问题 判断题

社会对银行业从业人员诚信的期望要高于其他行业。()

答案

参考答案:对

阅读理解与欣赏

阅读《花边饺子》,完成1-5题

  那年冬天,由于我的错误,致使公司的一单生意受到损失,我被老板炒了。工作没多久的我,每次发薪不是添置衣物,就是和朋友一起去撮一顿,久而久之,竟成了习惯,所以口袋里并没有什么积蓄,我只好拎着东西,像落魄的浪子,厚着脸皮回到父母家里。

  父母没说什么,但我还是隐隐感觉到空气中流动着的压力。①父亲一支接一支地吸烟,皱着眉头不说话。母亲忙里忙外打扫房子,蒸年糕,蒸豆包,置办过年用的东西。唯有我,像个局外人一样,缩在屋子的角落里看书。

  想想这些年,父母也挺不容易,他们都是老实本分的人,凭着那点少得可怜的工资供我念书,日子过得紧巴巴的。我曾经拍着胸脯跟他们保证:毕业后,我一定会让你们的日子过得滋润些。言犹在耳,我却转眼就抽了自己的耳光,想想都有些脸红,所以他们有理由怒我的不争,有理由给我脸色看。

  看着别人喜气洋洋过大年,我却没有什么心情。父亲贴春联,母亲煮饺子。②热气腾腾的饺子像一只只肥嘟嘟的小胖猪,在滚水中打了几个转,被母亲捞到盘子里,端到桌子上。如果是平常,我早就迫不及待地开吃了,这会儿,却因为无望的前途,美味也难以诱惑我。

  母亲强行把我拉到桌边,乐呵呵地说:“发生了天大的事情也得吃饭啊,更何况只是丢了工作,没什么了不起的。”父亲也随声附和:“吃饺子,吃饺子,饺子就酒,越吃越有。”

  我当然没好意思和父亲对饮,拿起筷子,勉强吃了一个饺子,牙竟被什么东西硌了一下,吐出来一枚面值一角的硬币。我一下子忘记了糟糕的心情,兴奋地说:“我吃到钱了!”

  在我们老家,新年的第一顿饺子,会包一枚硬币在饺子里,谁吃到了,说明谁的运气好,财源滚滚。这几年,都说硬币上有细菌,包硬币的习惯早已成为小时候的记忆,可是母亲看到我心情不爽,竟然把硬币用开水煮过,包在饺子里,让我重温儿时的喜悦。眼泪瞬间润湿了我的眼睛,谁说父母不爱我?他们为了鼓励我重新飞翔,竟然想出了如此笨拙的办法。

  和着泪水,我又吃了第二只饺子,第三只饺子……

  第二只饺子里包着豆腐,寓意新的一年里幸福美满快乐!

  第三只饺子里包着年糕,寓意一年更比一年高!

  每一只饺子,母亲都做了记号,捏了花边,以区别于其他饺子,所以我能恰到好处地吃到硬币,吃到豆腐,吃到年糕,一口一口,和着泪水。这哪里是饺子,分明是一个母亲对于孩子的关切之情和殷殷期望!我没有理由再消沉下去,没有理由躲在父母的翅膀下没完没了地舔舐伤口,重新开始是我唯一的选择。(选自《中学生学习报》2010年第七期)

1.请用简洁的语言,概括本文写作的故事。

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2.请从文中画线的①②处两句话中,任选一句进行赏析。

①父亲一支接一支地吸烟,皱着眉头不说话。

②热气腾腾的饺子像一只只肥嘟嘟的小胖猪,在滚水中打了几个转。

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3.意志消沉的“我”,为什么在吃到了第一个饺子后竟然兴奋起来?

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4.通过阅读课文,用自己的语言概括文中“我”的“父亲”“母亲”的人物形象。

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5.请你说说用“花边饺子”做标题的含义。

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单项选择题

It is simple enough to say that since books have classes -- fiction, biography, poetry -- we should separate them and take from each what it is right and what should give us. Yet few people ask from books what can give us. Most commonly we come to books with blurred and divided minds, asking of fiction that it shall be true, of poetry that it shall be false, of biography that it shall be flattering, of history that it shall enforce our own prejudices. If we could banish all such preconception when we read, that would be an admirable beginning. Do not dictate to your author; try to become him. Be his fellow-worker and accomplice. If you hang back, and reserve and criticize at first, you are preventing yourself from getting the fullest possible value from what you read. But if you open your mind as widely as possible, then signs and hints of almost imperceptible fineness, from the twist and turn of the first sentences, will bring you into the presence of a human being unlike any other. Steep yourself in this, acquaint yourself with this, and soon you will find that your author is giving you, or attempting to give you, something far more definite. The 32 chapters of a novel -- if we consider how to read a novel first -- are an attempt to make something as formed and controlled as a building: but words are more impalpable than bricks; reading is a longer and more complicated process than seeing. Perhaps the quickest way to understand the elements of what a novelist is doing is not to read, but to write; to make your own experiment with the dangers and difficulties of words. Recall, then, some event that has left a distinct impression on you -- how at the comer of the street, perhaps, you passed two people talking. A tree shock; an electric light danced; the tone of the talk was comic, but also tragic; a whole vision, an entire conception, seemed contained in that moment.
But when you attempt to reconstruct it in words, you will find that it breaks into a thousand conflicting impressions. Some must be subdued; others emphasized; in the process you will lose, probably, all grasp upon the emotion itself. Then turn from your blurred and littered pages to the opening pages of some great novelist -- Defoe, Jane Austen, Hardy. Now you will be better able to appreciate their mastery. It is not merely that we are in the presence of a different person -- Defoe, Jane Austen, or Thomas Hardy -- but that we are living in a different world. Here, in Robinson Crusoe, we are trudging a plain high road; one thing happens after another; the fact and the order of the fact is enough. But if the open air and adventure mean everything to Defoe, they mean nothing to Jane Austen. Here is the drawing-room, and people talking, and by the many mirrors of their talk revealing their characters. And if, when we have accustomed ourselves to the drawing-room and its reflections, we turn to Hardy, we are once more spun around. The moors are round us and the stars are above our heads. The other side of the mind is now exposed -- the dark side that comes uppermost in solitude, not the light side that shows in company. Our relations are not towards people, but towards Nature and destiny. Yet different as these worlds are, each is consistent with itself. The maker of each is careful to observe the laws of his own perspective, and however great a strain they may put upon, they will never confuse us, as lesser writers so frequently do, by introducing two different kinds of reality into the same book. Thus to go from one great novelist to another -- from Jane Austen to Hardy, from Peacock to Trollope, from Scott to Meredith -- is to be wrenched and uprooted; to be thrown this way and then that. To read a novel is a difficult and complex art. You must be capable not only of great fineness of perception, but of great boldness of imagination if you are going to make use of all that the novelist -- the great artist -- gives you.

According to the passage, the process of writing is ______.

A.dangerous

B.interesting

C.difficult

D.tragic