the Far Commons, and up to a building as red brick and balanced as the other major buildings, but with a large dome and a bell and a clock and Latin over the doorway—the First Academy Building. (10)In through swinging doors I reached a marble foyer, and stopped at the foot of a long white marble flight of stairs. Although they were old stairs, the worn moons in the middle of each step were not very deep. The marble must be unusually hard. That emed very likely, only too likely, although with all my thought about the stairs this exceptional hardness had not occurred to me. It was surprising that I had overlooked that, that crucial fact. (11)There was nothing el to notice; they of cour were the same stairs I had walked up and down at least once every day of my Devon life. They were the same as ever. And I? Well, I naturally felt older—I began at that point the emotional examination to note how far my convalescence had gone—I was taller, bigger generally in relation to the stairs. I had more money and success and “curity” than in the days when specter
s emed to go up and down them with me. (12)I turned away and went back outside. The Far Common was still empty, and I walked alone down the wide gravel paths among tho most Republican, bankerish of trees, New England elms, toward the far side of the school. (13)Devon is sometimes considered the most beautiful school in New England, and even on this dismal afternoon its power was asrted. It is the beauty of small areas of order—a large yard, a group of trees, three similar dormitories, a circle of old hous—living together in contentious harmony. You felt that an argument might begin again any time; in fact it had: out of the Dean’s Residence, a pure and authentic Colonial hou, there now sprouted an ell with a big bare picture window. Some day the Dean would probably live entirely encad in a hou of glass and be happy as a sandpiper. Everything at Devon slowly changed and slowly harmonized with what had gone before. So it was logical to hope that since the buildings and the Deans and the curriculum could achieve this, I could achieve, perhaps unknowingly already had achieved, this growth and harmony mylf.
