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【B11】
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听力原文： The fiddler crab is a living clock. It indicates the time of the day by the color of its skin, which is dark by day and pale by night. The crab's changing skin color follows a regular twenty-four hour cycle that exactly matches the daily rhythm of the sun.
Does the crab actually keep time, or does its skin simply respond to the sun's rays, changing color according to the amount of light that strikes it？ To find out, biologists kept crabs in a dark room for two months. Even without daylight the crab's skin color continued to change precisely on schedule.
The characteristic probably evolved in response to the rhythm of the sun, to help protect the crab from sunlight and enemies. After millions of years it has become completely regulated inside the living body of the crab.
The biologists noticed that once each day the color of the fiddle crab is especially dark, and that each day this occurs fifty minutes later than on the day before. From this they discovered that each crab follows not only the rhythm of the sun but also that of the tides. The crab's period of greatest darkening is precisely the time of low tide on the beach where it was caught.
(30)
听力原文：M: How was your dinner at the new French restaurant yesterday？
W: We didn't eat there. We drove all the way down there only to find it's not open on Monday, so we had our dinner at the small Chinese restaurant next door.
Q: What did the woman say about the new French restaurant？
(16)
I cry easily. I once burst into tears when the curtain came down on the Kirov Ballet's "Swan Lake". I still choke up every time I see a film of Roger Bannister breaking the "impossible" four-minute mark for the mile. I figure I am moved by witnessing men and women at their best. But they need not be great men and women, doing great things.
I remember the night, some years ago, when my wife and I were going to dinner at a friend's house in New York city. It was sleeting. As we hurried toward the house, with its welcoming light, I noticed a car pulling out from the curb. Just ahead, another car was waiting to back into the parking space—a rare commodity in crowded Manhattan. But before he could do so another car came up from behind, and sneaked into the spot. That's dirty pool, I thought.
While my wife went ahead into our friend's house, I stepped into the street to give the guilty driver a piece of my mind. A man in work clothes rolled down the window.
"Hey," I said, "this parking space belongs to that guy," I gestured toward the man ahead, who was looking back angrily. I thought I was being a good Samaritan, I guess--and I remember that the moment I was feeling pretty manly in my new trench coat.
"Mind your own business!" the driver told me.
"No," I said. "You don't understand. That fellow was waiting to back into this space.
Things quickly heated up, until finally he leaped out of the car. My God, he was colossal. He grabbed me and bent me back over the hood of his car as if I was a rag doll. The sleet stung my face. I glanced at the other driver, looking for help, but he gunned his engine and hightailed it out of there.
The huge man shook his rock of a fist of me, brushing my lip and cutting the inside of my mouth against my teeth. I tasted blood. I was terrified. He snarled and threatened, and then told me to beat it.
Almost in a panic, I scrambled to my friend's front door. As a former Marine, as a man, I felt utterly humiliated. Seeing that I was shaken, my wife and friends asked me what had happened. All I could bring myself to say was that I had had an argument about a parking space. They had the sensitivity to let it go at that.
I sat stunned. Perhaps half an hour later, the doorbell rang. My blood ran cold. For some reason I was sure that the bruiser had returned for me. My hostess got up to answer it, but I stopped her. I felt morally bound to answer it myself.
I walked down the hallway with dread. Yet 1 knew I had to face up to my fear. I opened the door. There he stood, towering. Behind him, the sleet came down harder than ever.
"I came back to apologize," he said in a low voice. "When I got home, I said to myself, 'what right do I have to do that？' I'm ashamed of myself. All I can tell you is that the Brooklyn Navy Yard is closing. I've worked there for years. And today I got laid off. I'm not myself. I hope you'll accept my apology."
I often remember that big man. 1 think of the effort and courage it took for him to come back to apologize. He was man at last.
And I remember that after I closed the door, my eyes blurred, as I stood in the hallway for a few moments alone.
On what occasion is the author likely to be moved？
听力原文：W: Hey, Jim, What a coincidence! Long time no see.
M: Yeah, me too. Hey, just between old friends I got to tell you. You don't look that well. Are you sick or something？
W: Well, not really. It's the same old story of the life of an overworked undergraduate student. I am up to my neck on this project. I am working on a project that has to be done by the end of the month.
M: Can't you speak to your professor about that？ Maybe he would allow an extension and you will then have some breathing space.
W: Fat chance. My professor is one of those workaholic types and he expects everyone that works with him to be the same way. You know, sometimes he sleeps 4 hours a night but can still keep going during the day.
M: Wow, sounds like your professor is really nuts. You know I don't mind working hard but not to the point of killing myself. Hope you can get your project done without any hitches.
W: What about you？ I heard the faculty is building another building on campus. A big project it seems by the looks of things and nearly completed I think.
M: Well, not quite there yet. They still have not decided whether they should move there or not. The Dean Wants me to mark papers and do some administration work for them. I have to make a decision by the end of this week.
W: That is a tough decision, isn't it？ I would jump on the offer if I had one. To work with some of these academic types must be interesting.
M: Sure it is. I would not think twice if I didn't have such a heavy load this semester. Besides, my girlfriend isn't happy about my always spending time at school.
W: I can understand how your girlfriend feels. Maybe you can ask for a light load. Perhaps you should request to work only on certain days.
M: That's true. Then I wouldn't have to work under a workaholic professor anymore.
W: Hey, Jim, Do you think I have any chance of getting some work there？
M: Hmm... are you serious about working there？ I thought you were joking.
(20)
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