A、MOR
B、CPI
C、16PF
D、MBTI
A、University of Minnesota
B、University of Mississippi
C、University of Virginia
D、University of Pennsylvania
The town had changed, but then it hadn't. On the highways leading in, the cheap metal buildings and mobile homes were gathering as tightly as possible next to the roads for maximum visibility. This town had no zoning whatsoever. A landowner could build anything with no permit, no inspection, no notice to adjoining landowners, nothing. Only hog farms and nuclear reactors required approvals and paperwork. The result was a slash-and-build clutter that got uglier by the year.
But in the older sections, nearer the square, the town had not changed at all. The long shaded streets were as clean and neat as when Ray roamed them on his bike. Most of the houses were still owned by people he knew, or if those folks had passed on the new owners kept the lawns clipped and the shutters painted. Only a few were being neglected. A handful had been abandoned.
This deep in Bible country, it was still an unwritten rule in the town that little was done on Sundays except go to church, sit on porches, visit neighbors, rest and relax the way God intended.
It was cloudy, quite cool for May, and as he toured his old turf, killing time until the appointed hour for the family meeting, he tried to dwell on the good memories from Clanton. There was Dizzy Dean Park where he had played little League for the Pirates, and there was the public pool he'd swum in every summer except 1969 when the city closed it rather than admit black children. There were the churches—Baptist, Methodist, and Presbyterian—facing each other at the intersection of Second and Elm like wary sentries, their steeples competing for height. They were empty now, but in an hour or so the more faithful would gather for evening services.
The square was as lifeless as the streets leading to it. With eight thousand people, Clanton was just large enough to have attracted the discount stores that had wiped out so many small towns. But here the people had been faithful to their downtown merchants, and there wasn't a single empty or boarded-up building around the square—no small miracle. The retail shops were mixed in with the banks and law offices and cafes, all closed for the Sabbath.
He inched through the cemetery and surveyed the Atlee section in the old part, where the tombstones were grander. Some of his ancestors had built monuments for their dead. Ray had always assumed that the family money he'd never seen must have been buried in those graves. He parked and walked to his mother's grave, something he hadn't done in years. She was buried among the Atlees, at the far edge of the family plot because she had barely belonged.
Soon, in less than an hour, he would be sitting in his father's study, sipping bad instant tea and receiving instructions on exactly how his father would be laid to rest. Many orders were about to be given, many decrees and directions, because his father (who used to be a judge) was a great man and cared deeply about how he was to be remembered.
Moving again, Ray passed the water tower he'd climbed twice, the second time with the police waiting below. He grimaced at his old high school, a place he'd never visited since he'd left it. Behind it was the football field where his brother Forrest had romped over opponents and almost became famous before getting bounced off the team.
It was twenty minutes before five, Sunday, May 7.Time for the family meeting.
From the first paragraph, we get the impression that ______.
A.Ray cherished his childhood memories.
B.Ray had something urgent to take care of.
C.Ray may not have a happy childhood.
D.Ray cannot remember his childhood days.
A、Current ratio
B、Time-interest-earned ratio
C、Inventory period
D、Book value per share
Visit the website of the European central bank, c 41 on the icon for its French-language pages and you will be politely advised that the bulk of the site is unfortunately in English, and you should perhaps try the Bank of France’s homepage for information in F 42 . “The first instrument of a people’s genius,” wrote the author Stendhal, “is its language.” In this c 43 , the French are in trouble. Already drowning at home in a rising tide of 44 stalwarts see as vulgar and inelegant English, their tongue is now in grave danger of disappearing from the international scene altogether. “What is at stake is the s 45 of our culture. It is a life or death matter,” Jacques Viot, head of the Alliance Francise, which p 46 French abroad, warned last month. For a country that has long proclaimed its tongue the language of love, of global diplomacy and the rights of man, the threat is taken seriously. Few here complained when a francophobic US senator recently described French as “a near-forgotten” language; many realize that 47 something is done, he could very soon be right. Within France, the language b 48 from a veritable battery of protective laws, decrees and directives. Radio stations must play mostly music with French lyrics, and advertisements in English are, with few e 49 , outlawed unless accompanied by a translation. Most of the legislation stems from the 1994 “loi Toubon,” which briefly threatened jail for anyone u 50 words like “le weekend” or “le parking.” Even today, companies are occasionally prosecuted for using anglicisms in ads and brochures.
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