OneTime: Digital SAT Mock Test - 4 - SAT MCQ

Question are based on the following passages and supplementary material.
Passage 1 is from F. J. Medina, “How to Talk about Sustainability." ©2015 College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is adapted from an essay published in 2005 about the economic analysis of environmental decisions.
Passage 1
Many proponents of recycling assume that
recycling industrial, domestic, and commercial
materials does less harm to the environment than
does extracting new raw materials. Opponents, on
(5) the other hand, scrutinize the costs of recycling,
arguing that recycling programs often waste more
money than they save, and that companies can
often produce new products more cheaply than
they can recycle old ones. The discussion usually
(10) devolves into a political battle between the
enemies of the economy and the enemies of the
environment.
This demonization serves the debaters
(and their fundraisers) but not the debate.
(15) Environmentalists are not all ignorant anarchists,
and opponents of recycling are not all rapacious
blowhards. For real solutions, we must soberly
compare the many costs and benefits of recycling
with the many costs and benefits of disposal, as
(20) if we are all stewards of both the earth and the
economy.
We must examine the full life cycles of
various materials, and the broad effects these
cycles have on both the environment and
(25) economy. When debating the cost of a new
road, for instance, it is not enough to simply
consider the cost of the labor or the provenance
of the materials. We must ask, what natural
benefits, like water filtration and animal and
(30) plant habitats, are being lost in the construction?
Where will the road materials be in a hundred
years, and what will they be doing? What kinds
of industries will the road construction and
maintenance support? How will the extra traffic
(35) affect air and noise quality, or safety? Is the road
made of local or imported materials? Are any
materials being imported from countries with
irresponsible labor or environmental practices?
Is the contractor chosen through a fair and open
(40) bidding process? How might the road surface
affect the life span or efficiency of the cars driving
on it? What will be the annual maintenance cost,
financially and environmentally?
Appreciating opposing viewpoints can lead
(45) to important insights. Perhaps nature can do
a more efficient and safer job of reusing waste
matter than a recycling plant can. Perhaps an
economic system that accounts for environmental
costs and benefits will lead to a higher standard
(50) of living for the average citizen. Perhaps inserting
some natural resources into a responsible
“industrial cycle” is better for the environment
than conserving those resources. Exploring such
possibilities openly and respectfully will lead us
(55) more reliably to both a healthier economy and a
healthier environment.
Passage 2
When trying to quantify the costs and
benefits of preserving our natural ecosystems,
one difficulty lies in the diffuseness of these
(60) effects. Economists have a relatively easy time
with commerce, because money and goods can
be tracked through a series of point-to-point
exchanges. When you pay for something, the
exchange of money makes the accounting simple.
(65) The diffuse, unchosen costs and benefits that
affect all of us daily—annoying commercials or a
beautiful sunset, for instance—are much harder
to evaluate.
The benefits that ecosystems provide, like
(70) biodiversity, the filtration of groundwater, the
maintenance of the oxygen and nitrogen cycles,
and climate stability, however, are not bought-
and-sold commodities. Without them our lives
would deteriorate dramatically, but they are
(75) not part of a clear exchange, so they fall into the
class of benefits and costs that economists call
“externalities.”
The “good feeling” that many people have
about recycling and maintaining environmental
(80) quality is just such an externality. Anti
environmentalists often ridicule such feelings
as unquantifiable, but their value is real: some
stock funds only invest in companies with good
environmental records, and environmental
(85) litigation can have steep costs in terms of money
and goodwill.
Robert Costanza, formerly of the Center
for Environmental Science at the University
of Maryland, has attempted to quantify these
(90) “external” ecological benefits by tallying the
cost to replace nature's services. Imagine, for
instance, paving over the Florida Everglades and
then building systems to restore its lost benefits,
such as gas conversion and sequestering,
(95) food production, water filtration, and weather
regulation. How much would it cost to keep these
systems running? Not even accounting for some
of the most important externalities, like natural
beauty, the cost would be extraordinarily high.
(100) Costanza places it “conservatively” at $33 trillion
dollars annually, far more than the economic
output of all of the countries in the world.
Some object to Costanza's cost analysis.
Environmentalists argue that we cannot possibly
(105) put a price on the smell of heather and a cool
breeze, while industrialists argue that the task
is speculative, unreliable, and an impediment
to economic progress. Nevertheless, Costanza's
work is among the most cited in the fields of
(110) environmental science and economics. For
any flaws it might have, his work is giving a
common vocabulary to industrialists and
environmentalists alike, which we must do if
we are to coordinate intelligent environmental
(115) policy with responsible economic policy.

Q. In line 50, “inserting” most nearly means

Question are based on the following passages and supplementary material.
Passage 1 is from F. J. Medina, “How to Talk about Sustainability." ©2015 College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is adapted from an essay published in 2005 about the economic analysis of environmental decisions.
Passage 1
Many proponents of recycling assume that
recycling industrial, domestic, and commercial
materials does less harm to the environment than
does extracting new raw materials. Opponents, on
(5) the other hand, scrutinize the costs of recycling,
arguing that recycling programs often waste more
money than they save, and that companies can
often produce new products more cheaply than
they can recycle old ones. The discussion usually
(10) devolves into a political battle between the
enemies of the economy and the enemies of the
environment.
This demonization serves the debaters
(and their fundraisers) but not the debate.
(15) Environmentalists are not all ignorant anarchists,
and opponents of recycling are not all rapacious
blowhards. For real solutions, we must soberly
compare the many costs and benefits of recycling
with the many costs and benefits of disposal, as
(20) if we are all stewards of both the earth and the
economy.
We must examine the full life cycles of
various materials, and the broad effects these
cycles have on both the environment and
(25) economy. When debating the cost of a new
road, for instance, it is not enough to simply
consider the cost of the labor or the provenance
of the materials. We must ask, what natural
benefits, like water filtration and animal and
(30) plant habitats, are being lost in the construction?
Where will the road materials be in a hundred
years, and what will they be doing? What kinds
of industries will the road construction and
maintenance support? How will the extra traffic
(35) affect air and noise quality, or safety? Is the road
made of local or imported materials? Are any
materials being imported from countries with
irresponsible labor or environmental practices?
Is the contractor chosen through a fair and open
(40) bidding process? How might the road surface
affect the life span or efficiency of the cars driving
on it? What will be the annual maintenance cost,
financially and environmentally?
Appreciating opposing viewpoints can lead
(45) to important insights. Perhaps nature can do
a more efficient and safer job of reusing waste
matter than a recycling plant can. Perhaps an
economic system that accounts for environmental
costs and benefits will lead to a higher standard
(50) of living for the average citizen. Perhaps inserting
some natural resources into a responsible
“industrial cycle” is better for the environment
than conserving those resources. Exploring such
possibilities openly and respectfully will lead us
(55) more reliably to both a healthier economy and a
healthier environment.
Passage 2
When trying to quantify the costs and
benefits of preserving our natural ecosystems,
one difficulty lies in the diffuseness of these
(60) effects. Economists have a relatively easy time
with commerce, because money and goods can
be tracked through a series of point-to-point
exchanges. When you pay for something, the
exchange of money makes the accounting simple.
(65) The diffuse, unchosen costs and benefits that
affect all of us daily—annoying commercials or a
beautiful sunset, for instance—are much harder
to evaluate.
The benefits that ecosystems provide, like
(70) biodiversity, the filtration of groundwater, the
maintenance of the oxygen and nitrogen cycles,
and climate stability, however, are not bought-
and-sold commodities. Without them our lives
would deteriorate dramatically, but they are
(75) not part of a clear exchange, so they fall into the
class of benefits and costs that economists call
“externalities.”
The “good feeling” that many people have
about recycling and maintaining environmental
(80) quality is just such an externality. Anti
environmentalists often ridicule such feelings
as unquantifiable, but their value is real: some
stock funds only invest in companies with good
environmental records, and environmental
(85) litigation can have steep costs in terms of money
and goodwill.
Robert Costanza, formerly of the Center
for Environmental Science at the University
of Maryland, has attempted to quantify these
(90) “external” ecological benefits by tallying the
cost to replace nature's services. Imagine, for
instance, paving over the Florida Everglades and
then building systems to restore its lost benefits,
such as gas conversion and sequestering,
(95) food production, water filtration, and weather
regulation. How much would it cost to keep these
systems running? Not even accounting for some
of the most important externalities, like natural
beauty, the cost would be extraordinarily high.
(100) Costanza places it “conservatively” at $33 trillion
dollars annually, far more than the economic
output of all of the countries in the world.
Some object to Costanza's cost analysis.
Environmentalists argue that we cannot possibly
(105) put a price on the smell of heather and a cool
breeze, while industrialists argue that the task
is speculative, unreliable, and an impediment
to economic progress. Nevertheless, Costanza's
work is among the most cited in the fields of
(110) environmental science and economics. For
any flaws it might have, his work is giving a
common vocabulary to industrialists and
environmentalists alike, which we must do if
we are to coordinate intelligent environmental
(115) policy with responsible economic policy.

Q. Which choice would the author of Passage 2 consider to be a direct effect of “natural ecosystems” (line 58)?

Question are based on the following passages and supplementary material.
Passage 1 is from F. J. Medina, “How to Talk about Sustainability." ©2015 College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is adapted from an essay published in 2005 about the economic analysis of environmental decisions.
Passage 1
Many proponents of recycling assume that
recycling industrial, domestic, and commercial
materials does less harm to the environment than
does extracting new raw materials. Opponents, on
(5) the other hand, scrutinize the costs of recycling,
arguing that recycling programs often waste more
money than they save, and that companies can
often produce new products more cheaply than
they can recycle old ones. The discussion usually
(10) devolves into a political battle between the
enemies of the economy and the enemies of the
environment.
This demonization serves the debaters
(and their fundraisers) but not the debate.
(15) Environmentalists are not all ignorant anarchists,
and opponents of recycling are not all rapacious
blowhards. For real solutions, we must soberly
compare the many costs and benefits of recycling
with the many costs and benefits of disposal, as
(20) if we are all stewards of both the earth and the
economy.
We must examine the full life cycles of
various materials, and the broad effects these
cycles have on both the environment and
(25) economy. When debating the cost of a new
road, for instance, it is not enough to simply
consider the cost of the labor or the provenance
of the materials. We must ask, what natural
benefits, like water filtration and animal and
(30) plant habitats, are being lost in the construction?
Where will the road materials be in a hundred
years, and what will they be doing? What kinds
of industries will the road construction and
maintenance support? How will the extra traffic
(35) affect air and noise quality, or safety? Is the road
made of local or imported materials? Are any
materials being imported from countries with
irresponsible labor or environmental practices?
Is the contractor chosen through a fair and open
(40) bidding process? How might the road surface
affect the life span or efficiency of the cars driving
on it? What will be the annual maintenance cost,
financially and environmentally?
Appreciating opposing viewpoints can lead
(45) to important insights. Perhaps nature can do
a more efficient and safer job of reusing waste
matter than a recycling plant can. Perhaps an
economic system that accounts for environmental
costs and benefits will lead to a higher standard
(50) of living for the average citizen. Perhaps inserting
some natural resources into a responsible
“industrial cycle” is better for the environment
than conserving those resources. Exploring such
possibilities openly and respectfully will lead us
(55) more reliably to both a healthier economy and a
healthier environment.
Passage 2
When trying to quantify the costs and
benefits of preserving our natural ecosystems,
one difficulty lies in the diffuseness of these
(60) effects. Economists have a relatively easy time
with commerce, because money and goods can
be tracked through a series of point-to-point
exchanges. When you pay for something, the
exchange of money makes the accounting simple.
(65) The diffuse, unchosen costs and benefits that
affect all of us daily—annoying commercials or a
beautiful sunset, for instance—are much harder
to evaluate.
The benefits that ecosystems provide, like
(70) biodiversity, the filtration of groundwater, the
maintenance of the oxygen and nitrogen cycles,
and climate stability, however, are not bought-
and-sold commodities. Without them our lives
would deteriorate dramatically, but they are
(75) not part of a clear exchange, so they fall into the
class of benefits and costs that economists call
“externalities.”
The “good feeling” that many people have
about recycling and maintaining environmental
(80) quality is just such an externality. Anti
environmentalists often ridicule such feelings
as unquantifiable, but their value is real: some
stock funds only invest in companies with good
environmental records, and environmental
(85) litigation can have steep costs in terms of money
and goodwill.
Robert Costanza, formerly of the Center
for Environmental Science at the University
of Maryland, has attempted to quantify these
(90) “external” ecological benefits by tallying the
cost to replace nature's services. Imagine, for
instance, paving over the Florida Everglades and
then building systems to restore its lost benefits,
such as gas conversion and sequestering,
(95) food production, water filtration, and weather
regulation. How much would it cost to keep these
systems running? Not even accounting for some
of the most important externalities, like natural
beauty, the cost would be extraordinarily high.
(100) Costanza places it “conservatively” at $33 trillion
dollars annually, far more than the economic
output of all of the countries in the world.
Some object to Costanza's cost analysis.
Environmentalists argue that we cannot possibly
(105) put a price on the smell of heather and a cool
breeze, while industrialists argue that the task
is speculative, unreliable, and an impediment
to economic progress. Nevertheless, Costanza's
work is among the most cited in the fields of
(110) environmental science and economics. For
any flaws it might have, his work is giving a
common vocabulary to industrialists and
environmentalists alike, which we must do if
we are to coordinate intelligent environmental
(115) policy with responsible economic policy.

Q. Which of the following policies would most likely be endorsed by the author of Passage 1?

Question are based on the following passages and supplementary material.
Passage 1 is from F. J. Medina, “How to Talk about Sustainability." ©2015 College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is adapted from an essay published in 2005 about the economic analysis of environmental decisions.
Passage 1
Many proponents of recycling assume that
recycling industrial, domestic, and commercial
materials does less harm to the environment than
does extracting new raw materials. Opponents, on
(5) the other hand, scrutinize the costs of recycling,
arguing that recycling programs often waste more
money than they save, and that companies can
often produce new products more cheaply than
they can recycle old ones. The discussion usually
(10) devolves into a political battle between the
enemies of the economy and the enemies of the
environment.
This demonization serves the debaters
(and their fundraisers) but not the debate.
(15) Environmentalists are not all ignorant anarchists,
and opponents of recycling are not all rapacious
blowhards. For real solutions, we must soberly
compare the many costs and benefits of recycling
with the many costs and benefits of disposal, as
(20) if we are all stewards of both the earth and the
economy.
We must examine the full life cycles of
various materials, and the broad effects these
cycles have on both the environment and
(25) economy. When debating the cost of a new
road, for instance, it is not enough to simply
consider the cost of the labor or the provenance
of the materials. We must ask, what natural
benefits, like water filtration and animal and
(30) plant habitats, are being lost in the construction?
Where will the road materials be in a hundred
years, and what will they be doing? What kinds
of industries will the road construction and
maintenance support? How will the extra traffic
(35) affect air and noise quality, or safety? Is the road
made of local or imported materials? Are any
materials being imported from countries with
irresponsible labor or environmental practices?
Is the contractor chosen through a fair and open
(40) bidding process? How might the road surface
affect the life span or efficiency of the cars driving
on it? What will be the annual maintenance cost,
financially and environmentally?
Appreciating opposing viewpoints can lead
(45) to important insights. Perhaps nature can do
a more efficient and safer job of reusing waste
matter than a recycling plant can. Perhaps an
economic system that accounts for environmental
costs and benefits will lead to a higher standard
(50) of living for the average citizen. Perhaps inserting
some natural resources into a responsible
“industrial cycle” is better for the environment
than conserving those resources. Exploring such
possibilities openly and respectfully will lead us
(55) more reliably to both a healthier economy and a
healthier environment.
Passage 2
When trying to quantify the costs and
benefits of preserving our natural ecosystems,
one difficulty lies in the diffuseness of these
(60) effects. Economists have a relatively easy time
with commerce, because money and goods can
be tracked through a series of point-to-point
exchanges. When you pay for something, the
exchange of money makes the accounting simple.
(65) The diffuse, unchosen costs and benefits that
affect all of us daily—annoying commercials or a
beautiful sunset, for instance—are much harder
to evaluate.
The benefits that ecosystems provide, like
(70) biodiversity, the filtration of groundwater, the
maintenance of the oxygen and nitrogen cycles,
and climate stability, however, are not bought-
and-sold commodities. Without them our lives
would deteriorate dramatically, but they are
(75) not part of a clear exchange, so they fall into the
class of benefits and costs that economists call
“externalities.”
The “good feeling” that many people have
about recycling and maintaining environmental
(80) quality is just such an externality. Anti
environmentalists often ridicule such feelings
as unquantifiable, but their value is real: some
stock funds only invest in companies with good
environmental records, and environmental
(85) litigation can have steep costs in terms of money
and goodwill.
Robert Costanza, formerly of the Center
for Environmental Science at the University
of Maryland, has attempted to quantify these
(90) “external” ecological benefits by tallying the
cost to replace nature's services. Imagine, for
instance, paving over the Florida Everglades and
then building systems to restore its lost benefits,
such as gas conversion and sequestering,
(95) food production, water filtration, and weather
regulation. How much would it cost to keep these
systems running? Not even accounting for some
of the most important externalities, like natural
beauty, the cost would be extraordinarily high.
(100) Costanza places it “conservatively” at $33 trillion
dollars annually, far more than the economic
output of all of the countries in the world.
Some object to Costanza's cost analysis.
Environmentalists argue that we cannot possibly
(105) put a price on the smell of heather and a cool
breeze, while industrialists argue that the task
is speculative, unreliable, and an impediment
to economic progress. Nevertheless, Costanza's
work is among the most cited in the fields of
(110) environmental science and economics. For
any flaws it might have, his work is giving a
common vocabulary to industrialists and
environmentalists alike, which we must do if
we are to coordinate intelligent environmental
(115) policy with responsible economic policy.

Q. Which choice provides the best evidence for the answer to the previous question?

Question are based on the following passages and supplementary material.
Passage 1 is from F. J. Medina, “How to Talk about Sustainability." ©2015 College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is adapted from an essay published in 2005 about the economic analysis of environmental decisions.
Passage 1
Many proponents of recycling assume that
recycling industrial, domestic, and commercial
materials does less harm to the environment than
does extracting new raw materials. Opponents, on
(5) the other hand, scrutinize the costs of recycling,
arguing that recycling programs often waste more
money than they save, and that companies can
often produce new products more cheaply than
they can recycle old ones. The discussion usually
(10) devolves into a political battle between the
enemies of the economy and the enemies of the
environment.
This demonization serves the debaters
(and their fundraisers) but not the debate.
(15) Environmentalists are not all ignorant anarchists,
and opponents of recycling are not all rapacious
blowhards. For real solutions, we must soberly
compare the many costs and benefits of recycling
with the many costs and benefits of disposal, as
(20) if we are all stewards of both the earth and the
economy.
We must examine the full life cycles of
various materials, and the broad effects these
cycles have on both the environment and
(25) economy. When debating the cost of a new
road, for instance, it is not enough to simply
consider the cost of the labor or the provenance
of the materials. We must ask, what natural
benefits, like water filtration and animal and
(30) plant habitats, are being lost in the construction?
Where will the road materials be in a hundred
years, and what will they be doing? What kinds
of industries will the road construction and
maintenance support? How will the extra traffic
(35) affect air and noise quality, or safety? Is the road
made of local or imported materials? Are any
materials being imported from countries with
irresponsible labor or environmental practices?
Is the contractor chosen through a fair and open
(40) bidding process? How might the road surface
affect the life span or efficiency of the cars driving
on it? What will be the annual maintenance cost,
financially and environmentally?
Appreciating opposing viewpoints can lead
(45) to important insights. Perhaps nature can do
a more efficient and safer job of reusing waste
matter than a recycling plant can. Perhaps an
economic system that accounts for environmental
costs and benefits will lead to a higher standard
(50) of living for the average citizen. Perhaps inserting
some natural resources into a responsible
“industrial cycle” is better for the environment
than conserving those resources. Exploring such
possibilities openly and respectfully will lead us
(55) more reliably to both a healthier economy and a
healthier environment.
Passage 2
When trying to quantify the costs and
benefits of preserving our natural ecosystems,
one difficulty lies in the diffuseness of these
(60) effects. Economists have a relatively easy time
with commerce, because money and goods can
be tracked through a series of point-to-point
exchanges. When you pay for something, the
exchange of money makes the accounting simple.
(65) The diffuse, unchosen costs and benefits that
affect all of us daily—annoying commercials or a
beautiful sunset, for instance—are much harder
to evaluate.
The benefits that ecosystems provide, like
(70) biodiversity, the filtration of groundwater, the
maintenance of the oxygen and nitrogen cycles,
and climate stability, however, are not bought-
and-sold commodities. Without them our lives
would deteriorate dramatically, but they are
(75) not part of a clear exchange, so they fall into the
class of benefits and costs that economists call
“externalities.”
The “good feeling” that many people have
about recycling and maintaining environmental
(80) quality is just such an externality. Anti
environmentalists often ridicule such feelings
as unquantifiable, but their value is real: some
stock funds only invest in companies with good
environmental records, and environmental
(85) litigation can have steep costs in terms of money
and goodwill.
Robert Costanza, formerly of the Center
for Environmental Science at the University
of Maryland, has attempted to quantify these
(90) “external” ecological benefits by tallying the
cost to replace nature's services. Imagine, for
instance, paving over the Florida Everglades and
then building systems to restore its lost benefits,
such as gas conversion and sequestering,
(95) food production, water filtration, and weather
regulation. How much would it cost to keep these
systems running? Not even accounting for some
of the most important externalities, like natural
beauty, the cost would be extraordinarily high.
(100) Costanza places it “conservatively” at $33 trillion
dollars annually, far more than the economic
output of all of the countries in the world.
Some object to Costanza's cost analysis.
Environmentalists argue that we cannot possibly
(105) put a price on the smell of heather and a cool
breeze, while industrialists argue that the task
is speculative, unreliable, and an impediment
to economic progress. Nevertheless, Costanza's
work is among the most cited in the fields of
(110) environmental science and economics. For
any flaws it might have, his work is giving a
common vocabulary to industrialists and
environmentalists alike, which we must do if
we are to coordinate intelligent environmental
(115) policy with responsible economic policy.

Q. The diagram provides information most relevant to

Question are based on the following passages and supplementary material.
Passage 1 is from F. J. Medina, “How to Talk about Sustainability." ©2015 College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is adapted from an essay published in 2005 about the economic analysis of environmental decisions.
Passage 1
Many proponents of recycling assume that
recycling industrial, domestic, and commercial
materials does less harm to the environment than
does extracting new raw materials. Opponents, on
(5) the other hand, scrutinize the costs of recycling,
arguing that recycling programs often waste more
money than they save, and that companies can
often produce new products more cheaply than
they can recycle old ones. The discussion usually
(10) devolves into a political battle between the
enemies of the economy and the enemies of the
environment.
This demonization serves the debaters
(and their fundraisers) but not the debate.
(15) Environmentalists are not all ignorant anarchists,
and opponents of recycling are not all rapacious
blowhards. For real solutions, we must soberly
compare the many costs and benefits of recycling
with the many costs and benefits of disposal, as
(20) if we are all stewards of both the earth and the
economy.
We must examine the full life cycles of
various materials, and the broad effects these
cycles have on both the environment and
(25) economy. When debating the cost of a new
road, for instance, it is not enough to simply
consider the cost of the labor or the provenance
of the materials. We must ask, what natural
benefits, like water filtration and animal and
(30) plant habitats, are being lost in the construction?
Where will the road materials be in a hundred
years, and what will they be doing? What kinds
of industries will the road construction and
maintenance support? How will the extra traffic
(35) affect air and noise quality, or safety? Is the road
made of local or imported materials? Are any
materials being imported from countries with
irresponsible labor or environmental practices?
Is the contractor chosen through a fair and open
(40) bidding process? How might the road surface
affect the life span or efficiency of the cars driving
on it? What will be the annual maintenance cost,
financially and environmentally?
Appreciating opposing viewpoints can lead
(45) to important insights. Perhaps nature can do
a more efficient and safer job of reusing waste
matter than a recycling plant can. Perhaps an
economic system that accounts for environmental
costs and benefits will lead to a higher standard
(50) of living for the average citizen. Perhaps inserting
some natural resources into a responsible
“industrial cycle” is better for the environment
than conserving those resources. Exploring such
possibilities openly and respectfully will lead us
(55) more reliably to both a healthier economy and a
healthier environment.
Passage 2
When trying to quantify the costs and
benefits of preserving our natural ecosystems,
one difficulty lies in the diffuseness of these
(60) effects. Economists have a relatively easy time
with commerce, because money and goods can
be tracked through a series of point-to-point
exchanges. When you pay for something, the
exchange of money makes the accounting simple.
(65) The diffuse, unchosen costs and benefits that
affect all of us daily—annoying commercials or a
beautiful sunset, for instance—are much harder
to evaluate.
The benefits that ecosystems provide, like
(70) biodiversity, the filtration of groundwater, the
maintenance of the oxygen and nitrogen cycles,
and climate stability, however, are not bought-
and-sold commodities. Without them our lives
would deteriorate dramatically, but they are
(75) not part of a clear exchange, so they fall into the
class of benefits and costs that economists call
“externalities.”
The “good feeling” that many people have
about recycling and maintaining environmental
(80) quality is just such an externality. Anti
environmentalists often ridicule such feelings
as unquantifiable, but their value is real: some
stock funds only invest in companies with good
environmental records, and environmental
(85) litigation can have steep costs in terms of money
and goodwill.
Robert Costanza, formerly of the Center
for Environmental Science at the University
of Maryland, has attempted to quantify these
(90) “external” ecological benefits by tallying the
cost to replace nature's services. Imagine, for
instance, paving over the Florida Everglades and
then building systems to restore its lost benefits,
such as gas conversion and sequestering,
(95) food production, water filtration, and weather
regulation. How much would it cost to keep these
systems running? Not even accounting for some
of the most important externalities, like natural
beauty, the cost would be extraordinarily high.
(100) Costanza places it “conservatively” at $33 trillion
dollars annually, far more than the economic
output of all of the countries in the world.
Some object to Costanza's cost analysis.
Environmentalists argue that we cannot possibly
(105) put a price on the smell of heather and a cool
breeze, while industrialists argue that the task
is speculative, unreliable, and an impediment
to economic progress. Nevertheless, Costanza's
work is among the most cited in the fields of
(110) environmental science and economics. For
any flaws it might have, his work is giving a
common vocabulary to industrialists and
environmentalists alike, which we must do if
we are to coordinate intelligent environmental
(115) policy with responsible economic policy.

Q. Which choice best exemplifies the “clear exchange” (line 75) mentioned in Passage 2? 

Question are based on the following passages and supplementary material.
Passage 1 is from F. J. Medina, “How to Talk about Sustainability." ©2015 College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is adapted from an essay published in 2005 about the economic analysis of environmental decisions.
Passage 1
Many proponents of recycling assume that
recycling industrial, domestic, and commercial
materials does less harm to the environment than
does extracting new raw materials. Opponents, on
(5) the other hand, scrutinize the costs of recycling,
arguing that recycling programs often waste more
money than they save, and that companies can
often produce new products more cheaply than
they can recycle old ones. The discussion usually
(10) devolves into a political battle between the
enemies of the economy and the enemies of the
environment.
This demonization serves the debaters
(and their fundraisers) but not the debate.
(15) Environmentalists are not all ignorant anarchists,
and opponents of recycling are not all rapacious
blowhards. For real solutions, we must soberly
compare the many costs and benefits of recycling
with the many costs and benefits of disposal, as
(20) if we are all stewards of both the earth and the
economy.
We must examine the full life cycles of
various materials, and the broad effects these
cycles have on both the environment and
(25) economy. When debating the cost of a new
road, for instance, it is not enough to simply
consider the cost of the labor or the provenance
of the materials. We must ask, what natural
benefits, like water filtration and animal and
(30) plant habitats, are being lost in the construction?
Where will the road materials be in a hundred
years, and what will they be doing? What kinds
of industries will the road construction and
maintenance support? How will the extra traffic
(35) affect air and noise quality, or safety? Is the road
made of local or imported materials? Are any
materials being imported from countries with
irresponsible labor or environmental practices?
Is the contractor chosen through a fair and open
(40) bidding process? How might the road surface
affect the life span or efficiency of the cars driving
on it? What will be the annual maintenance cost,
financially and environmentally?
Appreciating opposing viewpoints can lead
(45) to important insights. Perhaps nature can do
a more efficient and safer job of reusing waste
matter than a recycling plant can. Perhaps an
economic system that accounts for environmental
costs and benefits will lead to a higher standard
(50) of living for the average citizen. Perhaps inserting
some natural resources into a responsible
“industrial cycle” is better for the environment
than conserving those resources. Exploring such
possibilities openly and respectfully will lead us
(55) more reliably to both a healthier economy and a
healthier environment.
Passage 2
When trying to quantify the costs and
benefits of preserving our natural ecosystems,
one difficulty lies in the diffuseness of these
(60) effects. Economists have a relatively easy time
with commerce, because money and goods can
be tracked through a series of point-to-point
exchanges. When you pay for something, the
exchange of money makes the accounting simple.
(65) The diffuse, unchosen costs and benefits that
affect all of us daily—annoying commercials or a
beautiful sunset, for instance—are much harder
to evaluate.
The benefits that ecosystems provide, like
(70) biodiversity, the filtration of groundwater, the
maintenance of the oxygen and nitrogen cycles,
and climate stability, however, are not bought-
and-sold commodities. Without them our lives
would deteriorate dramatically, but they are
(75) not part of a clear exchange, so they fall into the
class of benefits and costs that economists call
“externalities.”
The “good feeling” that many people have
about recycling and maintaining environmental
(80) quality is just such an externality. Anti
environmentalists often ridicule such feelings
as unquantifiable, but their value is real: some
stock funds only invest in companies with good
environmental records, and environmental
(85) litigation can have steep costs in terms of money
and goodwill.
Robert Costanza, formerly of the Center
for Environmental Science at the University
of Maryland, has attempted to quantify these
(90) “external” ecological benefits by tallying the
cost to replace nature's services. Imagine, for
instance, paving over the Florida Everglades and
then building systems to restore its lost benefits,
such as gas conversion and sequestering,
(95) food production, water filtration, and weather
regulation. How much would it cost to keep these
systems running? Not even accounting for some
of the most important externalities, like natural
beauty, the cost would be extraordinarily high.
(100) Costanza places it “conservatively” at $33 trillion
dollars annually, far more than the economic
output of all of the countries in the world.
Some object to Costanza's cost analysis.
Environmentalists argue that we cannot possibly
(105) put a price on the smell of heather and a cool
breeze, while industrialists argue that the task
is speculative, unreliable, and an impediment
to economic progress. Nevertheless, Costanza's
work is among the most cited in the fields of
(110) environmental science and economics. For
any flaws it might have, his work is giving a
common vocabulary to industrialists and
environmentalists alike, which we must do if
we are to coordinate intelligent environmental
(115) policy with responsible economic policy.

Q. Unlike Passage 2, Passage 1 specifically discusses

Question are based on the following passages and supplementary material.
Passage 1 is from F. J. Medina, “How to Talk about Sustainability." ©2015 College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is adapted from an essay published in 2005 about the economic analysis of environmental decisions.
Passage 1
Many proponents of recycling assume that
recycling industrial, domestic, and commercial
materials does less harm to the environment than
does extracting new raw materials. Opponents, on
(5) the other hand, scrutinize the costs of recycling,
arguing that recycling programs often waste more
money than they save, and that companies can
often produce new products more cheaply than
they can recycle old ones. The discussion usually
(10) devolves into a political battle between the
enemies of the economy and the enemies of the
environment.
This demonization serves the debaters
(and their fundraisers) but not the debate.
(15) Environmentalists are not all ignorant anarchists,
and opponents of recycling are not all rapacious
blowhards. For real solutions, we must soberly
compare the many costs and benefits of recycling
with the many costs and benefits of disposal, as
(20) if we are all stewards of both the earth and the
economy.
We must examine the full life cycles of
various materials, and the broad effects these
cycles have on both the environment and
(25) economy. When debating the cost of a new
road, for instance, it is not enough to simply
consider the cost of the labor or the provenance
of the materials. We must ask, what natural
benefits, like water filtration and animal and
(30) plant habitats, are being lost in the construction?
Where will the road materials be in a hundred
years, and what will they be doing? What kinds
of industries will the road construction and
maintenance support? How will the extra traffic
(35) affect air and noise quality, or safety? Is the road
made of local or imported materials? Are any
materials being imported from countries with
irresponsible labor or environmental practices?
Is the contractor chosen through a fair and open
(40) bidding process? How might the road surface
affect the life span or efficiency of the cars driving
on it? What will be the annual maintenance cost,
financially and environmentally?
Appreciating opposing viewpoints can lead
(45) to important insights. Perhaps nature can do
a more efficient and safer job of reusing waste
matter than a recycling plant can. Perhaps an
economic system that accounts for environmental
costs and benefits will lead to a higher standard
(50) of living for the average citizen. Perhaps inserting
some natural resources into a responsible
“industrial cycle” is better for the environment
than conserving those resources. Exploring such
possibilities openly and respectfully will lead us
(55) more reliably to both a healthier economy and a
healthier environment.
Passage 2
When trying to quantify the costs and
benefits of preserving our natural ecosystems,
one difficulty lies in the diffuseness of these
(60) effects. Economists have a relatively easy time
with commerce, because money and goods can
be tracked through a series of point-to-point
exchanges. When you pay for something, the
exchange of money makes the accounting simple.
(65) The diffuse, unchosen costs and benefits that
affect all of us daily—annoying commercials or a
beautiful sunset, for instance—are much harder
to evaluate.
The benefits that ecosystems provide, like
(70) biodiversity, the filtration of groundwater, the
maintenance of the oxygen and nitrogen cycles,
and climate stability, however, are not bought-
and-sold commodities. Without them our lives
would deteriorate dramatically, but they are
(75) not part of a clear exchange, so they fall into the
class of benefits and costs that economists call
“externalities.”
The “good feeling” that many people have
about recycling and maintaining environmental
(80) quality is just such an externality. Anti
environmentalists often ridicule such feelings
as unquantifiable, but their value is real: some
stock funds only invest in companies with good
environmental records, and environmental
(85) litigation can have steep costs in terms of money
and goodwill.
Robert Costanza, formerly of the Center
for Environmental Science at the University
of Maryland, has attempted to quantify these
(90) “external” ecological benefits by tallying the
cost to replace nature's services. Imagine, for
instance, paving over the Florida Everglades and
then building systems to restore its lost benefits,
such as gas conversion and sequestering,
(95) food production, water filtration, and weather
regulation. How much would it cost to keep these
systems running? Not even accounting for some
of the most important externalities, like natural
beauty, the cost would be extraordinarily high.
(100) Costanza places it “conservatively” at $33 trillion
dollars annually, far more than the economic
output of all of the countries in the world.
Some object to Costanza's cost analysis.
Environmentalists argue that we cannot possibly
(105) put a price on the smell of heather and a cool
breeze, while industrialists argue that the task
is speculative, unreliable, and an impediment
to economic progress. Nevertheless, Costanza's
work is among the most cited in the fields of
(110) environmental science and economics. For
any flaws it might have, his work is giving a
common vocabulary to industrialists and
environmentalists alike, which we must do if
we are to coordinate intelligent environmental
(115) policy with responsible economic policy.

Q. Passage 2 compares the viewpoints of “environmentalists” and “industrialists” primarily to point out that

Question are based on the following passage.
This passage is from Cait Featherstone, Earth, Song and Sky Spirit: Shadows and Sleepwalkers. ©1992 by Random House, Inc.
He'd been in the area a long time, long
enough to become background. When he first
emerged, a tall thin dark and silent presence
on the local scene, everyone talked about him,
(5) asking one another variations on the same
question: Who is he? He never spoke and,
without any answers, like children chasing their
own shadows, people began to make up stories
about him. Maybe he'd been a Vietnam vet,
(10) some would venture. Others suggested that this
seeming monastic stranger had come from some
ashram in Tibet. Or perhaps he was a Somalian
refugee, his African black skin seemed so thin as
to barely stretch around his bones. Eventually,
(15) the qualifying “maybes” and “perhapses” were
dropped, and fiction was passed as fact.
Soundlessly he looked straight through
things, his eyes telling of unspeakable things.
And I wondered. Had he run barefoot, like a
(20) crane skimming the surface of a lake, through
the rice paddies of Vietnam? Had he seen a fatal
flash? Were his saints beheaded? Did a torch
emblazon on his breast the mark, the scar of war?
Had the earth become a molten sea, a hardened
(25) moonscape surface? Was there an immutable
point at which he thought—he knew—that every
living thing had ended? And so he had stopped
breathing, had become shadow? Did he know
what we would all come to know?
(30) Too often to be mere coincidence, our paths
crossed and converged daily. It seemed as if he
was everywhere I went, like a parallel life or a
shadow I'd owned in another lifetime. Often
he'd be in a cross-walk when I was in my car at a
(35) stoplight. Before work in the morning, I usually
stopped at a local diner for coffee and he would
walk past the window, past the table where I sat,
separated by only a pane of glass. As an assistant
manager of a local bookstore, I usually opened
(40) the place early in the morning. He would show
up before any of the other employees did, gazing
at the books on display in the front window, yet
never looking directly at me.
I began to change my routine slightly.
(45) Sometimes I would go down to the beach to take
an early walk before going into work. He would
be walking at the edge of the shore, the sea a blue
backdrop to this moving shadow, this tree with
legs. I began to take my walks at sunset instead,
(50) and there he'd be, at the edge of a cliff above the
sea, at the edge of the world. He'd stand like a tall
dark crane balanced on one leg. Then poised and
positioned on both legs, he'd begin a series of
undulating, flowing movements. In Ina Coolbrith
(55) Park in San Francisco, I'd often see Chinese
people exploring the air with fluid movements,
their bodies and the air in harmony. Though this
was not Tai Chi, it seemed clearly ceremonial,
religious, holy. His silhouette formed the character
(60) of a word in Japanese script; his movements
shaped haiku. What had seemed the figure of a
black crow, a disquieting deathly form, through
movement became a dark light, a black sun.
Then one day, I stopped at the diner for a
(65) morning cup of coffee. I walked down the aisle
toward my usual booth and noticed that the
shadow man was sitting there. He was taking what
looked like tea leaves from a small leather bag
that hung around his neck and placing them in a
(70) cup of hot water. As I came nearer, he looked up,
and for the first time he was seeing me, not seeing
through me. His look was clear, not shrouded with
darkness nor veiled with otherness as I had come
to expect. He had seemed to journey momentarily
(75) out of that dark place. I returned his look, nodded
my head. And for the first time since I'd seen him,
he smiled at me. He opened his mouth, to speak, to
speak to me. And I, in awe, awaited the sound
of his voice, the words sure to shape around some
(80) thought sprung from the well of a silence he
occupied. A sound emerged, high and light as air,
full of jive and jazz, as he said, “What's happenin',
mama?”

Q. The purpose of the passage as a whole is to

Question are based on the following passage.
This passage is from Cait Featherstone, Earth, Song and Sky Spirit: Shadows and Sleepwalkers. ©1992 by Random House, Inc.
He'd been in the area a long time, long
enough to become background. When he first
emerged, a tall thin dark and silent presence
on the local scene, everyone talked about him,
(5) asking one another variations on the same
question: Who is he? He never spoke and,
without any answers, like children chasing their
own shadows, people began to make up stories
about him. Maybe he'd been a Vietnam vet,
(10) some would venture. Others suggested that this
seeming monastic stranger had come from some
ashram in Tibet. Or perhaps he was a Somalian
refugee, his African black skin seemed so thin as
to barely stretch around his bones. Eventually,
(15) the qualifying “maybes” and “perhapses” were
dropped, and fiction was passed as fact.
Soundlessly he looked straight through
things, his eyes telling of unspeakable things.
And I wondered. Had he run barefoot, like a
(20) crane skimming the surface of a lake, through
the rice paddies of Vietnam? Had he seen a fatal
flash? Were his saints beheaded? Did a torch
emblazon on his breast the mark, the scar of war?
Had the earth become a molten sea, a hardened
(25) moonscape surface? Was there an immutable
point at which he thought—he knew—that every
living thing had ended? And so he had stopped
breathing, had become shadow? Did he know
what we would all come to know?
(30) Too often to be mere coincidence, our paths
crossed and converged daily. It seemed as if he
was everywhere I went, like a parallel life or a
shadow I'd owned in another lifetime. Often
he'd be in a cross-walk when I was in my car at a
(35) stoplight. Before work in the morning, I usually
stopped at a local diner for coffee and he would
walk past the window, past the table where I sat,
separated by only a pane of glass. As an assistant
manager of a local bookstore, I usually opened
(40) the place early in the morning. He would show
up before any of the other employees did, gazing
at the books on display in the front window, yet
never looking directly at me.
I began to change my routine slightly.
(45) Sometimes I would go down to the beach to take
an early walk before going into work. He would
be walking at the edge of the shore, the sea a blue
backdrop to this moving shadow, this tree with
legs. I began to take my walks at sunset instead,
(50) and there he'd be, at the edge of a cliff above the
sea, at the edge of the world. He'd stand like a tall
dark crane balanced on one leg. Then poised and
positioned on both legs, he'd begin a series of
undulating, flowing movements. In Ina Coolbrith
(55) Park in San Francisco, I'd often see Chinese
people exploring the air with fluid movements,
their bodies and the air in harmony. Though this
was not Tai Chi, it seemed clearly ceremonial,
religious, holy. His silhouette formed the character
(60) of a word in Japanese script; his movements
shaped haiku. What had seemed the figure of a
black crow, a disquieting deathly form, through
movement became a dark light, a black sun.
Then one day, I stopped at the diner for a
(65) morning cup of coffee. I walked down the aisle
toward my usual booth and noticed that the
shadow man was sitting there. He was taking what
looked like tea leaves from a small leather bag
that hung around his neck and placing them in a
(70) cup of hot water. As I came nearer, he looked up,
and for the first time he was seeing me, not seeing
through me. His look was clear, not shrouded with
darkness nor veiled with otherness as I had come
to expect. He had seemed to journey momentarily
(75) out of that dark place. I returned his look, nodded
my head. And for the first time since I'd seen him,
he smiled at me. He opened his mouth, to speak, to
speak to me. And I, in awe, awaited the sound
of his voice, the words sure to shape around some
(80) thought sprung from the well of a silence he
occupied. A sound emerged, high and light as air,
full of jive and jazz, as he said, “What's happenin',
mama?”

Q. The many stories that circulated about the stranger are best described as

Question are based on the following passage.
This passage is from Cait Featherstone, Earth, Song and Sky Spirit: Shadows and Sleepwalkers. ©1992 by Random House, Inc.
He'd been in the area a long time, long
enough to become background. When he first
emerged, a tall thin dark and silent presence
on the local scene, everyone talked about him,
(5) asking one another variations on the same
question: Who is he? He never spoke and,
without any answers, like children chasing their
own shadows, people began to make up stories
about him. Maybe he'd been a Vietnam vet,
(10) some would venture. Others suggested that this
seeming monastic stranger had come from some
ashram in Tibet. Or perhaps he was a Somalian
refugee, his African black skin seemed so thin as
to barely stretch around his bones. Eventually,
(15) the qualifying “maybes” and “perhapses” were
dropped, and fiction was passed as fact.
Soundlessly he looked straight through
things, his eyes telling of unspeakable things.
And I wondered. Had he run barefoot, like a
(20) crane skimming the surface of a lake, through
the rice paddies of Vietnam? Had he seen a fatal
flash? Were his saints beheaded? Did a torch
emblazon on his breast the mark, the scar of war?
Had the earth become a molten sea, a hardened
(25) moonscape surface? Was there an immutable
point at which he thought—he knew—that every
living thing had ended? And so he had stopped
breathing, had become shadow? Did he know
what we would all come to know?
(30) Too often to be mere coincidence, our paths
crossed and converged daily. It seemed as if he
was everywhere I went, like a parallel life or a
shadow I'd owned in another lifetime. Often
he'd be in a cross-walk when I was in my car at a
(35) stoplight. Before work in the morning, I usually
stopped at a local diner for coffee and he would
walk past the window, past the table where I sat,
separated by only a pane of glass. As an assistant
manager of a local bookstore, I usually opened
(40) the place early in the morning. He would show
up before any of the other employees did, gazing
at the books on display in the front window, yet
never looking directly at me.
I began to change my routine slightly.
(45) Sometimes I would go down to the beach to take
an early walk before going into work. He would
be walking at the edge of the shore, the sea a blue
backdrop to this moving shadow, this tree with
legs. I began to take my walks at sunset instead,
(50) and there he'd be, at the edge of a cliff above the
sea, at the edge of the world. He'd stand like a tall
dark crane balanced on one leg. Then poised and
positioned on both legs, he'd begin a series of
undulating, flowing movements. In Ina Coolbrith
(55) Park in San Francisco, I'd often see Chinese
people exploring the air with fluid movements,
their bodies and the air in harmony. Though this
was not Tai Chi, it seemed clearly ceremonial,
religious, holy. His silhouette formed the character
(60) of a word in Japanese script; his movements
shaped haiku. What had seemed the figure of a
black crow, a disquieting deathly form, through
movement became a dark light, a black sun.
Then one day, I stopped at the diner for a
(65) morning cup of coffee. I walked down the aisle
toward my usual booth and noticed that the
shadow man was sitting there. He was taking what
looked like tea leaves from a small leather bag
that hung around his neck and placing them in a
(70) cup of hot water. As I came nearer, he looked up,
and for the first time he was seeing me, not seeing
through me. His look was clear, not shrouded with
darkness nor veiled with otherness as I had come
to expect. He had seemed to journey momentarily
(75) out of that dark place. I returned his look, nodded
my head. And for the first time since I'd seen him,
he smiled at me. He opened his mouth, to speak, to
speak to me. And I, in awe, awaited the sound
of his voice, the words sure to shape around some
(80) thought sprung from the well of a silence he
occupied. A sound emerged, high and light as air,
full of jive and jazz, as he said, “What's happenin',
mama?”

Q. Which choice provides the best evidence for the answer to the previous question?

Question are based on the following passage.
This passage is from Cait Featherstone, Earth, Song and Sky Spirit: Shadows and Sleepwalkers. ©1992 by Random House, Inc.
He'd been in the area a long time, long
enough to become background. When he first
emerged, a tall thin dark and silent presence
on the local scene, everyone talked about him,
(5) asking one another variations on the same
question: Who is he? He never spoke and,
without any answers, like children chasing their
own shadows, people began to make up stories
about him. Maybe he'd been a Vietnam vet,
(10) some would venture. Others suggested that this
seeming monastic stranger had come from some
ashram in Tibet. Or perhaps he was a Somalian
refugee, his African black skin seemed so thin as
to barely stretch around his bones. Eventually,
(15) the qualifying “maybes” and “perhapses” were
dropped, and fiction was passed as fact.
Soundlessly he looked straight through
things, his eyes telling of unspeakable things.
And I wondered. Had he run barefoot, like a
(20) crane skimming the surface of a lake, through
the rice paddies of Vietnam? Had he seen a fatal
flash? Were his saints beheaded? Did a torch
emblazon on his breast the mark, the scar of war?
Had the earth become a molten sea, a hardened
(25) moonscape surface? Was there an immutable
point at which he thought—he knew—that every
living thing had ended? And so he had stopped
breathing, had become shadow? Did he know
what we would all come to know?
(30) Too often to be mere coincidence, our paths
crossed and converged daily. It seemed as if he
was everywhere I went, like a parallel life or a
shadow I'd owned in another lifetime. Often
he'd be in a cross-walk when I was in my car at a
(35) stoplight. Before work in the morning, I usually
stopped at a local diner for coffee and he would
walk past the window, past the table where I sat,
separated by only a pane of glass. As an assistant
manager of a local bookstore, I usually opened
(40) the place early in the morning. He would show
up before any of the other employees did, gazing
at the books on display in the front window, yet
never looking directly at me.
I began to change my routine slightly.
(45) Sometimes I would go down to the beach to take
an early walk before going into work. He would
be walking at the edge of the shore, the sea a blue
backdrop to this moving shadow, this tree with
legs. I began to take my walks at sunset instead,
(50) and there he'd be, at the edge of a cliff above the
sea, at the edge of the world. He'd stand like a tall
dark crane balanced on one leg. Then poised and
positioned on both legs, he'd begin a series of
undulating, flowing movements. In Ina Coolbrith
(55) Park in San Francisco, I'd often see Chinese
people exploring the air with fluid movements,
their bodies and the air in harmony. Though this
was not Tai Chi, it seemed clearly ceremonial,
religious, holy. His silhouette formed the character
(60) of a word in Japanese script; his movements
shaped haiku. What had seemed the figure of a
black crow, a disquieting deathly form, through
movement became a dark light, a black sun.
Then one day, I stopped at the diner for a
(65) morning cup of coffee. I walked down the aisle
toward my usual booth and noticed that the
shadow man was sitting there. He was taking what
looked like tea leaves from a small leather bag
that hung around his neck and placing them in a
(70) cup of hot water. As I came nearer, he looked up,
and for the first time he was seeing me, not seeing
through me. His look was clear, not shrouded with
darkness nor veiled with otherness as I had come
to expect. He had seemed to journey momentarily
(75) out of that dark place. I returned his look, nodded
my head. And for the first time since I'd seen him,
he smiled at me. He opened his mouth, to speak, to
speak to me. And I, in awe, awaited the sound
of his voice, the words sure to shape around some
(80) thought sprung from the well of a silence he
occupied. A sound emerged, high and light as air,
full of jive and jazz, as he said, “What's happenin',
mama?”

Q. In line 25, “moonscape surface” refers to

Question are based on the following passage.
This passage is from Cait Featherstone, Earth, Song and Sky Spirit: Shadows and Sleepwalkers. ©1992 by Random House, Inc.
He'd been in the area a long time, long
enough to become background. When he first
emerged, a tall thin dark and silent presence
on the local scene, everyone talked about him,
(5) asking one another variations on the same
question: Who is he? He never spoke and,
without any answers, like children chasing their
own shadows, people began to make up stories
about him. Maybe he'd been a Vietnam vet,
(10) some would venture. Others suggested that this
seeming monastic stranger had come from some
ashram in Tibet. Or perhaps he was a Somalian
refugee, his African black skin seemed so thin as
to barely stretch around his bones. Eventually,
(15) the qualifying “maybes” and “perhapses” were
dropped, and fiction was passed as fact.
Soundlessly he looked straight through
things, his eyes telling of unspeakable things.
And I wondered. Had he run barefoot, like a
(20) crane skimming the surface of a lake, through
the rice paddies of Vietnam? Had he seen a fatal
flash? Were his saints beheaded? Did a torch
emblazon on his breast the mark, the scar of war?
Had the earth become a molten sea, a hardened
(25) moonscape surface? Was there an immutable
point at which he thought—he knew—that every
living thing had ended? And so he had stopped
breathing, had become shadow? Did he know
what we would all come to know?
(30) Too often to be mere coincidence, our paths
crossed and converged daily. It seemed as if he
was everywhere I went, like a parallel life or a
shadow I'd owned in another lifetime. Often
he'd be in a cross-walk when I was in my car at a
(35) stoplight. Before work in the morning, I usually
stopped at a local diner for coffee and he would
walk past the window, past the table where I sat,
separated by only a pane of glass. As an assistant
manager of a local bookstore, I usually opened
(40) the place early in the morning. He would show
up before any of the other employees did, gazing
at the books on display in the front window, yet
never looking directly at me.
I began to change my routine slightly.
(45) Sometimes I would go down to the beach to take
an early walk before going into work. He would
be walking at the edge of the shore, the sea a blue
backdrop to this moving shadow, this tree with
legs. I began to take my walks at sunset instead,
(50) and there he'd be, at the edge of a cliff above the
sea, at the edge of the world. He'd stand like a tall
dark crane balanced on one leg. Then poised and
positioned on both legs, he'd begin a series of
undulating, flowing movements. In Ina Coolbrith
(55) Park in San Francisco, I'd often see Chinese
people exploring the air with fluid movements,
their bodies and the air in harmony. Though this
was not Tai Chi, it seemed clearly ceremonial,
religious, holy. His silhouette formed the character
(60) of a word in Japanese script; his movements
shaped haiku. What had seemed the figure of a
black crow, a disquieting deathly form, through
movement became a dark light, a black sun.
Then one day, I stopped at the diner for a
(65) morning cup of coffee. I walked down the aisle
toward my usual booth and noticed that the
shadow man was sitting there. He was taking what
looked like tea leaves from a small leather bag
that hung around his neck and placing them in a
(70) cup of hot water. As I came nearer, he looked up,
and for the first time he was seeing me, not seeing
through me. His look was clear, not shrouded with
darkness nor veiled with otherness as I had come
to expect. He had seemed to journey momentarily
(75) out of that dark place. I returned his look, nodded
my head. And for the first time since I'd seen him,
he smiled at me. He opened his mouth, to speak, to
speak to me. And I, in awe, awaited the sound
of his voice, the words sure to shape around some
(80) thought sprung from the well of a silence he
occupied. A sound emerged, high and light as air,
full of jive and jazz, as he said, “What's happenin',
mama?”

Q. In line 59, “character” most nearly means

Question are based on the following passage.
This passage is from Cait Featherstone, Earth, Song and Sky Spirit: Shadows and Sleepwalkers. ©1992 by Random House, Inc.
He'd been in the area a long time, long
enough to become background. When he first
emerged, a tall thin dark and silent presence
on the local scene, everyone talked about him,
(5) asking one another variations on the same
question: Who is he? He never spoke and,
without any answers, like children chasing their
own shadows, people began to make up stories
about him. Maybe he'd been a Vietnam vet,
(10) some would venture. Others suggested that this
seeming monastic stranger had come from some
ashram in Tibet. Or perhaps he was a Somalian
refugee, his African black skin seemed so thin as
to barely stretch around his bones. Eventually,
(15) the qualifying “maybes” and “perhapses” were
dropped, and fiction was passed as fact.
Soundlessly he looked straight through
things, his eyes telling of unspeakable things.
And I wondered. Had he run barefoot, like a
(20) crane skimming the surface of a lake, through
the rice paddies of Vietnam? Had he seen a fatal
flash? Were his saints beheaded? Did a torch
emblazon on his breast the mark, the scar of war?
Had the earth become a molten sea, a hardened
(25) moonscape surface? Was there an immutable
point at which he thought—he knew—that every
living thing had ended? And so he had stopped
breathing, had become shadow? Did he know
what we would all come to know?
(30) Too often to be mere coincidence, our paths
crossed and converged daily. It seemed as if he
was everywhere I went, like a parallel life or a
shadow I'd owned in another lifetime. Often
he'd be in a cross-walk when I was in my car at a
(35) stoplight. Before work in the morning, I usually
stopped at a local diner for coffee and he would
walk past the window, past the table where I sat,
separated by only a pane of glass. As an assistant
manager of a local bookstore, I usually opened
(40) the place early in the morning. He would show
up before any of the other employees did, gazing
at the books on display in the front window, yet
never looking directly at me.
I began to change my routine slightly.
(45) Sometimes I would go down to the beach to take
an early walk before going into work. He would
be walking at the edge of the shore, the sea a blue
backdrop to this moving shadow, this tree with
legs. I began to take my walks at sunset instead,
(50) and there he'd be, at the edge of a cliff above the
sea, at the edge of the world. He'd stand like a tall
dark crane balanced on one leg. Then poised and
positioned on both legs, he'd begin a series of
undulating, flowing movements. In Ina Coolbrith
(55) Park in San Francisco, I'd often see Chinese
people exploring the air with fluid movements,
their bodies and the air in harmony. Though this
was not Tai Chi, it seemed clearly ceremonial,
religious, holy. His silhouette formed the character
(60) of a word in Japanese script; his movements
shaped haiku. What had seemed the figure of a
black crow, a disquieting deathly form, through
movement became a dark light, a black sun.
Then one day, I stopped at the diner for a
(65) morning cup of coffee. I walked down the aisle
toward my usual booth and noticed that the
shadow man was sitting there. He was taking what
looked like tea leaves from a small leather bag
that hung around his neck and placing them in a
(70) cup of hot water. As I came nearer, he looked up,
and for the first time he was seeing me, not seeing
through me. His look was clear, not shrouded with
darkness nor veiled with otherness as I had come
to expect. He had seemed to journey momentarily
(75) out of that dark place. I returned his look, nodded
my head. And for the first time since I'd seen him,
he smiled at me. He opened his mouth, to speak, to
speak to me. And I, in awe, awaited the sound
of his voice, the words sure to shape around some
(80) thought sprung from the well of a silence he
occupied. A sound emerged, high and light as air,
full of jive and jazz, as he said, “What's happenin',
mama?”

Q. In lines 30–43, the narrator’s encounters with the stranger are notable for their

Question are based on the following passage.
This passage is from Cait Featherstone, Earth, Song and Sky Spirit: Shadows and Sleepwalkers. ©1992 by Random House, Inc.
He'd been in the area a long time, long
enough to become background. When he first
emerged, a tall thin dark and silent presence
on the local scene, everyone talked about him,
(5) asking one another variations on the same
question: Who is he? He never spoke and,
without any answers, like children chasing their
own shadows, people began to make up stories
about him. Maybe he'd been a Vietnam vet,
(10) some would venture. Others suggested that this
seeming monastic stranger had come from some
ashram in Tibet. Or perhaps he was a Somalian
refugee, his African black skin seemed so thin as
to barely stretch around his bones. Eventually,
(15) the qualifying “maybes” and “perhapses” were
dropped, and fiction was passed as fact.
Soundlessly he looked straight through
things, his eyes telling of unspeakable things.
And I wondered. Had he run barefoot, like a
(20) crane skimming the surface of a lake, through
the rice paddies of Vietnam? Had he seen a fatal
flash? Were his saints beheaded? Did a torch
emblazon on his breast the mark, the scar of war?
Had the earth become a molten sea, a hardened
(25) moonscape surface? Was there an immutable
point at which he thought—he knew—that every
living thing had ended? And so he had stopped
breathing, had become shadow? Did he know
what we would all come to know?
(30) Too often to be mere coincidence, our paths
crossed and converged daily. It seemed as if he
was everywhere I went, like a parallel life or a
shadow I'd owned in another lifetime. Often
he'd be in a cross-walk when I was in my car at a
(35) stoplight. Before work in the morning, I usually
stopped at a local diner for coffee and he would
walk past the window, past the table where I sat,
separated by only a pane of glass. As an assistant
manager of a local bookstore, I usually opened
(40) the place early in the morning. He would show
up before any of the other employees did, gazing
at the books on display in the front window, yet
never looking directly at me.
I began to change my routine slightly.
(45) Sometimes I would go down to the beach to take
an early walk before going into work. He would
be walking at the edge of the shore, the sea a blue
backdrop to this moving shadow, this tree with
legs. I began to take my walks at sunset instead,
(50) and there he'd be, at the edge of a cliff above the
sea, at the edge of the world. He'd stand like a tall
dark crane balanced on one leg. Then poised and
positioned on both legs, he'd begin a series of
undulating, flowing movements. In Ina Coolbrith
(55) Park in San Francisco, I'd often see Chinese
people exploring the air with fluid movements,
their bodies and the air in harmony. Though this
was not Tai Chi, it seemed clearly ceremonial,
religious, holy. His silhouette formed the character
(60) of a word in Japanese script; his movements
shaped haiku. What had seemed the figure of a
black crow, a disquieting deathly form, through
movement became a dark light, a black sun.
Then one day, I stopped at the diner for a
(65) morning cup of coffee. I walked down the aisle
toward my usual booth and noticed that the
shadow man was sitting there. He was taking what
looked like tea leaves from a small leather bag
that hung around his neck and placing them in a
(70) cup of hot water. As I came nearer, he looked up,
and for the first time he was seeing me, not seeing
through me. His look was clear, not shrouded with
darkness nor veiled with otherness as I had come
to expect. He had seemed to journey momentarily
(75) out of that dark place. I returned his look, nodded
my head. And for the first time since I'd seen him,
he smiled at me. He opened his mouth, to speak, to
speak to me. And I, in awe, awaited the sound
of his voice, the words sure to shape around some
(80) thought sprung from the well of a silence he
occupied. A sound emerged, high and light as air,
full of jive and jazz, as he said, “What's happenin',
mama?”

Q. Throughout the passage, the narrator describes the stranger’s physical characteristics chiefly through the use of  

Question are based on the following passage.
This passage is from Cait Featherstone, Earth, Song and Sky Spirit: Shadows and Sleepwalkers. ©1992 by Random House, Inc.
He'd been in the area a long time, long
enough to become background. When he first
emerged, a tall thin dark and silent presence
on the local scene, everyone talked about him,
(5) asking one another variations on the same
question: Who is he? He never spoke and,
without any answers, like children chasing their
own shadows, people began to make up stories
about him. Maybe he'd been a Vietnam vet,
(10) some would venture. Others suggested that this
seeming monastic stranger had come from some
ashram in Tibet. Or perhaps he was a Somalian
refugee, his African black skin seemed so thin as
to barely stretch around his bones. Eventually,
(15) the qualifying “maybes” and “perhapses” were
dropped, and fiction was passed as fact.
Soundlessly he looked straight through
things, his eyes telling of unspeakable things.
And I wondered. Had he run barefoot, like a
(20) crane skimming the surface of a lake, through
the rice paddies of Vietnam? Had he seen a fatal
flash? Were his saints beheaded? Did a torch
emblazon on his breast the mark, the scar of war?
Had the earth become a molten sea, a hardened
(25) moonscape surface? Was there an immutable
point at which he thought—he knew—that every
living thing had ended? And so he had stopped
breathing, had become shadow? Did he know
what we would all come to know?
(30) Too often to be mere coincidence, our paths
crossed and converged daily. It seemed as if he
was everywhere I went, like a parallel life or a
shadow I'd owned in another lifetime. Often
he'd be in a cross-walk when I was in my car at a
(35) stoplight. Before work in the morning, I usually
stopped at a local diner for coffee and he would
walk past the window, past the table where I sat,
separated by only a pane of glass. As an assistant
manager of a local bookstore, I usually opened
(40) the place early in the morning. He would show
up before any of the other employees did, gazing
at the books on display in the front window, yet
never looking directly at me.
I began to change my routine slightly.
(45) Sometimes I would go down to the beach to take
an early walk before going into work. He would
be walking at the edge of the shore, the sea a blue
backdrop to this moving shadow, this tree with
legs. I began to take my walks at sunset instead,
(50) and there he'd be, at the edge of a cliff above the
sea, at the edge of the world. He'd stand like a tall
dark crane balanced on one leg. Then poised and
positioned on both legs, he'd begin a series of
undulating, flowing movements. In Ina Coolbrith
(55) Park in San Francisco, I'd often see Chinese
people exploring the air with fluid movements,
their bodies and the air in harmony. Though this
was not Tai Chi, it seemed clearly ceremonial,
religious, holy. His silhouette formed the character
(60) of a word in Japanese script; his movements
shaped haiku. What had seemed the figure of a
black crow, a disquieting deathly form, through
movement became a dark light, a black sun.
Then one day, I stopped at the diner for a
(65) morning cup of coffee. I walked down the aisle
toward my usual booth and noticed that the
shadow man was sitting there. He was taking what
looked like tea leaves from a small leather bag
that hung around his neck and placing them in a
(70) cup of hot water. As I came nearer, he looked up,
and for the first time he was seeing me, not seeing
through me. His look was clear, not shrouded with
darkness nor veiled with otherness as I had come
to expect. He had seemed to journey momentarily
(75) out of that dark place. I returned his look, nodded
my head. And for the first time since I'd seen him,
he smiled at me. He opened his mouth, to speak, to
speak to me. And I, in awe, awaited the sound
of his voice, the words sure to shape around some
(80) thought sprung from the well of a silence he
occupied. A sound emerged, high and light as air,
full of jive and jazz, as he said, “What's happenin',
mama?”

Q. The phrase “what we would all come to know” (line 29) most likely refers to

Question are based on the following passage.
This passage is from Cait Featherstone, Earth, Song and Sky Spirit: Shadows and Sleepwalkers. ©1992 by Random House, Inc.
He'd been in the area a long time, long
enough to become background. When he first
emerged, a tall thin dark and silent presence
on the local scene, everyone talked about him,
(5) asking one another variations on the same
question: Who is he? He never spoke and,
without any answers, like children chasing their
own shadows, people began to make up stories
about him. Maybe he'd been a Vietnam vet,
(10) some would venture. Others suggested that this
seeming monastic stranger had come from some
ashram in Tibet. Or perhaps he was a Somalian
refugee, his African black skin seemed so thin as
to barely stretch around his bones. Eventually,
(15) the qualifying “maybes” and “perhapses” were
dropped, and fiction was passed as fact.
Soundlessly he looked straight through
things, his eyes telling of unspeakable things.
And I wondered. Had he run barefoot, like a
(20) crane skimming the surface of a lake, through
the rice paddies of Vietnam? Had he seen a fatal
flash? Were his saints beheaded? Did a torch
emblazon on his breast the mark, the scar of war?
Had the earth become a molten sea, a hardened
(25) moonscape surface? Was there an immutable
point at which he thought—he knew—that every
living thing had ended? And so he had stopped
breathing, had become shadow? Did he know
what we would all come to know?
(30) Too often to be mere coincidence, our paths
crossed and converged daily. It seemed as if he
was everywhere I went, like a parallel life or a
shadow I'd owned in another lifetime. Often
he'd be in a cross-walk when I was in my car at a
(35) stoplight. Before work in the morning, I usually
stopped at a local diner for coffee and he would
walk past the window, past the table where I sat,
separated by only a pane of glass. As an assistant
manager of a local bookstore, I usually opened
(40) the place early in the morning. He would show
up before any of the other employees did, gazing
at the books on display in the front window, yet
never looking directly at me.
I began to change my routine slightly.
(45) Sometimes I would go down to the beach to take
an early walk before going into work. He would
be walking at the edge of the shore, the sea a blue
backdrop to this moving shadow, this tree with
legs. I began to take my walks at sunset instead,
(50) and there he'd be, at the edge of a cliff above the
sea, at the edge of the world. He'd stand like a tall
dark crane balanced on one leg. Then poised and
positioned on both legs, he'd begin a series of
undulating, flowing movements. In Ina Coolbrith
(55) Park in San Francisco, I'd often see Chinese
people exploring the air with fluid movements,
their bodies and the air in harmony. Though this
was not Tai Chi, it seemed clearly ceremonial,
religious, holy. His silhouette formed the character
(60) of a word in Japanese script; his movements
shaped haiku. What had seemed the figure of a
black crow, a disquieting deathly form, through
movement became a dark light, a black sun.
Then one day, I stopped at the diner for a
(65) morning cup of coffee. I walked down the aisle
toward my usual booth and noticed that the
shadow man was sitting there. He was taking what
looked like tea leaves from a small leather bag
that hung around his neck and placing them in a
(70) cup of hot water. As I came nearer, he looked up,
and for the first time he was seeing me, not seeing
through me. His look was clear, not shrouded with
darkness nor veiled with otherness as I had come
to expect. He had seemed to journey momentarily
(75) out of that dark place. I returned his look, nodded
my head. And for the first time since I'd seen him,
he smiled at me. He opened his mouth, to speak, to
speak to me. And I, in awe, awaited the sound
of his voice, the words sure to shape around some
(80) thought sprung from the well of a silence he
occupied. A sound emerged, high and light as air,
full of jive and jazz, as he said, “What's happenin',
mama?”

Q. In line 74, the narrator indicates that the stranger “seemed to journey” from

Question are based on the following passage.
This passage is from Cait Featherstone, Earth, Song and Sky Spirit: Shadows and Sleepwalkers. ©1992 by Random House, Inc.
He'd been in the area a long time, long
enough to become background. When he first
emerged, a tall thin dark and silent presence
on the local scene, everyone talked about him,
(5) asking one another variations on the same
question: Who is he? He never spoke and,
without any answers, like children chasing their
own shadows, people began to make up stories
about him. Maybe he'd been a Vietnam vet,
(10) some would venture. Others suggested that this
seeming monastic stranger had come from some
ashram in Tibet. Or perhaps he was a Somalian
refugee, his African black skin seemed so thin as
to barely stretch around his bones. Eventually,
(15) the qualifying “maybes” and “perhapses” were
dropped, and fiction was passed as fact.
Soundlessly he looked straight through
things, his eyes telling of unspeakable things.
And I wondered. Had he run barefoot, like a
(20) crane skimming the surface of a lake, through
the rice paddies of Vietnam? Had he seen a fatal
flash? Were his saints beheaded? Did a torch
emblazon on his breast the mark, the scar of war?
Had the earth become a molten sea, a hardened
(25) moonscape surface? Was there an immutable
point at which he thought—he knew—that every
living thing had ended? And so he had stopped
breathing, had become shadow? Did he know
what we would all come to know?
(30) Too often to be mere coincidence, our paths
crossed and converged daily. It seemed as if he
was everywhere I went, like a parallel life or a
shadow I'd owned in another lifetime. Often
he'd be in a cross-walk when I was in my car at a
(35) stoplight. Before work in the morning, I usually
stopped at a local diner for coffee and he would
walk past the window, past the table where I sat,
separated by only a pane of glass. As an assistant
manager of a local bookstore, I usually opened
(40) the place early in the morning. He would show
up before any of the other employees did, gazing
at the books on display in the front window, yet
never looking directly at me.
I began to change my routine slightly.
(45) Sometimes I would go down to the beach to take
an early walk before going into work. He would
be walking at the edge of the shore, the sea a blue
backdrop to this moving shadow, this tree with
legs. I began to take my walks at sunset instead,
(50) and there he'd be, at the edge of a cliff above the
sea, at the edge of the world. He'd stand like a tall
dark crane balanced on one leg. Then poised and
positioned on both legs, he'd begin a series of
undulating, flowing movements. In Ina Coolbrith
(55) Park in San Francisco, I'd often see Chinese
people exploring the air with fluid movements,
their bodies and the air in harmony. Though this
was not Tai Chi, it seemed clearly ceremonial,
religious, holy. His silhouette formed the character
(60) of a word in Japanese script; his movements
shaped haiku. What had seemed the figure of a
black crow, a disquieting deathly form, through
movement became a dark light, a black sun.
Then one day, I stopped at the diner for a
(65) morning cup of coffee. I walked down the aisle
toward my usual booth and noticed that the
shadow man was sitting there. He was taking what
looked like tea leaves from a small leather bag
that hung around his neck and placing them in a
(70) cup of hot water. As I came nearer, he looked up,
and for the first time he was seeing me, not seeing
through me. His look was clear, not shrouded with
darkness nor veiled with otherness as I had come
to expect. He had seemed to journey momentarily
(75) out of that dark place. I returned his look, nodded
my head. And for the first time since I'd seen him,
he smiled at me. He opened his mouth, to speak, to
speak to me. And I, in awe, awaited the sound
of his voice, the words sure to shape around some
(80) thought sprung from the well of a silence he
occupied. A sound emerged, high and light as air,
full of jive and jazz, as he said, “What's happenin',
mama?”

Q. The first words the narrator heard from the stranger most likely made her feel a sense of

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is adapted from Mary Gay Humphries, “Women Bachelors," an essay originally published in 1896. During the latter part of the American Industrial Era (c. 1840-1900), many unmarried women began migrating to urban areas throughout the country.
The exodus of women to the cities in the last
ten years parallels that of men. They have come
from the West in regiments, and from the South
in brigades. Each year they come younger and
(5) younger. They have ameliorated the customs and
diversified the streets.
New York women, and perhaps city women
in general, when they are suddenly called upon
to earn their livings, are much more independent
(10) about it, and more original in their methods
than women in smaller places, where womanly
pursuits, as they are called, follow more closely
prescribed lines. The New York woman has more
knowledge of the world, and she knows that one
(15) can do pretty much what one pleases, if it is done
with a certain dash, elan, and sweeping air. When
she comes to work for her living she profits by
this knowledge. Instead of becoming a governess
or a teacher of music, she tries to get hold of
(20) something original that will excite interest. When
she has found it she holds it up, as it were, on a
blazoned banner, inscribed with this legend, “I
have not a penny to my name, and I'm going to
work.” She accepts the situation with the greatest
(25) good-humor and makes herself more acceptable
to the old set by relating her discouragements,
trials, and mistakes so comically that she is better
company than before. If her story is not bad
enough she embroiders it to the proper point of
(30) attractiveness.
In the measure that women are determining
their own lives, they want their own homes. The
desire is entirely reasonable. The woman who is
occupied with daily work needs greater freedom
(35) of movement, more isolation, more personal
comforts, and the exemption, moreover, from
being agreeable at all times and places. She
wants to be able to shut her doors against all the
world, and not to be confined within four walls
(40) herself; and she wants to open her doors when it
pleases her, and to exercise the rites of hospitality
unquestioned. In fact, she wants many things
that cannot be had except in her own home. It is
an interesting fact in natural history that women
(45) in their first breathing-spell should revert to
constructing homes as their natural background,
to which is added the male realization that the
home is the proper stimulus to achievement.
To be the mistress of a home, to extend
(50) hospitalities, briefly to be within the
circumference of a social circle, instead of
gliding with uneasy foot on the periphery, is the
reasonable desire of every woman. When this is
achieved many temptations, so freely recognized
(55) that nobody disputes them, are eliminated. It
is a noticeable fact that in all women-bachelor
households, no matter how humble, that the rugs
are scarcely down and the curtains up, until the
kettle is lighted and the reign of hospitality has
(60) begun. It is interesting to observe how soon the
shyest novice over the tea-cup loses her timidity,
and assumes that air of confidence that once was
the enviable property of only married women.

Q. The first paragraph portrays the “exodus of women” (line 1) as 

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is adapted from Mary Gay Humphries, “Women Bachelors," an essay originally published in 1896. During the latter part of the American Industrial Era (c. 1840-1900), many unmarried women began migrating to urban areas throughout the country.
The exodus of women to the cities in the last
ten years parallels that of men. They have come
from the West in regiments, and from the South
in brigades. Each year they come younger and
(5) younger. They have ameliorated the customs and
diversified the streets.
New York women, and perhaps city women
in general, when they are suddenly called upon
to earn their livings, are much more independent
(10) about it, and more original in their methods
than women in smaller places, where womanly
pursuits, as they are called, follow more closely
prescribed lines. The New York woman has more
knowledge of the world, and she knows that one
(15) can do pretty much what one pleases, if it is done
with a certain dash, elan, and sweeping air. When
she comes to work for her living she profits by
this knowledge. Instead of becoming a governess
or a teacher of music, she tries to get hold of
(20) something original that will excite interest. When
she has found it she holds it up, as it were, on a
blazoned banner, inscribed with this legend, “I
have not a penny to my name, and I'm going to
work.” She accepts the situation with the greatest
(25) good-humor and makes herself more acceptable
to the old set by relating her discouragements,
trials, and mistakes so comically that she is better
company than before. If her story is not bad
enough she embroiders it to the proper point of
(30) attractiveness.
In the measure that women are determining
their own lives, they want their own homes. The
desire is entirely reasonable. The woman who is
occupied with daily work needs greater freedom
(35) of movement, more isolation, more personal
comforts, and the exemption, moreover, from
being agreeable at all times and places. She
wants to be able to shut her doors against all the
world, and not to be confined within four walls
(40) herself; and she wants to open her doors when it
pleases her, and to exercise the rites of hospitality
unquestioned. In fact, she wants many things
that cannot be had except in her own home. It is
an interesting fact in natural history that women
(45) in their first breathing-spell should revert to
constructing homes as their natural background,
to which is added the male realization that the
home is the proper stimulus to achievement.
To be the mistress of a home, to extend
(50) hospitalities, briefly to be within the
circumference of a social circle, instead of
gliding with uneasy foot on the periphery, is the
reasonable desire of every woman. When this is
achieved many temptations, so freely recognized
(55) that nobody disputes them, are eliminated. It
is a noticeable fact that in all women-bachelor
households, no matter how humble, that the rugs
are scarcely down and the curtains up, until the
kettle is lighted and the reign of hospitality has
(60) begun. It is interesting to observe how soon the
shyest novice over the tea-cup loses her timidity,
and assumes that air of confidence that once was
the enviable property of only married women.

Q. The author suggests that, compared to women living in urban areas, those living in rural areas are less

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is adapted from Mary Gay Humphries, “Women Bachelors," an essay originally published in 1896. During the latter part of the American Industrial Era (c. 1840-1900), many unmarried women began migrating to urban areas throughout the country.
The exodus of women to the cities in the last
ten years parallels that of men. They have come
from the West in regiments, and from the South
in brigades. Each year they come younger and
(5) younger. They have ameliorated the customs and
diversified the streets.
New York women, and perhaps city women
in general, when they are suddenly called upon
to earn their livings, are much more independent
(10) about it, and more original in their methods
than women in smaller places, where womanly
pursuits, as they are called, follow more closely
prescribed lines. The New York woman has more
knowledge of the world, and she knows that one
(15) can do pretty much what one pleases, if it is done
with a certain dash, elan, and sweeping air. When
she comes to work for her living she profits by
this knowledge. Instead of becoming a governess
or a teacher of music, she tries to get hold of
(20) something original that will excite interest. When
she has found it she holds it up, as it were, on a
blazoned banner, inscribed with this legend, “I
have not a penny to my name, and I'm going to
work.” She accepts the situation with the greatest
(25) good-humor and makes herself more acceptable
to the old set by relating her discouragements,
trials, and mistakes so comically that she is better
company than before. If her story is not bad
enough she embroiders it to the proper point of
(30) attractiveness.
In the measure that women are determining
their own lives, they want their own homes. The
desire is entirely reasonable. The woman who is
occupied with daily work needs greater freedom
(35) of movement, more isolation, more personal
comforts, and the exemption, moreover, from
being agreeable at all times and places. She
wants to be able to shut her doors against all the
world, and not to be confined within four walls
(40) herself; and she wants to open her doors when it
pleases her, and to exercise the rites of hospitality
unquestioned. In fact, she wants many things
that cannot be had except in her own home. It is
an interesting fact in natural history that women
(45) in their first breathing-spell should revert to
constructing homes as their natural background,
to which is added the male realization that the
home is the proper stimulus to achievement.
To be the mistress of a home, to extend
(50) hospitalities, briefly to be within the
circumference of a social circle, instead of
gliding with uneasy foot on the periphery, is the
reasonable desire of every woman. When this is
achieved many temptations, so freely recognized
(55) that nobody disputes them, are eliminated. It
is a noticeable fact that in all women-bachelor
households, no matter how humble, that the rugs
are scarcely down and the curtains up, until the
kettle is lighted and the reign of hospitality has
(60) begun. It is interesting to observe how soon the
shyest novice over the tea-cup loses her timidity,
and assumes that air of confidence that once was
the enviable property of only married women.

Q. Which choice provides the best evidence for the answer to the previous question?

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is adapted from Mary Gay Humphries, “Women Bachelors," an essay originally published in 1896. During the latter part of the American Industrial Era (c. 1840-1900), many unmarried women began migrating to urban areas throughout the country.
The exodus of women to the cities in the last
ten years parallels that of men. They have come
from the West in regiments, and from the South
in brigades. Each year they come younger and
(5) younger. They have ameliorated the customs and
diversified the streets.
New York women, and perhaps city women
in general, when they are suddenly called upon
to earn their livings, are much more independent
(10) about it, and more original in their methods
than women in smaller places, where womanly
pursuits, as they are called, follow more closely
prescribed lines. The New York woman has more
knowledge of the world, and she knows that one
(15) can do pretty much what one pleases, if it is done
with a certain dash, elan, and sweeping air. When
she comes to work for her living she profits by
this knowledge. Instead of becoming a governess
or a teacher of music, she tries to get hold of
(20) something original that will excite interest. When
she has found it she holds it up, as it were, on a
blazoned banner, inscribed with this legend, “I
have not a penny to my name, and I'm going to
work.” She accepts the situation with the greatest
(25) good-humor and makes herself more acceptable
to the old set by relating her discouragements,
trials, and mistakes so comically that she is better
company than before. If her story is not bad
enough she embroiders it to the proper point of
(30) attractiveness.
In the measure that women are determining
their own lives, they want their own homes. The
desire is entirely reasonable. The woman who is
occupied with daily work needs greater freedom
(35) of movement, more isolation, more personal
comforts, and the exemption, moreover, from
being agreeable at all times and places. She
wants to be able to shut her doors against all the
world, and not to be confined within four walls
(40) herself; and she wants to open her doors when it
pleases her, and to exercise the rites of hospitality
unquestioned. In fact, she wants many things
that cannot be had except in her own home. It is
an interesting fact in natural history that women
(45) in their first breathing-spell should revert to
constructing homes as their natural background,
to which is added the male realization that the
home is the proper stimulus to achievement.
To be the mistress of a home, to extend
(50) hospitalities, briefly to be within the
circumference of a social circle, instead of
gliding with uneasy foot on the periphery, is the
reasonable desire of every woman. When this is
achieved many temptations, so freely recognized
(55) that nobody disputes them, are eliminated. It
is a noticeable fact that in all women-bachelor
households, no matter how humble, that the rugs
are scarcely down and the curtains up, until the
kettle is lighted and the reign of hospitality has
(60) begun. It is interesting to observe how soon the
shyest novice over the tea-cup loses her timidity,
and assumes that air of confidence that once was
the enviable property of only married women.

Q. The author suggests that, to the new urban woman, poverty is 

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is adapted from Mary Gay Humphries, “Women Bachelors," an essay originally published in 1896. During the latter part of the American Industrial Era (c. 1840-1900), many unmarried women began migrating to urban areas throughout the country.
The exodus of women to the cities in the last
ten years parallels that of men. They have come
from the West in regiments, and from the South
in brigades. Each year they come younger and
(5) younger. They have ameliorated the customs and
diversified the streets.
New York women, and perhaps city women
in general, when they are suddenly called upon
to earn their livings, are much more independent
(10) about it, and more original in their methods
than women in smaller places, where womanly
pursuits, as they are called, follow more closely
prescribed lines. The New York woman has more
knowledge of the world, and she knows that one
(15) can do pretty much what one pleases, if it is done
with a certain dash, elan, and sweeping air. When
she comes to work for her living she profits by
this knowledge. Instead of becoming a governess
or a teacher of music, she tries to get hold of
(20) something original that will excite interest. When
she has found it she holds it up, as it were, on a
blazoned banner, inscribed with this legend, “I
have not a penny to my name, and I'm going to
work.” She accepts the situation with the greatest
(25) good-humor and makes herself more acceptable
to the old set by relating her discouragements,
trials, and mistakes so comically that she is better
company than before. If her story is not bad
enough she embroiders it to the proper point of
(30) attractiveness.
In the measure that women are determining
their own lives, they want their own homes. The
desire is entirely reasonable. The woman who is
occupied with daily work needs greater freedom
(35) of movement, more isolation, more personal
comforts, and the exemption, moreover, from
being agreeable at all times and places. She
wants to be able to shut her doors against all the
world, and not to be confined within four walls
(40) herself; and she wants to open her doors when it
pleases her, and to exercise the rites of hospitality
unquestioned. In fact, she wants many things
that cannot be had except in her own home. It is
an interesting fact in natural history that women
(45) in their first breathing-spell should revert to
constructing homes as their natural background,
to which is added the male realization that the
home is the proper stimulus to achievement.
To be the mistress of a home, to extend
(50) hospitalities, briefly to be within the
circumference of a social circle, instead of
gliding with uneasy foot on the periphery, is the
reasonable desire of every woman. When this is
achieved many temptations, so freely recognized
(55) that nobody disputes them, are eliminated. It
is a noticeable fact that in all women-bachelor
households, no matter how humble, that the rugs
are scarcely down and the curtains up, until the
kettle is lighted and the reign of hospitality has
(60) begun. It is interesting to observe how soon the
shyest novice over the tea-cup loses her timidity,
and assumes that air of confidence that once was
the enviable property of only married women.

Q. Which choice provides the best evidence for the answer to the previous question?

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is adapted from Mary Gay Humphries, “Women Bachelors," an essay originally published in 1896. During the latter part of the American Industrial Era (c. 1840-1900), many unmarried women began migrating to urban areas throughout the country.
The exodus of women to the cities in the last
ten years parallels that of men. They have come
from the West in regiments, and from the South
in brigades. Each year they come younger and
(5) younger. They have ameliorated the customs and
diversified the streets.
New York women, and perhaps city women
in general, when they are suddenly called upon
to earn their livings, are much more independent
(10) about it, and more original in their methods
than women in smaller places, where womanly
pursuits, as they are called, follow more closely
prescribed lines. The New York woman has more
knowledge of the world, and she knows that one
(15) can do pretty much what one pleases, if it is done
with a certain dash, elan, and sweeping air. When
she comes to work for her living she profits by
this knowledge. Instead of becoming a governess
or a teacher of music, she tries to get hold of
(20) something original that will excite interest. When
she has found it she holds it up, as it were, on a
blazoned banner, inscribed with this legend, “I
have not a penny to my name, and I'm going to
work.” She accepts the situation with the greatest
(25) good-humor and makes herself more acceptable
to the old set by relating her discouragements,
trials, and mistakes so comically that she is better
company than before. If her story is not bad
enough she embroiders it to the proper point of
(30) attractiveness.
In the measure that women are determining
their own lives, they want their own homes. The
desire is entirely reasonable. The woman who is
occupied with daily work needs greater freedom
(35) of movement, more isolation, more personal
comforts, and the exemption, moreover, from
being agreeable at all times and places. She
wants to be able to shut her doors against all the
world, and not to be confined within four walls
(40) herself; and she wants to open her doors when it
pleases her, and to exercise the rites of hospitality
unquestioned. In fact, she wants many things
that cannot be had except in her own home. It is
an interesting fact in natural history that women
(45) in their first breathing-spell should revert to
constructing homes as their natural background,
to which is added the male realization that the
home is the proper stimulus to achievement.
To be the mistress of a home, to extend
(50) hospitalities, briefly to be within the
circumference of a social circle, instead of
gliding with uneasy foot on the periphery, is the
reasonable desire of every woman. When this is
achieved many temptations, so freely recognized
(55) that nobody disputes them, are eliminated. It
is a noticeable fact that in all women-bachelor
households, no matter how humble, that the rugs
are scarcely down and the curtains up, until the
kettle is lighted and the reign of hospitality has
(60) begun. It is interesting to observe how soon the
shyest novice over the tea-cup loses her timidity,
and assumes that air of confidence that once was
the enviable property of only married women.

Q. In line 16, “dash” most nearly means

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is adapted from Mary Gay Humphries, “Women Bachelors," an essay originally published in 1896. During the latter part of the American Industrial Era (c. 1840-1900), many unmarried women began migrating to urban areas throughout the country.
The exodus of women to the cities in the last
ten years parallels that of men. They have come
from the West in regiments, and from the South
in brigades. Each year they come younger and
(5) younger. They have ameliorated the customs and
diversified the streets.
New York women, and perhaps city women
in general, when they are suddenly called upon
to earn their livings, are much more independent
(10) about it, and more original in their methods
than women in smaller places, where womanly
pursuits, as they are called, follow more closely
prescribed lines. The New York woman has more
knowledge of the world, and she knows that one
(15) can do pretty much what one pleases, if it is done
with a certain dash, elan, and sweeping air. When
she comes to work for her living she profits by
this knowledge. Instead of becoming a governess
or a teacher of music, she tries to get hold of
(20) something original that will excite interest. When
she has found it she holds it up, as it were, on a
blazoned banner, inscribed with this legend, “I
have not a penny to my name, and I'm going to
work.” She accepts the situation with the greatest
(25) good-humor and makes herself more acceptable
to the old set by relating her discouragements,
trials, and mistakes so comically that she is better
company than before. If her story is not bad
enough she embroiders it to the proper point of
(30) attractiveness.
In the measure that women are determining
their own lives, they want their own homes. The
desire is entirely reasonable. The woman who is
occupied with daily work needs greater freedom
(35) of movement, more isolation, more personal
comforts, and the exemption, moreover, from
being agreeable at all times and places. She
wants to be able to shut her doors against all the
world, and not to be confined within four walls
(40) herself; and she wants to open her doors when it
pleases her, and to exercise the rites of hospitality
unquestioned. In fact, she wants many things
that cannot be had except in her own home. It is
an interesting fact in natural history that women
(45) in their first breathing-spell should revert to
constructing homes as their natural background,
to which is added the male realization that the
home is the proper stimulus to achievement.
To be the mistress of a home, to extend
(50) hospitalities, briefly to be within the
circumference of a social circle, instead of
gliding with uneasy foot on the periphery, is the
reasonable desire of every woman. When this is
achieved many temptations, so freely recognized
(55) that nobody disputes them, are eliminated. It
is a noticeable fact that in all women-bachelor
households, no matter how humble, that the rugs
are scarcely down and the curtains up, until the
kettle is lighted and the reign of hospitality has
(60) begun. It is interesting to observe how soon the
shyest novice over the tea-cup loses her timidity,
and assumes that air of confidence that once was
the enviable property of only married women.

Q. As it is used in line 26, “old set” most likely refers to a group of

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is adapted from Mary Gay Humphries, “Women Bachelors," an essay originally published in 1896. During the latter part of the American Industrial Era (c. 1840-1900), many unmarried women began migrating to urban areas throughout the country.
The exodus of women to the cities in the last
ten years parallels that of men. They have come
from the West in regiments, and from the South
in brigades. Each year they come younger and
(5) younger. They have ameliorated the customs and
diversified the streets.
New York women, and perhaps city women
in general, when they are suddenly called upon
to earn their livings, are much more independent
(10) about it, and more original in their methods
than women in smaller places, where womanly
pursuits, as they are called, follow more closely
prescribed lines. The New York woman has more
knowledge of the world, and she knows that one
(15) can do pretty much what one pleases, if it is done
with a certain dash, elan, and sweeping air. When
she comes to work for her living she profits by
this knowledge. Instead of becoming a governess
or a teacher of music, she tries to get hold of
(20) something original that will excite interest. When
she has found it she holds it up, as it were, on a
blazoned banner, inscribed with this legend, “I
have not a penny to my name, and I'm going to
work.” She accepts the situation with the greatest
(25) good-humor and makes herself more acceptable
to the old set by relating her discouragements,
trials, and mistakes so comically that she is better
company than before. If her story is not bad
enough she embroiders it to the proper point of
(30) attractiveness.
In the measure that women are determining
their own lives, they want their own homes. The
desire is entirely reasonable. The woman who is
occupied with daily work needs greater freedom
(35) of movement, more isolation, more personal
comforts, and the exemption, moreover, from
being agreeable at all times and places. She
wants to be able to shut her doors against all the
world, and not to be confined within four walls
(40) herself; and she wants to open her doors when it
pleases her, and to exercise the rites of hospitality
unquestioned. In fact, she wants many things
that cannot be had except in her own home. It is
an interesting fact in natural history that women
(45) in their first breathing-spell should revert to
constructing homes as their natural background,
to which is added the male realization that the
home is the proper stimulus to achievement.
To be the mistress of a home, to extend
(50) hospitalities, briefly to be within the
circumference of a social circle, instead of
gliding with uneasy foot on the periphery, is the
reasonable desire of every woman. When this is
achieved many temptations, so freely recognized
(55) that nobody disputes them, are eliminated. It
is a noticeable fact that in all women-bachelor
households, no matter how humble, that the rugs
are scarcely down and the curtains up, until the
kettle is lighted and the reign of hospitality has
(60) begun. It is interesting to observe how soon the
shyest novice over the tea-cup loses her timidity,
and assumes that air of confidence that once was
the enviable property of only married women.

Q. The passage indicates that city women want to maintain their own homes primarily because

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is adapted from Mary Gay Humphries, “Women Bachelors," an essay originally published in 1896. During the latter part of the American Industrial Era (c. 1840-1900), many unmarried women began migrating to urban areas throughout the country.
The exodus of women to the cities in the last
ten years parallels that of men. They have come
from the West in regiments, and from the South
in brigades. Each year they come younger and
(5) younger. They have ameliorated the customs and
diversified the streets.
New York women, and perhaps city women
in general, when they are suddenly called upon
to earn their livings, are much more independent
(10) about it, and more original in their methods
than women in smaller places, where womanly
pursuits, as they are called, follow more closely
prescribed lines. The New York woman has more
knowledge of the world, and she knows that one
(15) can do pretty much what one pleases, if it is done
with a certain dash, elan, and sweeping air. When
she comes to work for her living she profits by
this knowledge. Instead of becoming a governess
or a teacher of music, she tries to get hold of
(20) something original that will excite interest. When
she has found it she holds it up, as it were, on a
blazoned banner, inscribed with this legend, “I
have not a penny to my name, and I'm going to
work.” She accepts the situation with the greatest
(25) good-humor and makes herself more acceptable
to the old set by relating her discouragements,
trials, and mistakes so comically that she is better
company than before. If her story is not bad
enough she embroiders it to the proper point of
(30) attractiveness.
In the measure that women are determining
their own lives, they want their own homes. The
desire is entirely reasonable. The woman who is
occupied with daily work needs greater freedom
(35) of movement, more isolation, more personal
comforts, and the exemption, moreover, from
being agreeable at all times and places. She
wants to be able to shut her doors against all the
world, and not to be confined within four walls
(40) herself; and she wants to open her doors when it
pleases her, and to exercise the rites of hospitality
unquestioned. In fact, she wants many things
that cannot be had except in her own home. It is
an interesting fact in natural history that women
(45) in their first breathing-spell should revert to
constructing homes as their natural background,
to which is added the male realization that the
home is the proper stimulus to achievement.
To be the mistress of a home, to extend
(50) hospitalities, briefly to be within the
circumference of a social circle, instead of
gliding with uneasy foot on the periphery, is the
reasonable desire of every woman. When this is
achieved many temptations, so freely recognized
(55) that nobody disputes them, are eliminated. It
is a noticeable fact that in all women-bachelor
households, no matter how humble, that the rugs
are scarcely down and the curtains up, until the
kettle is lighted and the reign of hospitality has
(60) begun. It is interesting to observe how soon the
shyest novice over the tea-cup loses her timidity,
and assumes that air of confidence that once was
the enviable property of only married women.

Q. Which choice best summarizes the main point of the passage?