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听力原文： In general, American food is mild tasting; most Americans do not season their food to any great degree. Salads are very popular and are served all year, but especially in the summer. Waiters tend to assume that everyone drinks coffee, but simply tell them if you wish something else. If a waiter says "Now or later？" he means "Do you want coffee with your meal or after it？" Many, but certainly not all, Americans drink coffee or tea with their meals. Either way is perfectly acceptable. When dining out, you can ask for tea, milk, "coke", wine or beer if you prefer. Restaurants can only serve beer, wine, or other alcoholic drinks if they have a license, that is, permission from the local government to serve alcoholic drinks. Normally, when eating in a private home, it is considered better manners to take whatever is being served and not to ask for something different, unless the hostess gives you a choice.
The main course served in American meals is usually meat, fish, or poultry, but rarely is more than one of these served at the same meal. Seafood is sometimes served as a first course, however.
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在分割共有财产时，在不损害共有财产的经济价值的前提下，根据具体情况可以采取实物分割、变价分割的方法。()
How can the man find more information about a book？
She stood before us looking very composed as she gave us good morning. Sabri cleared his throat, and picking up the great key very delicately between finger and thumb -- as if it were of the utmost fragility -- put it down again on the edge of the desk nearest her with the air of a conjurer making his opening dispositions. "We are speaking about your house," he said softly, in a voice ever so faintly curdled with menace. "Do you know that all the wood is..." he suddenly shouted the last word with such force that I nearly fell off my chair, "rotten!" And picking up the key he banged it down to emphasise the point.
The woman threw up her head with contempt and taking up the key also banged it down in her turn exclaiming: "It is not."
"It is." Sabri banged the key.
"It is not." She banged it back.
"It is." A bang.
"It is not." A counter-bang.
All this was certainly not on a very intellectual level, and made me rather ill at ease. I also feared that the key itself would be banged out of shape so that finally none of us would be able to get into the house. But these were the opening chords, so to speak, the preliminary statement of theme.
The woman now took the key and held it up as if she were swearing by it. "The house is a good house," she cried. Then she put it back on the desk. Sabri took it up thoughtfully, blew into the end of it as if it were a sixshooter, aimed it and peered along it as if along a barrel. Then he put it down and fell into an abstraciton. "And suppose we wanted the house." he said, "which we don't, what would you ask for it？"
"Eight hundred pounds."
Sabri gave a long and stagy laugh, wiping away imaginary tears and repeating "Eight hundred pounds" as if it were the best joke in the world. He laughed at me and I laughed at him, a dreadful false laugh. He slapped his knee. I rolled about in my chair as if on the verge of acute gastritis. We laughed until we were exhausted. Then we grew serious again. Sabri was still as fresh as a daisy. I could see that. He had put himself into the patient contemplative state of mind of a chess player.
"Take the key and go," he snapped suddenly, and handing it to her, swirled round in his swivel chair to present her with his back; then as suddenly he completed the circuit and swivelled round again. "What!" he said with surprise. "You haven't gone." In truth there had hardly been time for the woman to go. But she was somewhat slow-witted, though obstinate as a mule: that was clear. "Right," she now said in a ringing tone, and picking up the key put it into her bosom and turned about. She walked off stage in a somewhat lingering fashion. "Take no notice, "whispered Sabri and busied himself with his papers.
The woman stopped irresolutely outside the shop, and was here joined by her husband who began to talk to her in a low cringing voice, pleading with her. He took her by the sleeve and led her unwillingly back into the shop where we sat pointedly reading letters. "Ah! It's you," said Sabri with well-simulated surprise. "She wishes to discuss some more," explained the cobbler in a weak conciliatory voice, Sabri sighed.
"What is there to speak of？ She takes me for a fool." Then he suddenly turned to her and bellowed. "Two hundred pounds and not a piastre more."
It was her turn to have a paroxysm of false laughter, but this was rather spoiled by her husband who started plucking at her sleeve as if he were persuading her to be sensible. Sabri was not slow to notice this. "You tell her," he said to the man. "You are a man and these things are clear to you. She is only a woman and does not see the truth. Tell her what it is worth!"
The writer felt "ill at ease" because ______.
"I'm SORRY. " For days that's been about all Japan has heard from its Olympic athletes. Those were the first words uttered by a young swimmer after competing in the 400-m individual-medley swimming event, a difficult exercise that takes more than minutes to complete and re-quires four different strokes. Because her event took place on the opening day of Sydney 2000, her performance was considered especially significant for the fortunes of the nation. But with all of Japan watching, Yasuko Tajima fell short. Never mind that she earned a silver medal. "How disappointing," she said. "Next time I will win the gold.”
There is a unique form. of pressure on Japan's athletes. Competitors from every country face enormous expectations to win, to make the years of hard work and training pay off, to achieve greatness on the preeminent world stage. American cyclist Lance Armstrong, winner of two consecutive Tour de France races after surviving a contest with cancer, noted last week that, "If I loses the Olympics, they'll say, 'I thought he was supposed to be a good cyclist." "But whereas failure to win gold might cost Americans a fat endorsement contract, for Japanese a disappointing performance is even more disastrous, as individual failure is somehow wrapped up with a sense of national identity. "For non-Japanese, it's very peculiar for athletes to say they are sorry. "says Mitsunori Urushibara, a professor of sports philosophy at Shikoku Gakuin University. "Failure is never just an individual matter in Japan. Athletes always face the terror of being excommunicated from the group."
Understanding the culture in which Japanese athletes compete makes watching their defeats all the more painful. The agony of gymnast Naoya Tsukahara, whose hopes for an individual all-a-round medal were dashed last Wednesday when he inexplicably fell off the pommel horse, was obvious as he seemed to sleepwalk through his other events. His body was limp, his expression blank. "I didn't want to disgrace my nation," he said. Another young swimmer, Tomoko Hagiwara, climbed out of the pool after finishing seventh in her 200-m individual-medley qualifying heat last Monday, her shoulders hanging downward, her head tilted downward. "What was the cause of your poor performance？" snapped a reporter for NHK, the national TV network. Hagiwara answered that she didn't shift smoothly between strokes and that her turns were poor. "Please remember those points and try to do better in the next race," the reporter lectured: "You feel as if everyone in Japan feels ashamed of you, "former Olympic swimmer Hiroko Nagasaki commented on a Fuji TV broadcast.
A memory that still haunts many in Japan is that of Kokichi Tsuburaya, the marathon runner who finished third at the 1964 Tokyo Games. Four years later, while in training for the Mexico City Olympics, Tsuburaya killed himself by cutting his wrist in his dormitory. He was found holding his bronze medal. "I remember Tsuburaya's comments before he committed suicide," follow marathoner Kenji Kimihara told the Nikkan Sports newspaper this year. "He said 'I committed an inexcusable mistake in front of the Japanese people. I have to beg their pardon by running and hoisting the Hinomam [national flag] in Mexico."
The media are partly responsible for the pressure, but they reflect the general attitudes of the population. And the nation's fans don't seem to be having much fun. Last week, hundreds of Japanese endured a horrific schedule to watch their team battle Brazil in soccer. They took a nine hour flight from Osaka to Brisbane, traveled by bus to the stadium, dutifully watched the game and left immediately for the airport for the return trip to Osaka. They were home in time for work the next morning. "They got there and acted like the cheering was compulsory," says Urushibara. "They didn't seem to really enjoy the game. It is work. It is what members of the group do."
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