单项选择题No big developed country has come out of the global recession looking stronger than Germany has. The economy minister, Rainer Bruderle, boasts of an "XL upswing". Exports are booming and unemployment is expected to fall to levels last seen in the early 1990s. The government is a stable, though sometimes fractious, coalition of three mainstream parties. The shrillest protest is aimed at a huge new railway project in Stuttgart. Amid the truculence and turmoil around it, Germany appears an oasis of tranquillity.
To many of its friends and neighbours, though, the paragon is a disappointment. Its sharp-elbowed behaviour during the near-collapse of the euro earlier this year heightened concerns about Germany’s role in the world that have been stirring ever since unification 20 years ago. A recent essay published by Bruegel, a Brussels think-tank, explains "why Germany fell out of love with Europe". Another, from the European Council on Foreign Relations, alleges that Germany is "going global alone". Jurgen Habermas, Germany’s most distinguished living philosopher, accuses his country of pursuing an "inward-looking national policy". "How can you not ask Germany questions about its vision of the future of Europe" wonders Jacques Delors, who was president of the European Commission when the Berlin Wall fell. Even a pacific and prosperous Germany causes international angst.
The German question never dies. Instead, like a flu virus, it mutates. Even today’s mild strain causes aches and pains, which afflict different regions in different ways. America’s symptoms are mild. Central Europe seems to have acquired immunity. After unification 85% of Poles looked upon Germany as a threat, recalls Eugeniusz Smolar of the Centre for International Relations in Warsaw. Now just a fifth do. It is among Germany’s long-standing west and south European partners that the German question feels debilitating, and where a dangerous flare-up still seems a possibility. Germany’s answer to the question matters not only to them. It will shape Europe, and therefore the world.
Germans have not forgotten that their country was the author of the horrors of the 1930s and 1940s, but, says Renate Kocher of Allensbach, a polling firm, they want to "draw a line under the past". That does not mean ignoring its lessons or neglecting to teach them to the next generation. A new exhibition on "Hitler and the Germans" at the German Historical Museum in Berlin is drawing blockbuster crowds. But Germans are no longer so ready to be put on the moral defensive or to view the Nazi era as the defining episode of their past. Even non-Germans seem willing to move on. Recent books like "Germania" and "The German Genius" suggest that English-language publishing may be entering a post-swastika phase. Germany still atones but now also preaches, usually on the evils of debt, the importance of nurturing industry and the superiority of long-term thinking in enterprise. Others are disposed to listen. "Everyone orients himself towards Germany," says John Kornblum, a former American ambassador.
The "question" in "Germany’s answer to the question matters not only to them. It will shape Europe, and therefore the world" (the third paragraph) refers to ______.

A.how to draw a lesson from the past of Germany
B.what role should Germany play in the world
C.what should be done to confront the global recession
D.how to avoid the truculence and turmoil beyond Europe


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1With flaking paint and rusty doors, many factories in the province of Biella in north-west Italy stand idle. Production of the woollen fabrics and clothing that made the region’s name has drifted away to cheaper countries. Supply from Asia crushed the local textile industry. Yet in Trivero, a town in the Alpine foothills, the looms of one mill are still busy. This is where, 100 years ago, Ermenegildo Zegna began his fashion house. The firm is now one of the world’s top makers of costly male kit. Whether Zegna stays on top depends on demand from Asia.
Zegna has not been left unscathed by globalisation, an economic downturn and the capriciousness of fashion: sales fell by 8.4% to 797m ($1.1 billion) last year and net profits slumped to 17.3m from 62m in 2008. "Protecting cash became our primary objective, turnover and profits secondary," says Gildo Zegna, the chief executive and a grandson of the founder.
This year things look brighter: the firm hopes to achieve double-digit sales growth. Mr. Zegna and his cousin Paolo, the company’s chairman, have been building on their fathers’ decision to expand beyond weaving cloth. A generation ago bespoke tailoring declined as men increasingly bought off-the-peg rather than being measured for suits in the small tailors’ shops that Zegna supplied. So in the 1960s the company moved into ready-to-wear suits. Later in the 1960s it added sportswear and accessories. In the 1980s Zegna began selling its own clothes and now it has 300 shops and 250 or so franchised stores. About 90% of sales come from abroad. On the way, the payroll has grown to over 7,000, although in Trivero it has fallen from some 1,400 in 1970 to 500 now.
Turning to the glitter of the male catwalk has helped Zegna survive when many of its peers perished. Off-the-peg its suits cost between
1,500 and
3,000, and made-to-measure ones an extra 20% or so. This attracts glitzy customers: George Clooney wears a Zegna suit in "The American", a new film about an assassin hiding in Italy.
One of Zegna’s priorities will be to keep extending its distribution network, which has absorbed more than half of its average annual investment of around 50m over the past decade. Next year the firm will celebrate 20 years of selling in China, where its 91 shops now have sales exceeding those of the 14 it has in America; Italian sales rank third.
India is the next frontier. Zegna recently entered into a deal with part of India’s Reliance Group to distribute clothes through a network of shops which their joint venture will set up. The first opened in Hyderabad in October; it will be followed by at least another nine by 2015.
Success as a global luxury brand depends on various factors. Mr. Zegna points to creativity—a team of around 50 young designers dreams up the styles—and to a meritocracy among employees. From sheep to shops, quality control is essential.
Each stage of production involves careful checks: at the wool mill, at the factory in Switzerland where suits have been made for decades, at other plants in Italy, including a knitwear factory at Verrone, and at a couple of locations elsewhere in Europe. Stockrooms at Verrone are tightly controlled for temperature,’ humidity and light. Before being dispatched, each of the 130,000 items that leave Verrone each year is checked for faults on brightly illuminated plastic mannequins.
Zegna also has a niche upmarket women’s brand called Agnona which it acquired in 1999, but has no big plans to expand it. The firm will remain private, family-owned and devoted to menswear. Mr. Zegna says the firm has enough money to expand, so there is no reason to go public. "We’re working towards generational change, but I’m 55, my cousin is 54 and I don’t see succession as an immediate issue," he says. With 11 members of the fourth generation now in their 20s and teens, Ermenegildo Zegna looks like remaining a family affair.
It can be inferred from the passage that Zegna succeeded due to ______.

2"It’s five miles; and as you’re evidently bent on talking you might as well talk to some purpose by telling me what you know about yourself."
"Oh, what I know about myself isn’t really worth telling," said Anne eagerly. "If you’ll only let me tell you what I imagine about myself you’ll think it ever so much more interesting."
"No, I don’t want any of your imaginings. Just you stick to bald facts. Begin at the beginning. Where were you born and how old are you"
"I was eleven last March," said Anne, resigning herself to bald facts with a little sigh. "And I was born in Bolingbroke. My father’s name was Walter Jerry, and he was a teacher in the Bolingbroke High School. My mother’s name was Bertha Jerry. I’m so glad my parents had nice names. "
"I guess it doesn’t matter what a person’s name is as long as he behaves himself," said Marilla, feeling herself called upon to inculcate a good and useful moral.
"Well, my mother was a teacher in the high school, too, but when she married father she gave up teaching, of course. A husband was enough responsibility. Mrs. Thomas said that they were a pair of babies and as poor as church mice. They went to live in a weeny-teeny little yellow house in Bolingbroke. I’ve never seen that house, but I’ve imagined it thousands of times. I think it must have had honeysuckle over the parlor window and lilacs in the front yard and lilies of the valley just inside the gate. Yes, and muslin curtains in all the windows. I was born in that house. Mrs. Thomas said I was the homeliest baby she ever saw, I was so scrawny and tiny and nothing but eyes, but that mother thought I was perfectly beautiful. She died of fever when I was just three months old. I do wish she’d lived long enough for me to remember calling her mother. I think it would be so sweet to say ’mother’, don’t you And father died four days afterwards from fever too. That left me an orphan and folks were at their wits’ end, so Mrs. Thomas said, what to do with me. You see, nobody wanted me even then. It seems to be my fate. Father and mother had both come from places far away and it was well known they hadn’t any relatives living. Finally Mrs. Thomas said she’d take me, though she was poor and had a drunken husband. She brought me up by hand. "
"Mr. and Mrs. Thomas moved away from Bolingbroke to Marysville, and I lived with them until I was eight years old. Then Mr. Thomas was killed falling under a train and his mother offered to take Mrs. Thomas and the children, but she didn’t want me. Mrs. Thomas was at her wits’ end, so she said, what to do with me. Then Mrs. Hammond from up the river came down and said she’d take me, seeing I was handy with children, and I went up the river to live with her in a little clearing among the stumps. I lived up river with Mrs. Hammond over two years, and then Mr. Hammond died and Mrs. Hammond broke up housekeeping. She divided her children among her relatives and went to the States. I had to go to the asylum, because nobody would take me. They didn’t want me at the asylum, either; they said they were over-crowded as it was. But they had to take me and I was there four months until Mrs. Spencer came. "
Anne finished up with another sigh, of relief this time. Evidently she did not like talking about her experiences in a world that had not wanted her.
"Were those women—Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. Hammond—good to you" asked Marilla, looking at Anne out of the corner of her eye.
"O-o-o-h," faltered Anne. Her sensitive little face suddenly flushed scarlet and embarrassment sat on her brow. "Oh, they MEANT to be—I know they meant to be just as good and kind as possible. And when people mean to be good to you, you don’t mind very much when they’re not quite—always. They had a good deal to worry them, you know It’s very trying to have a drunken husband, you see; and it must be very trying to have twins three times in succession, don’t you think But I feel sure they meant to be good to me.\
According to the passage, what would most probably happen after Marilla heard of Anne’s story

4The day was ended—quite successfully, so far as she knew. The Trustees and the visiting committee had made their rounds, and read their reports, and drunk their tea, and now were hurrying home to their own cheerful firesides, to forget their bothersome little charges for another month. Jerusha leaned forward watching with curiosity—and a touch of wistfulness—the stream of carriages and automobiles that rolled out of the asylum gates.
In imagination she followed first one equipage, then another, to the big houses dotted along the hillside. She pictured herself in a fur coat and a velvet hat trimmed with feathers leaning back in the seat and nonchalantly murmuring "Home" to the driver. But on the door-sill of her home the picture grew blurred.
Jerusha had an imagination—an imagination, Mrs. Lippett told her, "that would get her into trouble if she didn’t take care—but keen as it was, it could not carry her beyond the front porch of the houses she would enter. Poor, eager, adventurous little Jerusha, in all her seventeen years, had never stepped inside an ordinary house; she could not picture the daily routine of those other human beings who carried on their lives undiscommoded by orphans.
Je-ru-sha Ab-bott
You are wan-ted
In the of-rice,
And I think you’d
Better hurry up!
Tommy Dillon, who had joined the choir, came singing up the stairs and down the corridor, his chant growing louder as he approached room F. Jerusha wrenched herself from the window and refaced the troubles of life.
"Who wants me" she cut into Tommy’s chant with a note of sharp anxiety.
Mrs. Lippett in the office,
And I think she’s mad.
Ah-a-men!
Tommy piously intoned, but his accent was not entirely malicious. Even the most hardened little orphan felt sympathy for an erring sister who was summoned to the office to face an annoyed matron; and Tommy liked Jerusha even if she did sometimes jerk him by the arm and nearly scrub his nose off.
Jerusha went without comment, but with two parallel lines on her brow. What could have gone wrong, she wondered. Were the sandwiches not thin enough Were there shells in the nut cakes Had a lady visitor seen the hole in Susie Hawthorn’s stocking Had—O horrors! —one of the cherubic little babes in her own room F "sauced" a Trustee
The long lower hall had not been lighted, and as she came downstairs, a last Trustee stood, on the point of departure, in the open door that led to the porte-cochere. Jerusha caught only a fleeting impression of the man—and the impression consisted entirely of tallness. He was waving his arm towards an automobile waiting in the curved drive. As it sprang into motion and approached, head on for an instant, the glaring headlights threw his shadow sharply against the wall inside. The shadow pictured grotesquely elongated legs and arms that ran along the floor and up the wall of the corridor. It looked, for all the world, like a huge, wavering daddy-long-legs.
Jerusha’s anxious frown gave place to quick laughter. She was by nature a sunny soul, and had always snatched the tiniest excuse to be amused. If one could derive any sort of entertainment out of the oppressive fact of a Trustee, it was something unexpected to the good. She advanced to the office quite cheered by the tiny episode, and presented a smiling face to Mrs. Lippett. To her surprise the matron was also, if not exactly smiling, at least appreciably affable; she wore an expression almost as pleasant as the one she donned for visitors.
"Sit down, Jerusha, I have something to say to you." Jerusha dropped into the nearest chair and waited with a touch of breathlessness.
At the end of the passage, the matron sounded ______.

5"It’s five miles; and as you’re evidently bent on talking you might as well talk to some purpose by telling me what you know about yourself."
"Oh, what I know about myself isn’t really worth telling," said Anne eagerly. "If you’ll only let me tell you what I imagine about myself you’ll think it ever so much more interesting."
"No, I don’t want any of your imaginings. Just you stick to bald facts. Begin at the beginning. Where were you born and how old are you"
"I was eleven last March," said Anne, resigning herself to bald facts with a little sigh. "And I was born in Bolingbroke. My father’s name was Walter Jerry, and he was a teacher in the Bolingbroke High School. My mother’s name was Bertha Jerry. I’m so glad my parents had nice names. "
"I guess it doesn’t matter what a person’s name is as long as he behaves himself," said Marilla, feeling herself called upon to inculcate a good and useful moral.
"Well, my mother was a teacher in the high school, too, but when she married father she gave up teaching, of course. A husband was enough responsibility. Mrs. Thomas said that they were a pair of babies and as poor as church mice. They went to live in a weeny-teeny little yellow house in Bolingbroke. I’ve never seen that house, but I’ve imagined it thousands of times. I think it must have had honeysuckle over the parlor window and lilacs in the front yard and lilies of the valley just inside the gate. Yes, and muslin curtains in all the windows. I was born in that house. Mrs. Thomas said I was the homeliest baby she ever saw, I was so scrawny and tiny and nothing but eyes, but that mother thought I was perfectly beautiful. She died of fever when I was just three months old. I do wish she’d lived long enough for me to remember calling her mother. I think it would be so sweet to say ’mother’, don’t you And father died four days afterwards from fever too. That left me an orphan and folks were at their wits’ end, so Mrs. Thomas said, what to do with me. You see, nobody wanted me even then. It seems to be my fate. Father and mother had both come from places far away and it was well known they hadn’t any relatives living. Finally Mrs. Thomas said she’d take me, though she was poor and had a drunken husband. She brought me up by hand. "
"Mr. and Mrs. Thomas moved away from Bolingbroke to Marysville, and I lived with them until I was eight years old. Then Mr. Thomas was killed falling under a train and his mother offered to take Mrs. Thomas and the children, but she didn’t want me. Mrs. Thomas was at her wits’ end, so she said, what to do with me. Then Mrs. Hammond from up the river came down and said she’d take me, seeing I was handy with children, and I went up the river to live with her in a little clearing among the stumps. I lived up river with Mrs. Hammond over two years, and then Mr. Hammond died and Mrs. Hammond broke up housekeeping. She divided her children among her relatives and went to the States. I had to go to the asylum, because nobody would take me. They didn’t want me at the asylum, either; they said they were over-crowded as it was. But they had to take me and I was there four months until Mrs. Spencer came. "
Anne finished up with another sigh, of relief this time. Evidently she did not like talking about her experiences in a world that had not wanted her.
"Were those women—Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. Hammond—good to you" asked Marilla, looking at Anne out of the corner of her eye.
"O-o-o-h," faltered Anne. Her sensitive little face suddenly flushed scarlet and embarrassment sat on her brow. "Oh, they MEANT to be—I know they meant to be just as good and kind as possible. And when people mean to be good to you, you don’t mind very much when they’re not quite—always. They had a good deal to worry them, you know It’s very trying to have a drunken husband, you see; and it must be very trying to have twins three times in succession, don’t you think But I feel sure they meant to be good to me.\
Anne was sent to the asylum when ______.

6With flaking paint and rusty doors, many factories in the province of Biella in north-west Italy stand idle. Production of the woollen fabrics and clothing that made the region’s name has drifted away to cheaper countries. Supply from Asia crushed the local textile industry. Yet in Trivero, a town in the Alpine foothills, the looms of one mill are still busy. This is where, 100 years ago, Ermenegildo Zegna began his fashion house. The firm is now one of the world’s top makers of costly male kit. Whether Zegna stays on top depends on demand from Asia.
Zegna has not been left unscathed by globalisation, an economic downturn and the capriciousness of fashion: sales fell by 8.4% to 797m ($1.1 billion) last year and net profits slumped to 17.3m from 62m in 2008. "Protecting cash became our primary objective, turnover and profits secondary," says Gildo Zegna, the chief executive and a grandson of the founder.
This year things look brighter: the firm hopes to achieve double-digit sales growth. Mr. Zegna and his cousin Paolo, the company’s chairman, have been building on their fathers’ decision to expand beyond weaving cloth. A generation ago bespoke tailoring declined as men increasingly bought off-the-peg rather than being measured for suits in the small tailors’ shops that Zegna supplied. So in the 1960s the company moved into ready-to-wear suits. Later in the 1960s it added sportswear and accessories. In the 1980s Zegna began selling its own clothes and now it has 300 shops and 250 or so franchised stores. About 90% of sales come from abroad. On the way, the payroll has grown to over 7,000, although in Trivero it has fallen from some 1,400 in 1970 to 500 now.
Turning to the glitter of the male catwalk has helped Zegna survive when many of its peers perished. Off-the-peg its suits cost between
1,500 and
3,000, and made-to-measure ones an extra 20% or so. This attracts glitzy customers: George Clooney wears a Zegna suit in "The American", a new film about an assassin hiding in Italy.
One of Zegna’s priorities will be to keep extending its distribution network, which has absorbed more than half of its average annual investment of around 50m over the past decade. Next year the firm will celebrate 20 years of selling in China, where its 91 shops now have sales exceeding those of the 14 it has in America; Italian sales rank third.
India is the next frontier. Zegna recently entered into a deal with part of India’s Reliance Group to distribute clothes through a network of shops which their joint venture will set up. The first opened in Hyderabad in October; it will be followed by at least another nine by 2015.
Success as a global luxury brand depends on various factors. Mr. Zegna points to creativity—a team of around 50 young designers dreams up the styles—and to a meritocracy among employees. From sheep to shops, quality control is essential.
Each stage of production involves careful checks: at the wool mill, at the factory in Switzerland where suits have been made for decades, at other plants in Italy, including a knitwear factory at Verrone, and at a couple of locations elsewhere in Europe. Stockrooms at Verrone are tightly controlled for temperature,’ humidity and light. Before being dispatched, each of the 130,000 items that leave Verrone each year is checked for faults on brightly illuminated plastic mannequins.
Zegna also has a niche upmarket women’s brand called Agnona which it acquired in 1999, but has no big plans to expand it. The firm will remain private, family-owned and devoted to menswear. Mr. Zegna says the firm has enough money to expand, so there is no reason to go public. "We’re working towards generational change, but I’m 55, my cousin is 54 and I don’t see succession as an immediate issue," he says. With 11 members of the fourth generation now in their 20s and teens, Ermenegildo Zegna looks like remaining a family affair.
What does the word "absorbed" (in Paragraph 5, "... which has absorbed more than half of its average annual investment... ") mean

7The day was ended—quite successfully, so far as she knew. The Trustees and the visiting committee had made their rounds, and read their reports, and drunk their tea, and now were hurrying home to their own cheerful firesides, to forget their bothersome little charges for another month. Jerusha leaned forward watching with curiosity—and a touch of wistfulness—the stream of carriages and automobiles that rolled out of the asylum gates.
In imagination she followed first one equipage, then another, to the big houses dotted along the hillside. She pictured herself in a fur coat and a velvet hat trimmed with feathers leaning back in the seat and nonchalantly murmuring "Home" to the driver. But on the door-sill of her home the picture grew blurred.
Jerusha had an imagination—an imagination, Mrs. Lippett told her, "that would get her into trouble if she didn’t take care—but keen as it was, it could not carry her beyond the front porch of the houses she would enter. Poor, eager, adventurous little Jerusha, in all her seventeen years, had never stepped inside an ordinary house; she could not picture the daily routine of those other human beings who carried on their lives undiscommoded by orphans.
Je-ru-sha Ab-bott
You are wan-ted
In the of-rice,
And I think you’d
Better hurry up!
Tommy Dillon, who had joined the choir, came singing up the stairs and down the corridor, his chant growing louder as he approached room F. Jerusha wrenched herself from the window and refaced the troubles of life.
"Who wants me" she cut into Tommy’s chant with a note of sharp anxiety.
Mrs. Lippett in the office,
And I think she’s mad.
Ah-a-men!
Tommy piously intoned, but his accent was not entirely malicious. Even the most hardened little orphan felt sympathy for an erring sister who was summoned to the office to face an annoyed matron; and Tommy liked Jerusha even if she did sometimes jerk him by the arm and nearly scrub his nose off.
Jerusha went without comment, but with two parallel lines on her brow. What could have gone wrong, she wondered. Were the sandwiches not thin enough Were there shells in the nut cakes Had a lady visitor seen the hole in Susie Hawthorn’s stocking Had—O horrors! —one of the cherubic little babes in her own room F "sauced" a Trustee
The long lower hall had not been lighted, and as she came downstairs, a last Trustee stood, on the point of departure, in the open door that led to the porte-cochere. Jerusha caught only a fleeting impression of the man—and the impression consisted entirely of tallness. He was waving his arm towards an automobile waiting in the curved drive. As it sprang into motion and approached, head on for an instant, the glaring headlights threw his shadow sharply against the wall inside. The shadow pictured grotesquely elongated legs and arms that ran along the floor and up the wall of the corridor. It looked, for all the world, like a huge, wavering daddy-long-legs.
Jerusha’s anxious frown gave place to quick laughter. She was by nature a sunny soul, and had always snatched the tiniest excuse to be amused. If one could derive any sort of entertainment out of the oppressive fact of a Trustee, it was something unexpected to the good. She advanced to the office quite cheered by the tiny episode, and presented a smiling face to Mrs. Lippett. To her surprise the matron was also, if not exactly smiling, at least appreciably affable; she wore an expression almost as pleasant as the one she donned for visitors.
"Sit down, Jerusha, I have something to say to you." Jerusha dropped into the nearest chair and waited with a touch of breathlessness.
Jerusha’s impression of the last Trustee is mainly about ______.

8No big developed country has come out of the global recession looking stronger than Germany has. The economy minister, Rainer Bruderle, boasts of an "XL upswing". Exports are booming and unemployment is expected to fall to levels last seen in the early 1990s. The government is a stable, though sometimes fractious, coalition of three mainstream parties. The shrillest protest is aimed at a huge new railway project in Stuttgart. Amid the truculence and turmoil around it, Germany appears an oasis of tranquillity.
To many of its friends and neighbours, though, the paragon is a disappointment. Its sharp-elbowed behaviour during the near-collapse of the euro earlier this year heightened concerns about Germany’s role in the world that have been stirring ever since unification 20 years ago. A recent essay published by Bruegel, a Brussels think-tank, explains "why Germany fell out of love with Europe". Another, from the European Council on Foreign Relations, alleges that Germany is "going global alone". Jurgen Habermas, Germany’s most distinguished living philosopher, accuses his country of pursuing an "inward-looking national policy". "How can you not ask Germany questions about its vision of the future of Europe" wonders Jacques Delors, who was president of the European Commission when the Berlin Wall fell. Even a pacific and prosperous Germany causes international angst.
The German question never dies. Instead, like a flu virus, it mutates. Even today’s mild strain causes aches and pains, which afflict different regions in different ways. America’s symptoms are mild. Central Europe seems to have acquired immunity. After unification 85% of Poles looked upon Germany as a threat, recalls Eugeniusz Smolar of the Centre for International Relations in Warsaw. Now just a fifth do. It is among Germany’s long-standing west and south European partners that the German question feels debilitating, and where a dangerous flare-up still seems a possibility. Germany’s answer to the question matters not only to them. It will shape Europe, and therefore the world.
Germans have not forgotten that their country was the author of the horrors of the 1930s and 1940s, but, says Renate Kocher of Allensbach, a polling firm, they want to "draw a line under the past". That does not mean ignoring its lessons or neglecting to teach them to the next generation. A new exhibition on "Hitler and the Germans" at the German Historical Museum in Berlin is drawing blockbuster crowds. But Germans are no longer so ready to be put on the moral defensive or to view the Nazi era as the defining episode of their past. Even non-Germans seem willing to move on. Recent books like "Germania" and "The German Genius" suggest that English-language publishing may be entering a post-swastika phase. Germany still atones but now also preaches, usually on the evils of debt, the importance of nurturing industry and the superiority of long-term thinking in enterprise. Others are disposed to listen. "Everyone orients himself towards Germany," says John Kornblum, a former American ambassador.
We can infer from "To many of its friends and neighbours, though, the paragon is a disappointment" (in Paragraph 2) that ______.

10"It’s five miles; and as you’re evidently bent on talking you might as well talk to some purpose by telling me what you know about yourself."
"Oh, what I know about myself isn’t really worth telling," said Anne eagerly. "If you’ll only let me tell you what I imagine about myself you’ll think it ever so much more interesting."
"No, I don’t want any of your imaginings. Just you stick to bald facts. Begin at the beginning. Where were you born and how old are you"
"I was eleven last March," said Anne, resigning herself to bald facts with a little sigh. "And I was born in Bolingbroke. My father’s name was Walter Jerry, and he was a teacher in the Bolingbroke High School. My mother’s name was Bertha Jerry. I’m so glad my parents had nice names. "
"I guess it doesn’t matter what a person’s name is as long as he behaves himself," said Marilla, feeling herself called upon to inculcate a good and useful moral.
"Well, my mother was a teacher in the high school, too, but when she married father she gave up teaching, of course. A husband was enough responsibility. Mrs. Thomas said that they were a pair of babies and as poor as church mice. They went to live in a weeny-teeny little yellow house in Bolingbroke. I’ve never seen that house, but I’ve imagined it thousands of times. I think it must have had honeysuckle over the parlor window and lilacs in the front yard and lilies of the valley just inside the gate. Yes, and muslin curtains in all the windows. I was born in that house. Mrs. Thomas said I was the homeliest baby she ever saw, I was so scrawny and tiny and nothing but eyes, but that mother thought I was perfectly beautiful. She died of fever when I was just three months old. I do wish she’d lived long enough for me to remember calling her mother. I think it would be so sweet to say ’mother’, don’t you And father died four days afterwards from fever too. That left me an orphan and folks were at their wits’ end, so Mrs. Thomas said, what to do with me. You see, nobody wanted me even then. It seems to be my fate. Father and mother had both come from places far away and it was well known they hadn’t any relatives living. Finally Mrs. Thomas said she’d take me, though she was poor and had a drunken husband. She brought me up by hand. "
"Mr. and Mrs. Thomas moved away from Bolingbroke to Marysville, and I lived with them until I was eight years old. Then Mr. Thomas was killed falling under a train and his mother offered to take Mrs. Thomas and the children, but she didn’t want me. Mrs. Thomas was at her wits’ end, so she said, what to do with me. Then Mrs. Hammond from up the river came down and said she’d take me, seeing I was handy with children, and I went up the river to live with her in a little clearing among the stumps. I lived up river with Mrs. Hammond over two years, and then Mr. Hammond died and Mrs. Hammond broke up housekeeping. She divided her children among her relatives and went to the States. I had to go to the asylum, because nobody would take me. They didn’t want me at the asylum, either; they said they were over-crowded as it was. But they had to take me and I was there four months until Mrs. Spencer came. "
Anne finished up with another sigh, of relief this time. Evidently she did not like talking about her experiences in a world that had not wanted her.
"Were those women—Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. Hammond—good to you" asked Marilla, looking at Anne out of the corner of her eye.
"O-o-o-h," faltered Anne. Her sensitive little face suddenly flushed scarlet and embarrassment sat on her brow. "Oh, they MEANT to be—I know they meant to be just as good and kind as possible. And when people mean to be good to you, you don’t mind very much when they’re not quite—always. They had a good deal to worry them, you know It’s very trying to have a drunken husband, you see; and it must be very trying to have twins three times in succession, don’t you think But I feel sure they meant to be good to me.\
Which of the following is UNTRUE about Anne’s parents