[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"$fajLTnFUeaD8zcMo1KZ0Gd1F888Q96HsR7gjwkKIOvJ0":3},{"answer":4,"createTime":5,"id":6,"options":7,"origin":12,"question":19,"related":20,"source":30,"type":31},[],"2025-06-05 12:59:54",194512160,[8,9,10,11],"He realized he was dangerous to himself and others","He wanted to challenge himself","He wanted to learn new skiing techniques","He wanted to prove himself to his friend",{"count":13,"courseId":14,"courseImg":15,"courseName":16,"workId":17,"workName":18},30,"9890eecc7b964487aaff7575818e6083","https:\u002F\u002Ftihai-oss-cloud.itihey.com\u002Fimg\u002F8c70a8eee023e11d12a30555775e0a68.jpg","大学外语4（英语）","work_43854270","期末复习模拟题--阅读理解","Passage OneIt was the first day of our youth group ski trip. While I waited for the ski lift, I saw a booth offering ski lessons. I considered taking an hour-long lesson, but then I heard my voice in my head: Nah, you don't need any help. After all, you've skied once before. You'll be fine.As I stood on the edge of the beginner's slope', my confidence shrank. After all, I hadn't skied for two years. And even then, I'd only taught myself to ski well enough to make it down once or twice without falling. But surely, I'd be able to figure it out.So, I pushed off and built up speed. I lasted about 15 feet before collapsing into the snow. No problem. That was just one mistake, I thought. I fell about eight times on the beginner's slope before I finally came to a stop at the bottom by hitting a small tree.The second time down, I only fell four times so I figured I was getting better. I managed to glide down the hill with my friend Jen. But twenty seconds later, my skies turned straight down the hill and I reached maximum speed. BOOM. I plowed into a fence."Todd, you might really hurt yourself, Jen said gently. "I think you should take a lesson."I don't need help! I screamed in my head. With that, I stooped up and rocketed down the hill. Near the bottom of the hill, my left ski flew out from under me. My upper body flew forward. My entire weight landed on my face, and I skidded down the hill about 10 feet.My face hurt. My glasses were 3 feet away. My head throbbed. There was blood all over the snow. People stopped to see if I was OK. "I'm fine," I told the crowd without looking up at them. "I don't need help."As my head pounded and my face started to swell, I finally admitted to myself that I couldn't keep doing this. I was dangerous to myself and others. That's when I finally admitted to myself that I should have taken lessons earlier that morning.After stopping at the First Aid, I swallowed my pride and marched up to the ski lesson booth. "I need lessons" I said with my lips swollen the size of bananas.As I waited for my lesson, I felt foolish for ever thinking I could have done this myself.But still, I worried about what the instructor would think of me. At my lesson, the instructor watched how I skied and offered advice. Before I knew it, I could turn! I could stop! Instead of fear and panic, I felt confidence and enjoyment. I could actually ski—not just careen downhill!After my lesson, I went down the "face plant" hill and completely mastered it. At the bottom, Jen said, "I couldn't believe that was you. You're completely transformed!"As he and I took the ski lift up to go again, I thought about my day. I thought about how much I'd fallen. I also thought about how stubborn I'd been through it all. Only when I'd really hurt myself, had I finally admitted I needed help. I've realized that this doesn't just happen with skiing. I've done it in other ways, too. Real transformation, I thought to myself, only comes when I ask advice from others who are wiser than me and accept it with an open mind小题:Why did the author finally decide to take a ski lesson",[21,32,41,50,59,62,71,80,89,98],{"answer":22,"createTime":5,"id":23,"options":24,"question":29,"source":30,"type":31},[],194512154,[25,26,27,28],"He wanted to improve his skiing skills","He had never skied before","He felt he needed help","He heard a voice in his head saying he didn't need help","Passage OneIt was the first day of our youth group ski trip. While I waited for the ski lift, I saw a booth offering ski lessons. I considered taking an hour-long lesson, but then I heard my voice in my head: Nah, you don't need any help. After all, you've skied once before. You'll be fine.As I stood on the edge of the beginner's slope', my confidence shrank. After all, I hadn't skied for two years. And even then, I'd only taught myself to ski well enough to make it down once or twice without falling. But surely, I'd be able to figure it out.So, I pushed off and built up speed. I lasted about 15 feet before collapsing into the snow. No problem. That was just one mistake, I thought. I fell about eight times on the beginner's slope before I finally came to a stop at the bottom by hitting a small tree.The second time down, I only fell four times so I figured I was getting better. I managed to glide down the hill with my friend Jen. But twenty seconds later, my skies turned straight down the hill and I reached maximum speed. BOOM. I plowed into a fence."Todd, you might really hurt yourself, Jen said gently. "I think you should take a lesson."I don't need help! I screamed in my head. With that, I stooped up and rocketed down the hill. Near the bottom of the hill, my left ski flew out from under me. My upper body flew forward. My entire weight landed on my face, and I skidded down the hill about 10 feet.My face hurt. My glasses were 3 feet away. My head throbbed. There was blood all over the snow. People stopped to see if I was OK. "I'm fine," I told the crowd without looking up at them. "I don't need help."As my head pounded and my face started to swell, I finally admitted to myself that I couldn't keep doing this. I was dangerous to myself and others. That's when I finally admitted to myself that I should have taken lessons earlier that morning.After stopping at the First Aid, I swallowed my pride and marched up to the ski lesson booth. "I need lessons" I said with my lips swollen the size of bananas.As I waited for my lesson, I felt foolish for ever thinking I could have done this myself.But still, I worried about what the instructor would think of me. At my lesson, the instructor watched how I skied and offered advice. Before I knew it, I could turn! I could stop! Instead of fear and panic, I felt confidence and enjoyment. I could actually ski—not just careen downhill!After my lesson, I went down the "face plant" hill and completely mastered it. At the bottom, Jen said, "I couldn't believe that was you. You're completely transformed!"As he and I took the ski lift up to go again, I thought about my day. I thought about how much I'd fallen. I also thought about how stubborn I'd been through it all. Only when I'd really hurt myself, had I finally admitted I needed help. I've realized that this doesn't just happen with skiing. I've done it in other ways, too. Real transformation, I thought to myself, only comes when I ask advice from others who are wiser than me and accept it with an open mind小题:Why did the author initially consider taking a ski lesson on the first day of the ski trip","v1",0,{"answer":33,"createTime":5,"id":34,"options":35,"question":40,"source":30,"type":31},[],194512155,[36,37,38,39],"He skied smoothly to the bottom","He only fell once","He fell eight times and hit a small tree","He didn't fall at all","Passage OneIt was the first day of our youth group ski trip. While I waited for the ski lift, I saw a booth offering ski lessons. I considered taking an hour-long lesson, but then I heard my voice in my head: Nah, you don't need any help. After all, you've skied once before. You'll be fine.As I stood on the edge of the beginner's slope', my confidence shrank. After all, I hadn't skied for two years. And even then, I'd only taught myself to ski well enough to make it down once or twice without falling. But surely, I'd be able to figure it out.So, I pushed off and built up speed. I lasted about 15 feet before collapsing into the snow. No problem. That was just one mistake, I thought. I fell about eight times on the beginner's slope before I finally came to a stop at the bottom by hitting a small tree.The second time down, I only fell four times so I figured I was getting better. I managed to glide down the hill with my friend Jen. But twenty seconds later, my skies turned straight down the hill and I reached maximum speed. BOOM. I plowed into a fence."Todd, you might really hurt yourself, Jen said gently. "I think you should take a lesson."I don't need help! I screamed in my head. With that, I stooped up and rocketed down the hill. Near the bottom of the hill, my left ski flew out from under me. My upper body flew forward. My entire weight landed on my face, and I skidded down the hill about 10 feet.My face hurt. My glasses were 3 feet away. My head throbbed. There was blood all over the snow. People stopped to see if I was OK. "I'm fine," I told the crowd without looking up at them. "I don't need help."As my head pounded and my face started to swell, I finally admitted to myself that I couldn't keep doing this. I was dangerous to myself and others. That's when I finally admitted to myself that I should have taken lessons earlier that morning.After stopping at the First Aid, I swallowed my pride and marched up to the ski lesson booth. "I need lessons" I said with my lips swollen the size of bananas.As I waited for my lesson, I felt foolish for ever thinking I could have done this myself.But still, I worried about what the instructor would think of me. At my lesson, the instructor watched how I skied and offered advice. Before I knew it, I could turn! I could stop! Instead of fear and panic, I felt confidence and enjoyment. I could actually ski—not just careen downhill!After my lesson, I went down the "face plant" hill and completely mastered it. At the bottom, Jen said, "I couldn't believe that was you. You're completely transformed!"As he and I took the ski lift up to go again, I thought about my day. I thought about how much I'd fallen. I also thought about how stubborn I'd been through it all. Only when I'd really hurt myself, had I finally admitted I needed help. I've realized that this doesn't just happen with skiing. I've done it in other ways, too. Real transformation, I thought to myself, only comes when I ask advice from others who are wiser than me and accept it with an open mind小题:What happened to the author on his first run down the beginner's slope",{"answer":42,"createTime":5,"id":43,"options":44,"question":49,"source":30,"type":31},[],194512156,[45,46,47,48],"He crashed into a fence","He collided with a friend","He fell four times","He successfully reached the bottom","Passage OneIt was the first day of our youth group ski trip. While I waited for the ski lift, I saw a booth offering ski lessons. I considered taking an hour-long lesson, but then I heard my voice in my head: Nah, you don't need any help. After all, you've skied once before. You'll be fine.As I stood on the edge of the beginner's slope', my confidence shrank. After all, I hadn't skied for two years. And even then, I'd only taught myself to ski well enough to make it down once or twice without falling. But surely, I'd be able to figure it out.So, I pushed off and built up speed. I lasted about 15 feet before collapsing into the snow. No problem. That was just one mistake, I thought. I fell about eight times on the beginner's slope before I finally came to a stop at the bottom by hitting a small tree.The second time down, I only fell four times so I figured I was getting better. I managed to glide down the hill with my friend Jen. But twenty seconds later, my skies turned straight down the hill and I reached maximum speed. BOOM. I plowed into a fence."Todd, you might really hurt yourself, Jen said gently. "I think you should take a lesson."I don't need help! I screamed in my head. With that, I stooped up and rocketed down the hill. Near the bottom of the hill, my left ski flew out from under me. My upper body flew forward. My entire weight landed on my face, and I skidded down the hill about 10 feet.My face hurt. My glasses were 3 feet away. My head throbbed. There was blood all over the snow. People stopped to see if I was OK. "I'm fine," I told the crowd without looking up at them. "I don't need help."As my head pounded and my face started to swell, I finally admitted to myself that I couldn't keep doing this. I was dangerous to myself and others. That's when I finally admitted to myself that I should have taken lessons earlier that morning.After stopping at the First Aid, I swallowed my pride and marched up to the ski lesson booth. "I need lessons" I said with my lips swollen the size of bananas.As I waited for my lesson, I felt foolish for ever thinking I could have done this myself.But still, I worried about what the instructor would think of me. At my lesson, the instructor watched how I skied and offered advice. Before I knew it, I could turn! I could stop! Instead of fear and panic, I felt confidence and enjoyment. I could actually ski—not just careen downhill!After my lesson, I went down the "face plant" hill and completely mastered it. At the bottom, Jen said, "I couldn't believe that was you. You're completely transformed!"As he and I took the ski lift up to go again, I thought about my day. I thought about how much I'd fallen. I also thought about how stubborn I'd been through it all. Only when I'd really hurt myself, had I finally admitted I needed help. I've realized that this doesn't just happen with skiing. I've done it in other ways, too. Real transformation, I thought to myself, only comes when I ask advice from others who are wiser than me and accept it with an open mind小题:What accident did the author have on his second run down the hill",{"answer":51,"createTime":5,"id":52,"options":53,"question":58,"source":30,"type":31},[],194512158,[54,55,56,57],"He felt foolish","He felt confident and enjoyed skiing","He was still scared","He didn't want to ski anymore","Passage OneIt was the first day of our youth group ski trip. While I waited for the ski lift, I saw a booth offering ski lessons. I considered taking an hour-long lesson, but then I heard my voice in my head: Nah, you don't need any help. After all, you've skied once before. You'll be fine.As I stood on the edge of the beginner's slope', my confidence shrank. After all, I hadn't skied for two years. And even then, I'd only taught myself to ski well enough to make it down once or twice without falling. But surely, I'd be able to figure it out.So, I pushed off and built up speed. I lasted about 15 feet before collapsing into the snow. No problem. That was just one mistake, I thought. I fell about eight times on the beginner's slope before I finally came to a stop at the bottom by hitting a small tree.The second time down, I only fell four times so I figured I was getting better. I managed to glide down the hill with my friend Jen. But twenty seconds later, my skies turned straight down the hill and I reached maximum speed. BOOM. I plowed into a fence."Todd, you might really hurt yourself, Jen said gently. "I think you should take a lesson."I don't need help! I screamed in my head. With that, I stooped up and rocketed down the hill. Near the bottom of the hill, my left ski flew out from under me. My upper body flew forward. My entire weight landed on my face, and I skidded down the hill about 10 feet.My face hurt. My glasses were 3 feet away. My head throbbed. There was blood all over the snow. People stopped to see if I was OK. "I'm fine," I told the crowd without looking up at them. "I don't need help."As my head pounded and my face started to swell, I finally admitted to myself that I couldn't keep doing this. I was dangerous to myself and others. That's when I finally admitted to myself that I should have taken lessons earlier that morning.After stopping at the First Aid, I swallowed my pride and marched up to the ski lesson booth. "I need lessons" I said with my lips swollen the size of bananas.As I waited for my lesson, I felt foolish for ever thinking I could have done this myself.But still, I worried about what the instructor would think of me. At my lesson, the instructor watched how I skied and offered advice. Before I knew it, I could turn! I could stop! Instead of fear and panic, I felt confidence and enjoyment. I could actually ski—not just careen downhill!After my lesson, I went down the "face plant" hill and completely mastered it. At the bottom, Jen said, "I couldn't believe that was you. You're completely transformed!"As he and I took the ski lift up to go again, I thought about my day. I thought about how much I'd fallen. I also thought about how stubborn I'd been through it all. Only when I'd really hurt myself, had I finally admitted I needed help. I've realized that this doesn't just happen with skiing. I've done it in other ways, too. Real transformation, I thought to myself, only comes when I ask advice from others who are wiser than me and accept it with an open mind小题:How did the author feel after taking the ski lesson",{"answer":60,"createTime":5,"id":6,"options":61,"question":19,"source":30,"type":31},[],[8,9,10,11],{"answer":63,"createTime":5,"id":64,"options":65,"question":70,"source":30,"type":31},[],194512162,[66,67,68,69],"The ability to communicate more easily","The convenience of reserving parking spaces","The ability to get precise location information","All of the above","Passage TwoI acknowledge, at this juncture, that a revolution has occurred, and that much has been gained by having hand-held devices that not only allow us to communicate, but also reserve parking spaces, garner weather reports, and tell us where, precisely, at any given moment, we are standing on planet Earth.But I must also acknowledge a loss. As a traveler, I think one of the joys of that experience is hearing what other travelers have to say. Conversation used to be surprisingly easy to initiate. When I would take a seat next to someone on a train, bus, or plane, the first thing I would do was greet the person. Once the ice had been broken, subsequent chatter tended to erupt spontaneously. Where are you heading? Do you live in Bangor? Isn't Boston friendly town? Do you really work for the New England Aquarium? Free tickets? Seriously? Well, thank you ...Things have changed, and the change has been striking. Recently, while boarding a long-distance bus, I couldn't help but notice that everyone was staring into their palms, poking and clicking away. I found an empty seat next to a middle-aged man and greeted him. He threw me a cursory glance and said "Morning." Then he returned to his device. I made one more bid to engage him, asking where he was heading, but he wasn't buying. So I left him to his world and retreated into my own.I miss the casual conversations with fellow travelers. One never knows what will be revealed, and sometimes how helpful it will be. I was once on a ship traveling from Iceland to Denmark. I noticed an older man standing by the railing, looking out over the North Sea. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" I ventured. He turned to me, nodded, and asked, "Where are you going?" We were soon chatting away. I eventually confided that I didn't know how I was going to get from the port in Denmark to my destination city. His response: "Of course you know. I have a car and I'm going to drive you there!"But now, if I attempt, however gently, to engage fellow passengers in conversation these days, I have the distinct sense that I am upending them from a preferred activity, be it checking e-mails, posting on Facebook, or, even with adults, playing games.In this sense, the long trips have become even longer. But I recently discovered reason for hope.The bus I was riding from Boston to Bangor had broken down somewhere just over the Maine border. We passengers disembarked and waited for the next bus to come along. As I got on it, I hovered at the front of the vehicle as those already seated glanced up at me. Inspired, and wanting to seize the moment when I had their attention, I asked, "Is there anyone here who is interesting enough for me to sit next to?"A pleasant-looking woman raised her hand. "I am," she offered.I sat with her, we chatted, and by gum! — she was interesting! She read books, she traveled, she had interesting children. She got off in Portland, leaving me behind, but the glow of that interaction sustained me for the two remaining hours to Bangor小题:What does the author acknowledge as a gain from hand-held devices",{"answer":72,"createTime":5,"id":73,"options":74,"question":79,"source":30,"type":31},[],194512164,[75,76,77,78],"The ease of starting conversations with fellow travelers","The ability to check emails","The convenience of hand-held devices","The ability to play games","Passage TwoI acknowledge, at this juncture, that a revolution has occurred, and that much has been gained by having hand-held devices that not only allow us to communicate, but also reserve parking spaces, garner weather reports, and tell us where, precisely, at any given moment, we are standing on planet Earth.But I must also acknowledge a loss. As a traveler, I think one of the joys of that experience is hearing what other travelers have to say. Conversation used to be surprisingly easy to initiate. When I would take a seat next to someone on a train, bus, or plane, the first thing I would do was greet the person. Once the ice had been broken, subsequent chatter tended to erupt spontaneously. Where are you heading? Do you live in Bangor? Isn't Boston friendly town? Do you really work for the New England Aquarium? Free tickets? Seriously? Well, thank you ...Things have changed, and the change has been striking. Recently, while boarding a long-distance bus, I couldn't help but notice that everyone was staring into their palms, poking and clicking away. I found an empty seat next to a middle-aged man and greeted him. He threw me a cursory glance and said "Morning." Then he returned to his device. I made one more bid to engage him, asking where he was heading, but he wasn't buying. So I left him to his world and retreated into my own.I miss the casual conversations with fellow travelers. One never knows what will be revealed, and sometimes how helpful it will be. I was once on a ship traveling from Iceland to Denmark. I noticed an older man standing by the railing, looking out over the North Sea. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" I ventured. He turned to me, nodded, and asked, "Where are you going?" We were soon chatting away. I eventually confided that I didn't know how I was going to get from the port in Denmark to my destination city. His response: "Of course you know. I have a car and I'm going to drive you there!"But now, if I attempt, however gently, to engage fellow passengers in conversation these days, I have the distinct sense that I am upending them from a preferred activity, be it checking e-mails, posting on Facebook, or, even with adults, playing games.In this sense, the long trips have become even longer. But I recently discovered reason for hope.The bus I was riding from Boston to Bangor had broken down somewhere just over the Maine border. We passengers disembarked and waited for the next bus to come along. As I got on it, I hovered at the front of the vehicle as those already seated glanced up at me. Inspired, and wanting to seize the moment when I had their attention, I asked, "Is there anyone here who is interesting enough for me to sit next to?"A pleasant-looking woman raised her hand. "I am," she offered.I sat with her, we chatted, and by gum! — she was interesting! She read books, she traveled, she had interesting children. She got off in Portland, leaving me behind, but the glow of that interaction sustained me for the two remaining hours to Bangor小题:What does the author miss about traveling in the past",{"answer":81,"createTime":5,"id":82,"options":83,"question":88,"source":30,"type":31},[],194512166,[84,85,86,87],"He felt welcomed and engaged","He felt ignored and rebuffed","He felt excited and hopeful","He felt indifferent","Passage TwoI acknowledge, at this juncture, that a revolution has occurred, and that much has been gained by having hand-held devices that not only allow us to communicate, but also reserve parking spaces, garner weather reports, and tell us where, precisely, at any given moment, we are standing on planet Earth.But I must also acknowledge a loss. As a traveler, I think one of the joys of that experience is hearing what other travelers have to say. Conversation used to be surprisingly easy to initiate. When I would take a seat next to someone on a train, bus, or plane, the first thing I would do was greet the person. Once the ice had been broken, subsequent chatter tended to erupt spontaneously. Where are you heading? Do you live in Bangor? Isn't Boston friendly town? Do you really work for the New England Aquarium? Free tickets? Seriously? Well, thank you ...Things have changed, and the change has been striking. Recently, while boarding a long-distance bus, I couldn't help but notice that everyone was staring into their palms, poking and clicking away. I found an empty seat next to a middle-aged man and greeted him. He threw me a cursory glance and said "Morning." Then he returned to his device. I made one more bid to engage him, asking where he was heading, but he wasn't buying. So I left him to his world and retreated into my own.I miss the casual conversations with fellow travelers. One never knows what will be revealed, and sometimes how helpful it will be. I was once on a ship traveling from Iceland to Denmark. I noticed an older man standing by the railing, looking out over the North Sea. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" I ventured. He turned to me, nodded, and asked, "Where are you going?" We were soon chatting away. I eventually confided that I didn't know how I was going to get from the port in Denmark to my destination city. His response: "Of course you know. I have a car and I'm going to drive you there!"But now, if I attempt, however gently, to engage fellow passengers in conversation these days, I have the distinct sense that I am upending them from a preferred activity, be it checking e-mails, posting on Facebook, or, even with adults, playing games.In this sense, the long trips have become even longer. But I recently discovered reason for hope.The bus I was riding from Boston to Bangor had broken down somewhere just over the Maine border. We passengers disembarked and waited for the next bus to come along. As I got on it, I hovered at the front of the vehicle as those already seated glanced up at me. Inspired, and wanting to seize the moment when I had their attention, I asked, "Is there anyone here who is interesting enough for me to sit next to?"A pleasant-looking woman raised her hand. "I am," she offered.I sat with her, we chatted, and by gum! — she was interesting! She read books, she traveled, she had interesting children. She got off in Portland, leaving me behind, but the glow of that interaction sustained me for the two remaining hours to Bangor小题:How did the author feel when he tried to engage the middle-aged man in conversation on the bus",{"answer":90,"createTime":5,"id":91,"options":92,"question":97,"source":30,"type":31},[],194512168,[93,94,95,96],"They were happy to chat","They were too busy with their devices","They were annoyed by his attempts","They ignored him completely","Passage TwoI acknowledge, at this juncture, that a revolution has occurred, and that much has been gained by having hand-held devices that not only allow us to communicate, but also reserve parking spaces, garner weather reports, and tell us where, precisely, at any given moment, we are standing on planet Earth.But I must also acknowledge a loss. As a traveler, I think one of the joys of that experience is hearing what other travelers have to say. Conversation used to be surprisingly easy to initiate. When I would take a seat next to someone on a train, bus, or plane, the first thing I would do was greet the person. Once the ice had been broken, subsequent chatter tended to erupt spontaneously. Where are you heading? Do you live in Bangor? Isn't Boston friendly town? Do you really work for the New England Aquarium? Free tickets? Seriously? Well, thank you ...Things have changed, and the change has been striking. Recently, while boarding a long-distance bus, I couldn't help but notice that everyone was staring into their palms, poking and clicking away. I found an empty seat next to a middle-aged man and greeted him. He threw me a cursory glance and said "Morning." Then he returned to his device. I made one more bid to engage him, asking where he was heading, but he wasn't buying. So I left him to his world and retreated into my own.I miss the casual conversations with fellow travelers. One never knows what will be revealed, and sometimes how helpful it will be. I was once on a ship traveling from Iceland to Denmark. I noticed an older man standing by the railing, looking out over the North Sea. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" I ventured. He turned to me, nodded, and asked, "Where are you going?" We were soon chatting away. I eventually confided that I didn't know how I was going to get from the port in Denmark to my destination city. His response: "Of course you know. I have a car and I'm going to drive you there!"But now, if I attempt, however gently, to engage fellow passengers in conversation these days, I have the distinct sense that I am upending them from a preferred activity, be it checking e-mails, posting on Facebook, or, even with adults, playing games.In this sense, the long trips have become even longer. But I recently discovered reason for hope.The bus I was riding from Boston to Bangor had broken down somewhere just over the Maine border. We passengers disembarked and waited for the next bus to come along. As I got on it, I hovered at the front of the vehicle as those already seated glanced up at me. Inspired, and wanting to seize the moment when I had their attention, I asked, "Is there anyone here who is interesting enough for me to sit next to?"A pleasant-looking woman raised her hand. "I am," she offered.I sat with her, we chatted, and by gum! — she was interesting! She read books, she traveled, she had interesting children. She got off in Portland, leaving me behind, but the glow of that interaction sustained me for the two remaining hours to Bangor小题:What happened when the author tried to engage fellow passengers in conversation on a long-distance bus",{"answer":99,"createTime":5,"id":100,"options":101,"question":106,"source":30,"type":31},[],194512170,[102,103,104,105],"A pleasant conversation with a woman on a broken-down bus","A successful conversation with a man on a ship","The realization that people still enjoy talking","The discovery that hand-held devices can be put away","Passage TwoI acknowledge, at this juncture, that a revolution has occurred, and that much has been gained by having hand-held devices that not only allow us to communicate, but also reserve parking spaces, garner weather reports, and tell us where, precisely, at any given moment, we are standing on planet Earth.But I must also acknowledge a loss. As a traveler, I think one of the joys of that experience is hearing what other travelers have to say. Conversation used to be surprisingly easy to initiate. When I would take a seat next to someone on a train, bus, or plane, the first thing I would do was greet the person. Once the ice had been broken, subsequent chatter tended to erupt spontaneously. Where are you heading? Do you live in Bangor? Isn't Boston friendly town? Do you really work for the New England Aquarium? Free tickets? Seriously? Well, thank you ...Things have changed, and the change has been striking. Recently, while boarding a long-distance bus, I couldn't help but notice that everyone was staring into their palms, poking and clicking away. I found an empty seat next to a middle-aged man and greeted him. He threw me a cursory glance and said "Morning." Then he returned to his device. I made one more bid to engage him, asking where he was heading, but he wasn't buying. So I left him to his world and retreated into my own.I miss the casual conversations with fellow travelers. One never knows what will be revealed, and sometimes how helpful it will be. I was once on a ship traveling from Iceland to Denmark. I noticed an older man standing by the railing, looking out over the North Sea. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" I ventured. He turned to me, nodded, and asked, "Where are you going?" We were soon chatting away. I eventually confided that I didn't know how I was going to get from the port in Denmark to my destination city. His response: "Of course you know. I have a car and I'm going to drive you there!"But now, if I attempt, however gently, to engage fellow passengers in conversation these days, I have the distinct sense that I am upending them from a preferred activity, be it checking e-mails, posting on Facebook, or, even with adults, playing games.In this sense, the long trips have become even longer. But I recently discovered reason for hope.The bus I was riding from Boston to Bangor had broken down somewhere just over the Maine border. We passengers disembarked and waited for the next bus to come along. As I got on it, I hovered at the front of the vehicle as those already seated glanced up at me. Inspired, and wanting to seize the moment when I had their attention, I asked, "Is there anyone here who is interesting enough for me to sit next to?"A pleasant-looking woman raised her hand. "I am," she offered.I sat with her, we chatted, and by gum! — she was interesting! She read books, she traveled, she had interesting children. She got off in Portland, leaving me behind, but the glow of that interaction sustained me for the two remaining hours to Bangor小题:What gave the author hope about engaging in conversation with fellow travelers"]