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只要对方能提供国土使用原证原件就行了，你可以凭此国土证复印件到国土局进行查询有没有进行抵押的事项，如果没问题双方就可以在国土局进行土地交易。
如果你是本村的农业户口，可以买同村的宅基地，农村的土地只能租赁、承包几十年，如果要购买，在符合规划的条件下可以买农村整个的有集体产权的地块，比如养殖场、养...
可以,属于土地及附属建筑过户
农村的地皮是属于农耕地皮。你只能和当地大队签定租赁合同25年-40年。此种类地皮是不能上市买卖的。没有产权证。是属违法的。
答: 产后便秘饮食上要多吃点清淡点的食物,多吃点水果蔬菜,可以喝点营养餐调理一下
大家还关注您的举报已经提交成功，我们将尽快处理，谢谢！
一般的药店就能买到的。。。
箱体采用航空铝材、耐摔、防震、抗氧化。外箱有醒目的标识、可配安全锁。配有软体背带和提手。内部采用无毒环保型材料,抗震；可移动隔板使各种物品的固定更具灵活性和个性...
首先要搞清家中都有什么病人，根据不同的病准备不同的药物。比如有冠心病人，就必须准备硝酸甘油。
可以买到的，但是最好还是去正规医院去检查治疗。让医生给您推荐药品，不要自行去药店购买药品就服用！以免发生副作用。
答: 不滥用导泻药如经常服用导泻药，会使肠壁活动依赖于药物，导致肠道功能失调，反而会使加重
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“But Mrs. Carstairs isn’t a German,” put in little Mr. Cribbs, somewhat
tartly for him.
“You’re always saying the wrong thing, Cribbs,—or the right thing at the
wrong time,” said Carstairs. “Mrs. Carstairs is not German. Her father and
mother were, however. She’s in the same fix as Zimmerlein, and she isn’t ashamed
of it any more than Zimmie is.”
“I had—er—no idea that Mrs. Carstairs was—”
“What were your parents, Mr. Cribbs?” asked Mrs. Carstairs calmly.
“Nebraskans,” said Cribbs, stiffening. “My grandfather was a Welshman.”
“And so you have absolutely nothing to reproach yourself with,” said she.
“How fortunate in these days.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Carstairs, if I—”
“I was born in the United States,” she said, without a trace of annoyance,
“but not in Nebraska. You have the advantage of me there, I fear. And of poor
Mr. Zimmerlein, too. He was born in Boston,—were you not?”
“In Marlborough Street,” said Zimmerlein, drily. “My father was Irish, as
you can tell by me name, and me poor mither was Irish too. Her name before
marriage was Krausshof.” Mr. Cribbs’s face was scarlet. To cover his confusion,
he wedged his way a little closer to the windows and glared at the dull red
light that crept slowly out of the darkness off to the south. The crests of the
hills were beginning to take shape against a background shot with crimson.
“Just the same,” he muttered, “I’d like to see the men who are responsible
for that fire over there burning in hell.”
“I think we can agree on that point, at least, Mr. Cribbs,” said
Zimmerlein, with dignity.
“Who wants to run over there with me in my car?” cried the other,
excitedly. “It’s only a few miles, and it must be a wonderful sight. I can take
six or seven—”
“Stay where you are, Cribbs,” said Carstairs sharply. “When those shells
begin to go off—Why, man alive, there’s never been anything on the French front
that could hold a candle to it. Don’t forget what happened when Black Tom pier
was blown up. Pray do not be alarmed, ladies. There isn’t the slightest danger
here. The shells they are making at the Reynolds plant are comparatively small.
We’re safely out of range.”
“What size shells were they making, Carstairs?” inquired one of the
“Three inch, I believe—and smaller. A lot of machine-gun ammunition, too.
Cox, the general manager, dined with us the other night. He talked a little too
freely, I thought,—didn’t you, Frieda?”
“He boasted, if that is what you mean,” said Mrs. Carstairs.
“Well,” said a big, red-faced man on the outer edge of the group, “it’s
time some of these blooming fools learned how to keep their mouths shut. The
country’s full of spies,—running over with ‘em. You never know when you’re
talking to one.”
Silence followed his remark. For some time they all stood watching the
crimson cloud in the distance, an ever-changing, pulsing shadow that throbbed to
the temper of the wind.
They represented the reluctant element of a large company that had spent
the afternoon and early evening at the Black Downs Country Club,—the element
that is always reluctant to go home. There had been many intimate little dinner
parties during the evening. New York was twenty miles or more away, and there
was the Hudson in between. The clock above the huge fireplace had struck eleven
a minute or two before the first explosion took place. Chauffeurs in the
club-garage were sullenly cursing their employers. All but two or three waiters
had gone off to the railway station not far away, and the musicians had made the
10:30 up-train. Peter, the steward, lived on the premises with the chef and
several house employes.
The late-staying guests were clad in sport clothes, rough and warm and
smart,—for it was one of the smartest clubs in the Metropolitan district.
A fierce October gale was whining, cold and bitter and relentless, across
storm-warnings had gone out from the Weather B coast-wise
vessels were scurrying for harbours and farmers all over the land had made snug
their livestock against the uncertain elements.
If it turned out to be true that the vast Reynolds munitions plant had been
blown up, the plotters could not have chosen a more auspicious night for their
enterprise. No human force could combat the flames
on the wings of the wind there would be no stopping them until the ashes of ruin
lay wet and sodden where the flight had begun.
Mrs. Carstairs was the first to turn away from the windows. She shuddered a
little. A pretty, nervous young wife sidled up to her, and laid a trembling hand
on her arm.
“Wouldn’t it be dreadful if there were a lot of people at work over there
when—when it happened?” she cried, in a tense, strained voice. “Just think of
“Don’t think about it, Alice dear. Think of what they are going through in
France and Belgium.”
“But we really aren’t fighting them yet,” went on the other, plaintively.
“Why should they blow up our factories? Oh, these dreadful, terrible Germans.”
Then suddenly, in confusion: “I—I beg your pardon.”
An odd sort of paralysis seemed to have gripped every one in the
room,—paralysis of the mind as well as of the body.
Then puzzled, wondering looks were exchanged.
A man sitting near the fireplace glanced sharply, apprehensively at the
huge beams in the ceiling and muttered:
“What was it! Sounded as though something had smashed in the roof. There’s
a tremendous wind. It may have got that big tree at the corner of the locker
“It couldn’t have been thunder,—not at this time of the year,” said one of
the women, sending a nervous, frightened look at her husband who sprawled
ungracefully in a big Morris chair at the end of a table littered with
newspapers and magazines.
“‘Gad, did you feel the house rock?” exclaimed he, sitting up suddenly, his
eyes narrowing as with pain. “Like an earthquake.
“It couldn’t have been an earthquake,” interrupted his wife, starting up
from her chair.
“Why couldn’t it?” he demanded crossly, and then glanced around at the
other occupants of the room,—ten or a dozen men and women seated in a wide
semi-circle in front of the huge logs blazing in the fireplace. “What do you
think it was, Zimmie?”
“We’ll find part or all of the roof gone,” answered the man addressed. As
he spoke, he rose quickly and started across the room in the direction of the
door leading to the steward’s pantry. “I’ll have a look from the back of
He stopped short. The dull, ripping crash that had startled them was
repeated, this time a little louder and more prolonged than before. The
club-house shook. Several of the men sprang to their feet in alarm. A look of
comprehension shot among them.
“By Gad! An explosion!” cried one of them. “The damned beasts!”
“The Reynolds Works!” cried another, gripping the back of his chair with
tense fingers. “Sure as you’re alive! It’s only a few miles from here. Nothing
else could have—”
“Let’s go home, Ned. The children—something may have happened—you never can
“Don’t get excited, Betty,” cried the man in the Morris chair. She was
shaking his arm. “The children are in New York, twenty miles away. They’re all
right, old girl. Lord! What a smash it was!”
The group was silent, waiting with bated breath for the third and perhaps
more shocks to come.
The club steward came into the room, bearing a tray of bottles and glasses.
H there was a set expression about it, as one who controls his
nerves with difficulty.
“Did you hear it, Peter?” was the innocuous inquiry of one of the men, a
dapper young fellow in corduroys.
“Yes, Mr. Cribbs. I thought at first it was the roof, sir. The chef said it
was the big chimney—”
“Never mind the drinks, Peter,” said a tall, greyish man as the steward
placed the glasses on the table. “We’ve lost what little thirst we had. Where
are the Reynolds Works from here?”
Peter looked surprised. “South, sir,—beyond the hills. About five miles, I
should say, Mr. Carstairs.”
“And which way is south?” inquired one of the women. “I am always turned
around when I am in the country.” She was a singularly pallid, clear-featured
woman of perhaps forty-five. One might surmise that at twenty she had been
lovely, even exquisite.
“This way, Mrs. Carstairs,” said the steward, starting toward the windows
at the lower end of the lounge.
The man who had been addressed as Zimmie was already at one of the broad
windows, peering out into the black, windy night.
“Can’t see a thing,” he said, as the others crowded about him. “The shops
are off there in a direct line with the home green, I should say.”
“I happen to know that the Allies have a fifteen million dollar contract
with the Reynolds people,” said Carstairs, looking hard into the blackness.
“If they’d string up a few of these infernal—There! See the glow coming up
over the hill? She’s afire! And with this wind,—‘gad, she’ll go like waste
paper! My God, I wish the whole German Army was sitting on top of those
buildings right now.” It was little Mr. Cribbs who spoke. He was shaking like a
“I’d rather see a million or two of these so-called German-Americans
sitting there, Cribbs,” said Carstairs, between his teeth. “There’d be some
satisfaction in that.”
His wife nudged him sharply. He turned and caught the warning look in her
eye and the slight movement of her head in the direction of the man called
“Oh, that’s all right,” cried Carstairs carelessly. “You needn’t punch me,
dear. Zimmie ‘s as good an American as any of us. Don’t think for a moment,
Zimmie, old chap, that I include you in the gang I’d like to see sitting on that
pile of shells over there.”
The man at the window turned, and smiled affably.
“Thanks, old man. Being, as you say, as good an American as any of you, I
may be permitted to return the compliment. I shouldn’t like to see Mrs.
Carstairs sitting on that pile of shells.”
Carstairs flushed. An angry light leaped to his eyes, but it was banished
almost instantly. Mrs. Carstairs herself replied.
“I can’t imagine anything more distasteful,” she drawled.
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