1 . 听下面一段较长对话，回答以下小题。

3 . Noted for his profound description of life along the Chinese railway, Wang Fuchun passed away on March 13th at the age of 79. His engaging photographs capture the substance of China’s ever-changing landscape.

Being artistic and good at painting and calligraphy, Wang found that photography bridged the two worlds: he could make art with his camera and increasingly he felt that his goal was not art, but life.

In the late 1970s, when he started taking his photographs, everyone on a railway platform looked reserved and orderly. By the late 1980s, a great rush to the cities had begun on the trains. He recorded young migrant workers shedding their shirts, running with sweat, seeking coolness on top of the seats. He did not ask anyone’s permission to take them, and he preferred to act secretly, like a thief in a way, as it captured the authentic (真实的) moments of people’s lives—and so mirrored all the more clearly how China was changing.

His project was all-consuming. Over 40 years he estimated he had ridden on 1, 000 trains and covered more than 100, 000 kilometers, on every line in China. Each trip was neatly noted down in a notebook; he took about 200, 000 pictures, and logged each by its place. From those pictures, he felt the migrants’ poverty too keenly, and he preferred to capture the hope that pushed people on to trains.

China was rushing to the modern world. Steam was fading; the green-skinned trains acquired fans and air-conditioning. Then came express trains, then high-speed rail. The aisles were clear, the windows sealed. However, in the reclining seats (躺椅座位), everyone reclined. In the ordinary seats, everyone’s noses were buried in their tablets and their phones.

He liked the message of hope; he was proud of what China had achieved. But how sad, he also thought that on that dashing train there was no mess, no collision of life and no good subjects for him, and that Chinese people should once again look so orderly, reserved and unconcerned about each other, even on a train.

4 . When was the last time you used a telephone box? I mean to make an actual phone call — not to shelter from the rain. Ages ago, right? The last time I used a phone box for its intended purpose was…2006. I was conducting auditions (试演) for my play in my tiny old shared house in London. Hoping to impress some talented actors to come and work for me for nothing, I spread some throws over the sofas and lit candles to make it seem a bit more ”young professional”.

As I rushed outdoors to empty the wastepaper baskets, the door swung shut behind me. Suddenly I was locked outside. My mobile phone was inside, but luckily there was a telephone box across the street. So, I called Directory Assistance, got put through to our landlady’s managing agent, and had a spare key sent to me with just enough time to get back in before the actors arrived.

As it has been many years since I last used one, I should hardly be surprised that then are no longer any public telephones near my house. The last one standing has just been turn into a “mini community library”: any passer-by can “borrow” a book from its shelves return it later, or replace it with another title from their own collection.

For a few months after the “library” opened, I didn’t bother taking a look, as I had assumed that it would be stuffed full of cheese love stories. Then I noticed fork conducting spring cleans dropping boxes of voluminous books on various subjects there. And these books were free. This unbeatable price-point encouraged me to experiment with dozens of titles that I would never normally consider buying. And I’ve discovered some great books!

If I ever get trapped outside my house again, my local telephone box will, sadly no longer be able to connect me with my keys. But it can certainly keep me entertained while I wait for my wife to rescue me.