Not so long ago I found myself in characteristically pugnacious discussion with a senior human rights figure. The issue was privacy. Her view was that there was an innate and largely unchanging human need for privacy. My view was that privacy was a culturally determined concept. Think of those open multiseated Roman latrines in Pompeii, and imagine having one installed at work. The specific point was whether there was a generational difference in attitudes towards privacy, partly as a consequence of interact social networking. I thought that there was. As a teenager I told my parents absolutely nothing and the world little more. Some girls of that era might be photographed bare-breasted at a rock festival, but, on the whole, once we left through the front door, we disappeared from sight.
My children--Generation Y, rather than the Generation X-ers who make most of the current fuss about privacy--seem unworried by their mother’s capacity to track them and their social
A. deceptive altering
B. partial eliminating
C. complete rewriting
D. medical treating
I found myself facing a dry-cleaning store which had once been one of the best restaurants in New York. On Sundays the old man would take my mother and me for dinner. There had been a balcony (走廊) where a baker (面包师) in a tall white hat baked fresh bread, and been whenever a customer entered, the baker would look down and put in a fresh batch (一炉). I could see the manager who always sat down with us while we ate. He had some disease, I suppose, because the right side of his face was swollen (肿的) out like a balloon, but he always wore a hard wing collar and a white tie, and never seemed sick. A Negro with a moustache was looking through the store window at me. For a moment I was anxious to go and tell him what l remembered. I did not go into the store, nor even toward our house, I went downtown instead and sat in my room, trying to read.
What did the writer do when he walked away from the dry-cleaning store（ ）.| I found myself facing a dry-cleaning
store which had once been one of the best restaurants in New York. On Sundays
the old man would take my mother and me for dinner. There had been a balcony
(走廊) where a baker (面包师) in a tall white hat baked fresh bread, and been
whenever a customer entered, the baker would look down and put in a fresh batch
(一炉). I could see the manager who always sat down with us while we ate. He had
some disease, I suppose, because the right side of his face was swollen (肿的) out
like a balloon, but he always wore a hard wing collar and a white tie, and never
seemed sick. A Negro with a moustache was looking through the store window at
me. For a moment I was anxious to go and tell him what l remembered. I did not
go into the store, nor even toward our house, I went downtown instead and sat in
my room, trying to read. A. He wanted to take some clothes to be cleaned. B. He was thinking about his boyhood. C. He was looking for a good place to eat. D. He wanted to buy some fresh bread. [填空题]When I______(恢复知觉), I found myself wrapped up in bed in my little room, with grandma bending over me.
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