CLAT: Mock Test (New Pattern) - 10 - CLAT MCQ
30 Questions MCQ Test Additional Study Material for CLAT - CLAT: Mock Test (New Pattern) - 10
The first of the Great Debates, between Senator John F. Kennedy of Massachusetts and the incumbent Vice President Richard Nixon on September 26, 1960, centered around domestic issues. The topic of the next debate, on October 7, was a clash over U.S. policy regarding two small islands off the Chinese coast, and on October 13, this controversy continued. On October 21, the final debate, the candidates focused on American/Cuban relations.
Few of the 70 million viewers could have fathomed what this first–ever televised presidential debate augured, not only for this specific series of debates, but more importantly for the preeminent role the fledgling medium would play in the future of the political arena.
A pallid Nixon arrived at the Chicago CBS studios after a grueling day of campaigning. The previous August a knee infection had sidelined him. He was still twenty pounds underweight, and he perspired profusely in an ill–fitting shirt. Moreover, he declined makeup to burnish his hospital pallor. The freshly–painted studio backdrop had dried to an ashen hue that obscured his matching suit.
The Democratic contender by contrast exuded a robust glow after a month of campaigning in California. He had spent his day rehearsing potential questions and relaxing. An aide later admitted that he supplemented his natural glow with a smidge of makeup. He was fit, trim, and confident.
Despite the remarkably similar agendas and arguments of the Republican and the Democrat, TV viewers unequivocally believed Kennedy to be the victor – whereas people who had followed the debates on the radio held the opposite opinion. The age of TV had arrived, and the subsequent party shuffle proved the undeniable potency of television.
Q. The author is mainly concerned about
Few of the 70 million viewers could have fathomed what this first–ever televised presidential debate augured, not only for this specific series of debates, but more importantly for the preeminent role the fledgling medium would play in the future of the political arena.
A pallid Nixon arrived at the Chicago CBS studios after a grueling day of campaigning. The previous August a knee infection had sidelined him. He was still twenty pounds underweight, and he perspired profusely in an ill–fitting shirt. Moreover, he declined makeup to burnish his hospital pallor. The freshly–painted studio backdrop had dried to an ashen hue that obscured his matching suit.
The Democratic contender by contrast exuded a robust glow after a month of campaigning in California. He had spent his day rehearsing potential questions and relaxing. An aide later admitted that he supplemented his natural glow with a smidge of makeup. He was fit, trim, and confident.
Despite the remarkably similar agendas and arguments of the Republican and the Democrat, TV viewers unequivocally believed Kennedy to be the victor – whereas people who had followed the debates on the radio held the opposite opinion. The age of TV had arrived, and the subsequent party shuffle proved the undeniable potency of television.
The first of the Great Debates, between Senator John F. Kennedy of Massachusetts and the incumbent Vice President Richard Nixon on September 26, 1960, centered around domestic issues. The topic of the next debate, on October 7, was a clash over U.S. policy regarding two small islands off the Chinese coast, and on October 13, this controversy continued. On October 21, the final debate, the candidates focused on American/Cuban relations.
Few of the 70 million viewers could have fathomed what this first–ever televised presidential debate augured, not only for this specific series of debates, but more importantly for the preeminent role the fledgling medium would play in the future of the political arena.
A pallid Nixon arrived at the Chicago CBS studios after a grueling day of campaigning. The previous August a knee infection had sidelined him. He was still twenty pounds underweight, and he perspired profusely in an ill–fitting shirt. Moreover, he declined makeup to burnish his hospital pallor. The freshly–painted studio backdrop had dried to an ashen hue that obscured his matching suit.
The Democratic contender by contrast exuded a robust glow after a month of campaigning in California. He had spent his day rehearsing potential questions and relaxing. An aide later admitted that he supplemented his natural glow with a smidge of makeup. He was fit, trim, and confident.
Despite the remarkably similar agendas and arguments of the Republican and the Democrat, TV viewers unequivocally believed Kennedy to be the victor – whereas people who had followed the debates on the radio held the opposite opinion. The age of TV had arrived, and the subsequent party shuffle proved the undeniable potency of television.
Q. It can be inferred from the passage that
Few of the 70 million viewers could have fathomed what this first–ever televised presidential debate augured, not only for this specific series of debates, but more importantly for the preeminent role the fledgling medium would play in the future of the political arena.
A pallid Nixon arrived at the Chicago CBS studios after a grueling day of campaigning. The previous August a knee infection had sidelined him. He was still twenty pounds underweight, and he perspired profusely in an ill–fitting shirt. Moreover, he declined makeup to burnish his hospital pallor. The freshly–painted studio backdrop had dried to an ashen hue that obscured his matching suit.
The Democratic contender by contrast exuded a robust glow after a month of campaigning in California. He had spent his day rehearsing potential questions and relaxing. An aide later admitted that he supplemented his natural glow with a smidge of makeup. He was fit, trim, and confident.
Despite the remarkably similar agendas and arguments of the Republican and the Democrat, TV viewers unequivocally believed Kennedy to be the victor – whereas people who had followed the debates on the radio held the opposite opinion. The age of TV had arrived, and the subsequent party shuffle proved the undeniable potency of television.
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The first of the Great Debates, between Senator John F. Kennedy of Massachusetts and the incumbent Vice President Richard Nixon on September 26, 1960, centered around domestic issues. The topic of the next debate, on October 7, was a clash over U.S. policy regarding two small islands off the Chinese coast, and on October 13, this controversy continued. On October 21, the final debate, the candidates focused on American/Cuban relations.
Few of the 70 million viewers could have fathomed what this first–ever televised presidential debate augured, not only for this specific series of debates, but more importantly for the preeminent role the fledgling medium would play in the future of the political arena.
A pallid Nixon arrived at the Chicago CBS studios after a grueling day of campaigning. The previous August a knee infection had sidelined him. He was still twenty pounds underweight, and he perspired profusely in an ill–fitting shirt. Moreover, he declined makeup to burnish his hospital pallor. The freshly–painted studio backdrop had dried to an ashen hue that obscured his matching suit.
The Democratic contender by contrast exuded a robust glow after a month of campaigning in California. He had spent his day rehearsing potential questions and relaxing. An aide later admitted that he supplemented his natural glow with a smidge of makeup. He was fit, trim, and confident.
Despite the remarkably similar agendas and arguments of the Republican and the Democrat, TV viewers unequivocally believed Kennedy to be the victor – whereas people who had followed the debates on the radio held the opposite opinion. The age of TV had arrived, and the subsequent party shuffle proved the undeniable potency of television.
Q. According to the passage, which of the following was true of Richard Nixon?
Few of the 70 million viewers could have fathomed what this first–ever televised presidential debate augured, not only for this specific series of debates, but more importantly for the preeminent role the fledgling medium would play in the future of the political arena.
A pallid Nixon arrived at the Chicago CBS studios after a grueling day of campaigning. The previous August a knee infection had sidelined him. He was still twenty pounds underweight, and he perspired profusely in an ill–fitting shirt. Moreover, he declined makeup to burnish his hospital pallor. The freshly–painted studio backdrop had dried to an ashen hue that obscured his matching suit.
The Democratic contender by contrast exuded a robust glow after a month of campaigning in California. He had spent his day rehearsing potential questions and relaxing. An aide later admitted that he supplemented his natural glow with a smidge of makeup. He was fit, trim, and confident.
Despite the remarkably similar agendas and arguments of the Republican and the Democrat, TV viewers unequivocally believed Kennedy to be the victor – whereas people who had followed the debates on the radio held the opposite opinion. The age of TV had arrived, and the subsequent party shuffle proved the undeniable potency of television.
Read the following passage and answer the question.
... You should go to the Muslim brethren and tell them to forget the past, that it will never be repeated and persuade them to return and live peacefully as before. Tell them that their misery is your misery, that you are their brothers, that both Hindus and Muslims are sons of the same soil, both eat and drink from the same source and breathe the same air, hence there should be no ill will between them. Tell them that you will not get any peace of mind until they return to their homes.
It is possible that the Muslims may turn round and ask how they can go back and live in the houses where their kith and kin have been done to death. They will be justified in saying so. But if the guilty persons go to the Muslims with truly penitent hearts, I am sure, they will be persuaded. Human hearts melt before love. When the murderers themselves go to them in sackcloth and ashes and promise them never to repeat such deeds, even a stony heart will melt.
You should not depend on the Government to do this work. The Government will of course lend a hand. But it is mainly your task. The Government can give you tools and materials; but the cleaning has to be done by you.
Amidst this mad upheaval there were some Hindus, like oases in a desert, who risked the wrath of the violent mobs and saved the lives of many Muslims and gave them shelter. They deserve congratulations though they do not need any…Since we have become strangers to human sentiments these days, we are impelled to congratulate any evidence of human love. Those who gave shelter to Muslims did not do so from any selfish motives.
If I have not gone to meet them, let them not think that I have no regard or respect for them. I would love to meet them and know how they saved the lives of Muslims. I have been unable to go to them in spite of my admiration because I have come here like a physician who goes only to those who are suffering. I have come to lighten the sufferings of Muslims in Bihar. I have been told that the Hindus have also suffered in the riots at some places. If there are any such Hindus, they too will be given relief. But I pay more attention to Muslims because there are quite a few of them here who are willing to help the Hindus...
Q. Which of the following is Gandhi's main point in the passage?
Read the following passage and answer the question.
... You should go to the Muslim brethren and tell them to forget the past, that it will never be repeated and persuade them to return and live peacefully as before. Tell them that their misery is your misery, that you are their brothers, that both Hindus and Muslims are sons of the same soil, both eat and drink from the same source and breathe the same air, hence there should be no ill will between them. Tell them that you will not get any peace of mind until they return to their homes.
It is possible that the Muslims may turn round and ask how they can go back and live in the houses where their kith and kin have been done to death. They will be justified in saying so. But if the guilty persons go to the Muslims with truly penitent hearts, I am sure, they will be persuaded. Human hearts melt before love. When the murderers themselves go to them in sackcloth and ashes and promise them never to repeat such deeds, even a stony heart will melt.
You should not depend on the Government to do this work. The Government will of course lend a hand. But it is mainly your task. The Government can give you tools and materials; but the cleaning has to be done by you.
Amidst this mad upheaval there were some Hindus, like oases in a desert, who risked the wrath of the violent mobs and saved the lives of many Muslims and gave them shelter. They deserve congratulations though they do not need any…Since we have become strangers to human sentiments these days, we are impelled to congratulate any evidence of human love. Those who gave shelter to Muslims did not do so from any selfish motives.
If I have not gone to meet them, let them not think that I have no regard or respect for them. I would love to meet them and know how they saved the lives of Muslims. I have been unable to go to them in spite of my admiration because I have come here like a physician who goes only to those who are suffering. I have come to lighten the sufferings of Muslims in Bihar. I have been told that the Hindus have also suffered in the riots at some places. If there are any such Hindus, they too will be given relief. But I pay more attention to Muslims because there are quite a few of them here who are willing to help the Hindus...
Q. What does the word 'penitent' as used in the passage mean?
Read the following passage and answer the question.
... You should go to the Muslim brethren and tell them to forget the past, that it will never be repeated and persuade them to return and live peacefully as before. Tell them that their misery is your misery, that you are their brothers, that both Hindus and Muslims are sons of the same soil, both eat and drink from the same source and breathe the same air, hence there should be no ill will between them. Tell them that you will not get any peace of mind until they return to their homes.
It is possible that the Muslims may turn round and ask how they can go back and live in the houses where their kith and kin have been done to death. They will be justified in saying so. But if the guilty persons go to the Muslims with truly penitent hearts, I am sure, they will be persuaded. Human hearts melt before love. When the murderers themselves go to them in sackcloth and ashes and promise them never to repeat such deeds, even a stony heart will melt.
You should not depend on the Government to do this work. The Government will of course lend a hand. But it is mainly your task. The Government can give you tools and materials; but the cleaning has to be done by you.
Amidst this mad upheaval there were some Hindus, like oases in a desert, who risked the wrath of the violent mobs and saved the lives of many Muslims and gave them shelter. They deserve congratulations though they do not need any…Since we have become strangers to human sentiments these days, we are impelled to congratulate any evidence of human love. Those who gave shelter to Muslims did not do so from any selfish motives.
If I have not gone to meet them, let them not think that I have no regard or respect for them. I would love to meet them and know how they saved the lives of Muslims. I have been unable to go to them in spite of my admiration because I have come here like a physician who goes only to those who are suffering. I have come to lighten the sufferings of Muslims in Bihar. I have been told that the Hindus have also suffered in the riots at some places. If there are any such Hindus, they too will be given relief. But I pay more attention to Muslims because there are quite a few of them here who are willing to help the Hindus...
Q. Why does Gandhi suggest that the government should not be relied upon for making amends to Muslims?
Read the following passage and answer the question.
... You should go to the Muslim brethren and tell them to forget the past, that it will never be repeated and persuade them to return and live peacefully as before. Tell them that their misery is your misery, that you are their brothers, that both Hindus and Muslims are sons of the same soil, both eat and drink from the same source and breathe the same air, hence there should be no ill will between them. Tell them that you will not get any peace of mind until they return to their homes.
It is possible that the Muslims may turn round and ask how they can go back and live in the houses where their kith and kin have been done to death. They will be justified in saying so. But if the guilty persons go to the Muslims with truly penitent hearts, I am sure, they will be persuaded. Human hearts melt before love. When the murderers themselves go to them in sackcloth and ashes and promise them never to repeat such deeds, even a stony heart will melt.
You should not depend on the Government to do this work. The Government will of course lend a hand. But it is mainly your task. The Government can give you tools and materials; but the cleaning has to be done by you.
Amidst this mad upheaval there were some Hindus, like oases in a desert, who risked the wrath of the violent mobs and saved the lives of many Muslims and gave them shelter. They deserve congratulations though they do not need any…Since we have become strangers to human sentiments these days, we are impelled to congratulate any evidence of human love. Those who gave shelter to Muslims did not do so from any selfish motives.
If I have not gone to meet them, let them not think that I have no regard or respect for them. I would love to meet them and know how they saved the lives of Muslims. I have been unable to go to them in spite of my admiration because I have come here like a physician who goes only to those who are suffering. I have come to lighten the sufferings of Muslims in Bihar. I have been told that the Hindus have also suffered in the riots at some places. If there are any such Hindus, they too will be given relief. But I pay more attention to Muslims because there are quite a few of them here who are willing to help the Hindus...
Q. Which of the following is consistent with Gandhi's description of some Hindus as 'oases in a desert'?
Read the following passage and answer the question.
... You should go to the Muslim brethren and tell them to forget the past, that it will never be repeated and persuade them to return and live peacefully as before. Tell them that their misery is your misery, that you are their brothers, that both Hindus and Muslims are sons of the same soil, both eat and drink from the same source and breathe the same air, hence there should be no ill will between them. Tell them that you will not get any peace of mind until they return to their homes.
It is possible that the Muslims may turn round and ask how they can go back and live in the houses where their kith and kin have been done to death. They will be justified in saying so. But if the guilty persons go to the Muslims with truly penitent hearts, I am sure, they will be persuaded. Human hearts melt before love. When the murderers themselves go to them in sackcloth and ashes and promise them never to repeat such deeds, even a stony heart will melt.
You should not depend on the Government to do this work. The Government will of course lend a hand. But it is mainly your task. The Government can give you tools and materials; but the cleaning has to be done by you.
Amidst this mad upheaval there were some Hindus, like oases in a desert, who risked the wrath of the violent mobs and saved the lives of many Muslims and gave them shelter. They deserve congratulations though they do not need any…Since we have become strangers to human sentiments these days, we are impelled to congratulate any evidence of human love. Those who gave shelter to Muslims did not do so from any selfish motives.
If I have not gone to meet them, let them not think that I have no regard or respect for them. I would love to meet them and know how they saved the lives of Muslims. I have been unable to go to them in spite of my admiration because I have come here like a physician who goes only to those who are suffering. I have come to lighten the sufferings of Muslims in Bihar. I have been told that the Hindus have also suffered in the riots at some places. If there are any such Hindus, they too will be given relief. But I pay more attention to Muslims because there are quite a few of them here who are willing to help the Hindus...
Q. It can be inferred that Gandhi wanted to meet and help the Muslims of Bihar
Canopy of Nature
Dad decided last Sunday that we should all go on a camping trip.
He read an article in the Sunday paper about camping and how it “brings families together under the canopy of nature.”
“Overrated,” I joked. “What about the canopy of television or the canopy of restaurant food?”
“This will be good for us,” Dad said, sliding the magazine across the coffee table. “Let’s go next weekend.”
I shot a quick look over at my little brother, Paul. He gave me a slow eyebrow raise which meant, “This will probably not go off completely as planned.”
My smile back said, "But it will surely be fun."
I started to think back. Once Dad decided we should all learn how to canoe. We borrowed two canoes from our friends, hoisted them on the van and drove for three hours to a secluded lake in Virginia. Alone in the middle of nowhere, we discovered that we had forgotten the paddles.
Paul and I got in a canoe with Dad and our two younger sisters got in a canoe with Mom. We floated aimlessly around the lake for hours. Then we all jumped in with our life jackets on. We pushed the canoes back to shore. It was a fantastic trip.
Another time, Dad decided we should all learn how to ski. All of us hate the cold so we spent the weekend huddled by the fire, drinking hot cocoa in the ski lodge and playing board games. It was great. We had a blast.
When I stopped daydreaming, Mom was saying, “Sweetheart, we don’t have a tent.”
“We don’t need one!” Dad said happily. “We’ll take all the seats out the van when we get to the campsite and put in an air mattress.”
I don't know what the punch line will be on this excursion, but I am sure with Mom, Dad and the four of us kids scrunched in a van at some national park, we are bound to have a good time.
Q. "Then we all jumped in with our life jackets on. We pushed the canoes back to shore."
Which of the following is the best way to combine the above sentences while keeping their original meaning as used in the story?
Canopy of Nature
Dad decided last Sunday that we should all go on a camping trip.
He read an article in the Sunday paper about camping and how it “brings families together under the canopy of nature.”
“Overrated,” I joked. “What about the canopy of television or the canopy of restaurant food?”
“This will be good for us,” Dad said, sliding the magazine across the coffee table. “Let’s go next weekend.”
I shot a quick look over at my little brother, Paul. He gave me a slow eyebrow raise which meant, “This will probably not go off completely as planned.”
My smile back said, "But it will surely be fun."
I started to think back. Once Dad decided we should all learn how to canoe. We borrowed two canoes from our friends, hoisted them on the van and drove for three hours to a secluded lake in Virginia. Alone in the middle of nowhere, we discovered that we had forgotten the paddles.
Paul and I got in a canoe with Dad and our two younger sisters got in a canoe with Mom. We floated aimlessly around the lake for hours. Then we all jumped in with our life jackets on. We pushed the canoes back to shore. It was a fantastic trip.
Another time, Dad decided we should all learn how to ski. All of us hate the cold so we spent the weekend huddled by the fire, drinking hot cocoa in the ski lodge and playing board games. It was great. We had a blast.
When I stopped daydreaming, Mom was saying, “Sweetheart, we don’t have a tent.”
“We don’t need one!” Dad said happily. “We’ll take all the seats out the van when we get to the campsite and put in an air mattress.”
I don't know what the punch line will be on this excursion, but I am sure with Mom, Dad and the four of us kids scrunched in a van at some national park, we are bound to have a good time.
Q. Which best describes the narrator's tone?
Canopy of Nature
Dad decided last Sunday that we should all go on a camping trip.
He read an article in the Sunday paper about camping and how it “brings families together under the canopy of nature.”
“Overrated,” I joked. “What about the canopy of television or the canopy of restaurant food?”
“This will be good for us,” Dad said, sliding the magazine across the coffee table. “Let’s go next weekend.”
I shot a quick look over at my little brother, Paul. He gave me a slow eyebrow raise which meant, “This will probably not go off completely as planned.”
My smile back said, "But it will surely be fun."
I started to think back. Once Dad decided we should all learn how to canoe. We borrowed two canoes from our friends, hoisted them on the van and drove for three hours to a secluded lake in Virginia. Alone in the middle of nowhere, we discovered that we had forgotten the paddles.
Paul and I got in a canoe with Dad and our two younger sisters got in a canoe with Mom. We floated aimlessly around the lake for hours. Then we all jumped in with our life jackets on. We pushed the canoes back to shore. It was a fantastic trip.
Another time, Dad decided we should all learn how to ski. All of us hate the cold so we spent the weekend huddled by the fire, drinking hot cocoa in the ski lodge and playing board games. It was great. We had a blast.
When I stopped daydreaming, Mom was saying, “Sweetheart, we don’t have a tent.”
“We don’t need one!” Dad said happily. “We’ll take all the seats out the van when we get to the campsite and put in an air mattress.”
I don't know what the punch line will be on this excursion, but I am sure with Mom, Dad and the four of us kids scrunched in a van at some national park, we are bound to have a good time.
Q. The narrator probably says the camping trip will have a punch line because he or she feels it will
Abraham Lincoln served as the 16th President of the United States, yet he never went to college. In fact, Lincoln had nearly no formal education whatsoever, attending schools for less than a year throughout his childhood. Yet this should not be construed to mean that Lincoln was ignorant or unlearned; on the contrary, he was one of the most well-read leaders of the time. The fact is that Abraham Lincoln educated himself by studying books of religion, philosophy, and literature, and he continued his voracious reading throughout his life.
A lack of public school education did not prevent Lincoln from becoming a great leader. He led the United States through four years of civil war, which threatened to divide the nation into two separate countries. He was a powerful opponent of slavery, and it was largely through his leadership that slavery was abolished in this country.
Lincoln’s determination to educate himself through diligent reading also led to his reputation as a great orator—and even today his speeches are quoted and studied worldwide. He serves as an example of a great leader—and a great reader. His love of books and good literature enabled Abe Lincoln to rise to world renown.
Q. What is the main idea of this passage?
Abraham Lincoln served as the 16th President of the United States, yet he never went to college. In fact, Lincoln had nearly no formal education whatsoever, attending schools for less than a year throughout his childhood. Yet this should not be construed to mean that Lincoln was ignorant or unlearned; on the contrary, he was one of the most well-read leaders of the time. The fact is that Abraham Lincoln educated himself by studying books of religion, philosophy, and literature, and he continued his voracious reading throughout his life.
A lack of public school education did not prevent Lincoln from becoming a great leader. He led the United States through four years of civil war, which threatened to divide the nation into two separate countries. He was a powerful opponent of slavery, and it was largely through his leadership that slavery was abolished in this country.
Lincoln’s determination to educate himself through diligent reading also led to his reputation as a great orator—and even today his speeches are quoted and studied worldwide. He serves as an example of a great leader—and a great reader. His love of books and good literature enabled Abe Lincoln to rise to world renown.
Q. Lincoln accomplished all of the following EXCEPT
Abraham Lincoln served as the 16th President of the United States, yet he never went to college. In fact, Lincoln had nearly no formal education whatsoever, attending schools for less than a year throughout his childhood. Yet this should not be construed to mean that Lincoln was ignorant or unlearned; on the contrary, he was one of the most well-read leaders of the time. The fact is that Abraham Lincoln educated himself by studying books of religion, philosophy, and literature, and he continued his voracious reading throughout his life.
A lack of public school education did not prevent Lincoln from becoming a great leader. He led the United States through four years of civil war, which threatened to divide the nation into two separate countries. He was a powerful opponent of slavery, and it was largely through his leadership that slavery was abolished in this country.
Lincoln’s determination to educate himself through diligent reading also led to his reputation as a great orator—and even today his speeches are quoted and studied worldwide. He serves as an example of a great leader—and a great reader. His love of books and good literature enabled Abe Lincoln to rise to world renown.
Q. A voracious reader is
Abraham Lincoln served as the 16th President of the United States, yet he never went to college. In fact, Lincoln had nearly no formal education whatsoever, attending schools for less than a year throughout his childhood. Yet this should not be construed to mean that Lincoln was ignorant or unlearned; on the contrary, he was one of the most well-read leaders of the time. The fact is that Abraham Lincoln educated himself by studying books of religion, philosophy, and literature, and he continued his voracious reading throughout his life.
A lack of public school education did not prevent Lincoln from becoming a great leader. He led the United States through four years of civil war, which threatened to divide the nation into two separate countries. He was a powerful opponent of slavery, and it was largely through his leadership that slavery was abolished in this country.
Lincoln’s determination to educate himself through diligent reading also led to his reputation as a great orator—and even today his speeches are quoted and studied worldwide. He serves as an example of a great leader—and a great reader. His love of books and good literature enabled Abe Lincoln to rise to world renown.
Q. The word construed, as used in first paragraph, most nearly means
Abraham Lincoln served as the 16th President of the United States, yet he never went to college. In fact, Lincoln had nearly no formal education whatsoever, attending schools for less than a year throughout his childhood. Yet this should not be construed to mean that Lincoln was ignorant or unlearned; on the contrary, he was one of the most well-read leaders of the time. The fact is that Abraham Lincoln educated himself by studying books of religion, philosophy, and literature, and he continued his voracious reading throughout his life.
A lack of public school education did not prevent Lincoln from becoming a great leader. He led the United States through four years of civil war, which threatened to divide the nation into two separate countries. He was a powerful opponent of slavery, and it was largely through his leadership that slavery was abolished in this country.
Lincoln’s determination to educate himself through diligent reading also led to his reputation as a great orator—and even today his speeches are quoted and studied worldwide. He serves as an example of a great leader—and a great reader. His love of books and good literature enabled Abe Lincoln to rise to world renown.
Q. According to the passage, what lesson can be learned from the life of Abraham Lincoln?
Abraham Lincoln served as the 16th President of the United States, yet he never went to college. In fact, Lincoln had nearly no formal education whatsoever, attending schools for less than a year throughout his childhood. Yet this should not be construed to mean that Lincoln was ignorant or unlearned; on the contrary, he was one of the most well-read leaders of the time. The fact is that Abraham Lincoln educated himself by studying books of religion, philosophy, and literature, and he continued his voracious reading throughout his life.
A lack of public school education did not prevent Lincoln from becoming a great leader. He led the United States through four years of civil war, which threatened to divide the nation into two separate countries. He was a powerful opponent of slavery, and it was largely through his leadership that slavery was abolished in this country.
Lincoln’s determination to educate himself through diligent reading also led to his reputation as a great orator—and even today his speeches are quoted and studied worldwide. He serves as an example of a great leader—and a great reader. His love of books and good literature enabled Abe Lincoln to rise to world renown.
Q. How does Lincoln still affect students today?
Read the following passage and answer the question.
After one particular show, I went up to chat with Jai. He did not return my greeting. A bit awkwardly I asked him, "Enjoyed the show?"
"Sure," he said and then snickered, "We love the entertainment but if you think any of these chaps are actually going to actually change because of your programmes, you are wrong."
"Why do you say that?" I asked him, not quite sure if I really wanted an answer. Jai started telling me his story. He was the son of a wealthy businessman from a posh South Delhi colony. He spoke disparagingly of his family, especially his father, and how he cared for none of them except his little sister. I listened.
We had made it a point not to ask any of the inmates why they were there. But Jai wanted to tell me anyway. He was in jail because he had become a contract killer and had gotten caught. He introduced us to his "friends" in the ward, unsmiling sidekicks who had gotten caught with him.
You see, a hierarchy existed in the ward. Those who had committed the worst crimes were at the top and those who travelled ticketless, at the bottom. He was obviously on top and the others were afraid of him.
About two months into our programmes, Jai asked us, "Are you getting paid for coming here? Why do you keep coming back?" I burst out laughing. We most certainly were not getting paid for visiting Tihar and I told him so. "Then why the hell do you keep coming?"
"Because you matter." said my guitarist friend who was standing next to me, very quietly.
Jai stared at him, shaking his head. He muttered a profanity under his breath and started walking away.
"Just one thing," I said, as I suddenly remembered something I had read. He paused and turned around. "They say anger is like acid. It does more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to the object on which it is poured."
Jai started walking back to me very, very slowly. I suddenly regretted having said anything... I actually thought he was going to hit me. He stopped a foot and a half away from me. I braced myself. Then his eyes went red and filled up. He sat down, put his face in his hands and sobbed.
We didn't say anything for a really long time. Neither did his cronies.
"Yeah." He finally said. "That's true. Thanks."
I don't remember what else we spoke about that day but what I do remember is walking out of the prison thinking how the hardest and most cynical hearts may not actually be so.
Q. From the given passage, which of the following can we infer about Jai?
Read the following passage and answer the question.
After one particular show, I went up to chat with Jai. He did not return my greeting. A bit awkwardly I asked him, "Enjoyed the show?"
"Sure," he said and then snickered, "We love the entertainment but if you think any of these chaps are actually going to actually change because of your programmes, you are wrong."
"Why do you say that?" I asked him, not quite sure if I really wanted an answer. Jai started telling me his story. He was the son of a wealthy businessman from a posh South Delhi colony. He spoke disparagingly of his family, especially his father, and how he cared for none of them except his little sister. I listened.
We had made it a point not to ask any of the inmates why they were there. But Jai wanted to tell me anyway. He was in jail because he had become a contract killer and had gotten caught. He introduced us to his "friends" in the ward, unsmiling sidekicks who had gotten caught with him.
You see, a hierarchy existed in the ward. Those who had committed the worst crimes were at the top and those who travelled ticketless, at the bottom. He was obviously on top and the others were afraid of him.
About two months into our programmes, Jai asked us, "Are you getting paid for coming here? Why do you keep coming back?" I burst out laughing. We most certainly were not getting paid for visiting Tihar and I told him so. "Then why the hell do you keep coming?"
"Because you matter." said my guitarist friend who was standing next to me, very quietly.
Jai stared at him, shaking his head. He muttered a profanity under his breath and started walking away.
"Just one thing," I said, as I suddenly remembered something I had read. He paused and turned around. "They say anger is like acid. It does more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to the object on which it is poured."
Jai started walking back to me very, very slowly. I suddenly regretted having said anything... I actually thought he was going to hit me. He stopped a foot and a half away from me. I braced myself. Then his eyes went red and filled up. He sat down, put his face in his hands and sobbed.
We didn't say anything for a really long time. Neither did his cronies.
"Yeah." He finally said. "That's true. Thanks."
I don't remember what else we spoke about that day but what I do remember is walking out of the prison thinking how the hardest and most cynical hearts may not actually be so.
Q. What does the word 'disparagingly' as used in the passage mean?
Read the following passage and answer the question.
After one particular show, I went up to chat with Jai. He did not return my greeting. A bit awkwardly I asked him, "Enjoyed the show?"
"Sure," he said and then snickered, "We love the entertainment but if you think any of these chaps are actually going to actually change because of your programmes, you are wrong."
"Why do you say that?" I asked him, not quite sure if I really wanted an answer. Jai started telling me his story. He was the son of a wealthy businessman from a posh South Delhi colony. He spoke disparagingly of his family, especially his father, and how he cared for none of them except his little sister. I listened.
We had made it a point not to ask any of the inmates why they were there. But Jai wanted to tell me anyway. He was in jail because he had become a contract killer and had gotten caught. He introduced us to his "friends" in the ward, unsmiling sidekicks who had gotten caught with him.
You see, a hierarchy existed in the ward. Those who had committed the worst crimes were at the top and those who travelled ticketless, at the bottom. He was obviously on top and the others were afraid of him.
About two months into our programmes, Jai asked us, "Are you getting paid for coming here? Why do you keep coming back?" I burst out laughing. We most certainly were not getting paid for visiting Tihar and I told him so. "Then why the hell do you keep coming?"
"Because you matter." said my guitarist friend who was standing next to me, very quietly.
Jai stared at him, shaking his head. He muttered a profanity under his breath and started walking away.
"Just one thing," I said, as I suddenly remembered something I had read. He paused and turned around. "They say anger is like acid. It does more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to the object on which it is poured."
Jai started walking back to me very, very slowly. I suddenly regretted having said anything... I actually thought he was going to hit me. He stopped a foot and a half away from me. I braced myself. Then his eyes went red and filled up. He sat down, put his face in his hands and sobbed.
We didn't say anything for a really long time. Neither did his cronies.
"Yeah." He finally said. "That's true. Thanks."
I don't remember what else we spoke about that day but what I do remember is walking out of the prison thinking how the hardest and most cynical hearts may not actually be so.
Q. Which of the following is implied by the author when he describes people in jail who have 'travelled ticketless'?
Read the following passage and answer the question.
After one particular show, I went up to chat with Jai. He did not return my greeting. A bit awkwardly I asked him, "Enjoyed the show?"
"Sure," he said and then snickered, "We love the entertainment but if you think any of these chaps are actually going to actually change because of your programmes, you are wrong."
"Why do you say that?" I asked him, not quite sure if I really wanted an answer. Jai started telling me his story. He was the son of a wealthy businessman from a posh South Delhi colony. He spoke disparagingly of his family, especially his father, and how he cared for none of them except his little sister. I listened.
We had made it a point not to ask any of the inmates why they were there. But Jai wanted to tell me anyway. He was in jail because he had become a contract killer and had gotten caught. He introduced us to his "friends" in the ward, unsmiling sidekicks who had gotten caught with him.
You see, a hierarchy existed in the ward. Those who had committed the worst crimes were at the top and those who travelled ticketless, at the bottom. He was obviously on top and the others were afraid of him.
About two months into our programmes, Jai asked us, "Are you getting paid for coming here? Why do you keep coming back?" I burst out laughing. We most certainly were not getting paid for visiting Tihar and I told him so. "Then why the hell do you keep coming?"
"Because you matter." said my guitarist friend who was standing next to me, very quietly.
Jai stared at him, shaking his head. He muttered a profanity under his breath and started walking away.
"Just one thing," I said, as I suddenly remembered something I had read. He paused and turned around. "They say anger is like acid. It does more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to the object on which it is poured."
Jai started walking back to me very, very slowly. I suddenly regretted having said anything... I actually thought he was going to hit me. He stopped a foot and a half away from me. I braced myself. Then his eyes went red and filled up. He sat down, put his face in his hands and sobbed.
We didn't say anything for a really long time. Neither did his cronies.
"Yeah." He finally said. "That's true. Thanks."
I don't remember what else we spoke about that day but what I do remember is walking out of the prison thinking how the hardest and most cynical hearts may not actually be so.
Q. As mentioned in the passage, why did the author's friend tell Jai that he mattered?
Read the following passage and answer the question.
After one particular show, I went up to chat with Jai. He did not return my greeting. A bit awkwardly I asked him, "Enjoyed the show?"
"Sure," he said and then snickered, "We love the entertainment but if you think any of these chaps are actually going to actually change because of your programmes, you are wrong."
"Why do you say that?" I asked him, not quite sure if I really wanted an answer. Jai started telling me his story. He was the son of a wealthy businessman from a posh South Delhi colony. He spoke disparagingly of his family, especially his father, and how he cared for none of them except his little sister. I listened.
We had made it a point not to ask any of the inmates why they were there. But Jai wanted to tell me anyway. He was in jail because he had become a contract killer and had gotten caught. He introduced us to his "friends" in the ward, unsmiling sidekicks who had gotten caught with him.
You see, a hierarchy existed in the ward. Those who had committed the worst crimes were at the top and those who travelled ticketless, at the bottom. He was obviously on top and the others were afraid of him.
About two months into our programmes, Jai asked us, "Are you getting paid for coming here? Why do you keep coming back?" I burst out laughing. We most certainly were not getting paid for visiting Tihar and I told him so. "Then why the hell do you keep coming?"
"Because you matter." said my guitarist friend who was standing next to me, very quietly.
Jai stared at him, shaking his head. He muttered a profanity under his breath and started walking away.
"Just one thing," I said, as I suddenly remembered something I had read. He paused and turned around. "They say anger is like acid. It does more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to the object on which it is poured."
Jai started walking back to me very, very slowly. I suddenly regretted having said anything... I actually thought he was going to hit me. He stopped a foot and a half away from me. I braced myself. Then his eyes went red and filled up. He sat down, put his face in his hands and sobbed.
We didn't say anything for a really long time. Neither did his cronies.
"Yeah." He finally said. "That's true. Thanks."
I don't remember what else we spoke about that day but what I do remember is walking out of the prison thinking how the hardest and most cynical hearts may not actually be so.
Q. Which of the following can be inferred from the given passage?
Lida sat outside her great aunt’s hotel watching the steam engines go by and listening to the clop-clop of horses as they pulled wagons down the cobbled road. She was taking a short break from her chores at the inn: mopping the ballroom, fixing cornbread for the guests, and tending the fire in the wood-burning stove. She enjoyed working there and was happy to help her illustrious aunt bolster her growing business and notoriety around the city.
Lida had always had an assiduous nature and applied herself to almost any task unremittingly. Today, however, she took this quick respite to daydream about the dance she would be attending that evening.
At 17, it would be her first. Her friends had all purchased brightly colored, ornate dresses to wear. Lida, as a reflection of her demure personality, had chosen a modest, yet elegant dress in a charcoal gray.
“Are you ready, Miss Lida?” Hattie asked as she burst through the parlor doors and into the kitchen. Mary and Florence were in step right behind her.
“Hattie, I done told you never to come in that way. You disturb the guests having cocktails in the parlor!”
“Oh, hush, Lida. You worry too much. Let’s go.”
“I need to put a few more logs in the stove so Auntie can boil water for the dishes,” Lida said. “Then we can go.”
Hattie gave a sigh, but did not bother to argue. She knew that when Lida had something to do, she didn’t rest until it was done.
“Let’s take the tracks,” Hattie said when they finally headed out to the party. Daylight was turning into dusk.
“Naw, Hattie,” Lida said. "You know that’s too dangerous in the night.”
“Look, Lida,” Hattie said impatiently. “We’re runnin’ late ‘cause of you. The tracks will take 15 minutes off our walk.” Mary and Florence both mumbled in agreement. “We can take the carriage back.”
Against her better judgment, Lida agreed to take the train tracks. After all, it was her first real dance ever. Why adulterate it with acrimony?
The girls clumsily navigated the moonlit tracks and talked excitedly about the dance: who would be there, who was the best-looking, who was the smartest, and if anyone had remembered money for a carriage ride home. Then Lida heard a whistle in the distance. It seemed to get louder as it persisted and then cut out in a shock of tender silence. “We’ve gotta get off the tracks. Train’s coming,” said Lida.
The girls scurried to the side but found the decline too precipitous. They made their way forward along the tracks and finally found a suitable place to descend. Lida tiptoed nimbly from the precipice. Finding herself safely below, she heard a sudden thud. She gasped and turned about.
“Help!” she heard a voice cry, “Help…down here!” Hattie had fallen in the ash pit, an 8 foot trench between the rails, about 20 feet long, where trains stopped to empty ashes from the engine’s fire box when they pulled through town.
Hattie screamed and tried frantically to climb out, but the pit was too deep. Lida scrambled to the edge, grabbing for her hand, the train getting closer, the whistle growing evermore piercing.
Not wanting to appear scared herself, Lida’s calm voice belied the panic-stricken beating of her heart.
“Just give me your hand, Hattie, and I’ll pull ya right out.”
They fumbled for each other’s hands in the dark. Lida lay down on the rails and hooked her feet under the track to give herself more leverage. She had Hattie in her fingertips. Then she lost her. Then she had her again. Lida pulled and she could feel the joints in Hattie’s hands popping. In this instant, Hattie found better purchase—on what, no one could be sure—and her hands came into view. Wearing a mask of anguish, her teeth clenched and reflecting the pale moonlight, Lida pulled and pulled. Hattie’s amorphous form appeared from below the surface like some stygian phantom. Mary and Florence’s screams could be heard intermittently in the night, watching helplessly as the train lights grew brighter.
Hattie’s torso finally eclipsed the edge of the pit and there she lay, catching her breath. The girls hoisted her to her feet and hobbled away from the tracks like a collection of frenzied grave robbers, their treasure in tow. It was there that they stood, caked in ash, watching as the train screeched to a stop and dropped its load of glowing cinders.
Q. Using the story as a guide, it can be inferred that
Lida sat outside her great aunt’s hotel watching the steam engines go by and listening to the clop-clop of horses as they pulled wagons down the cobbled road. She was taking a short break from her chores at the inn: mopping the ballroom, fixing cornbread for the guests, and tending the fire in the wood-burning stove. She enjoyed working there and was happy to help her illustrious aunt bolster her growing business and notoriety around the city.
Lida had always had an assiduous nature and applied herself to almost any task unremittingly. Today, however, she took this quick respite to daydream about the dance she would be attending that evening.
At 17, it would be her first. Her friends had all purchased brightly colored, ornate dresses to wear. Lida, as a reflection of her demure personality, had chosen a modest, yet elegant dress in a charcoal gray.
“Are you ready, Miss Lida?” Hattie asked as she burst through the parlor doors and into the kitchen. Mary and Florence were in step right behind her.
“Hattie, I done told you never to come in that way. You disturb the guests having cocktails in the parlor!”
“Oh, hush, Lida. You worry too much. Let’s go.”
“I need to put a few more logs in the stove so Auntie can boil water for the dishes,” Lida said. “Then we can go.”
Hattie gave a sigh, but did not bother to argue. She knew that when Lida had something to do, she didn’t rest until it was done.
“Let’s take the tracks,” Hattie said when they finally headed out to the party. Daylight was turning into dusk.
“Naw, Hattie,” Lida said. "You know that’s too dangerous in the night.”
“Look, Lida,” Hattie said impatiently. “We’re runnin’ late ‘cause of you. The tracks will take 15 minutes off our walk.” Mary and Florence both mumbled in agreement. “We can take the carriage back.”
Against her better judgment, Lida agreed to take the train tracks. After all, it was her first real dance ever. Why adulterate it with acrimony?
The girls clumsily navigated the moonlit tracks and talked excitedly about the dance: who would be there, who was the best-looking, who was the smartest, and if anyone had remembered money for a carriage ride home. Then Lida heard a whistle in the distance. It seemed to get louder as it persisted and then cut out in a shock of tender silence. “We’ve gotta get off the tracks. Train’s coming,” said Lida.
The girls scurried to the side but found the decline too precipitous. They made their way forward along the tracks and finally found a suitable place to descend. Lida tiptoed nimbly from the precipice. Finding herself safely below, she heard a sudden thud. She gasped and turned about.
“Help!” she heard a voice cry, “Help…down here!” Hattie had fallen in the ash pit, an 8 foot trench between the rails, about 20 feet long, where trains stopped to empty ashes from the engine’s fire box when they pulled through town.
Hattie screamed and tried frantically to climb out, but the pit was too deep. Lida scrambled to the edge, grabbing for her hand, the train getting closer, the whistle growing evermore piercing.
Not wanting to appear scared herself, Lida’s calm voice belied the panic-stricken beating of her heart.
“Just give me your hand, Hattie, and I’ll pull ya right out.”
They fumbled for each other’s hands in the dark. Lida lay down on the rails and hooked her feet under the track to give herself more leverage. She had Hattie in her fingertips. Then she lost her. Then she had her again. Lida pulled and she could feel the joints in Hattie’s hands popping. In this instant, Hattie found better purchase—on what, no one could be sure—and her hands came into view. Wearing a mask of anguish, her teeth clenched and reflecting the pale moonlight, Lida pulled and pulled. Hattie’s amorphous form appeared from below the surface like some stygian phantom. Mary and Florence’s screams could be heard intermittently in the night, watching helplessly as the train lights grew brighter.
Hattie’s torso finally eclipsed the edge of the pit and there she lay, catching her breath. The girls hoisted her to her feet and hobbled away from the tracks like a collection of frenzied grave robbers, their treasure in tow. It was there that they stood, caked in ash, watching as the train screeched to a stop and dropped its load of glowing cinders.
Q. As used in the beginning of the story, which is the best definition for assiduous?
Lida sat outside her great aunt’s hotel watching the steam engines go by and listening to the clop-clop of horses as they pulled wagons down the cobbled road. She was taking a short break from her chores at the inn: mopping the ballroom, fixing cornbread for the guests, and tending the fire in the wood-burning stove. She enjoyed working there and was happy to help her illustrious aunt bolster her growing business and notoriety around the city.
Lida had always had an assiduous nature and applied herself to almost any task unremittingly. Today, however, she took this quick respite to daydream about the dance she would be attending that evening.
At 17, it would be her first. Her friends had all purchased brightly colored, ornate dresses to wear. Lida, as a reflection of her demure personality, had chosen a modest, yet elegant dress in a charcoal gray.
“Are you ready, Miss Lida?” Hattie asked as she burst through the parlor doors and into the kitchen. Mary and Florence were in step right behind her.
“Hattie, I done told you never to come in that way. You disturb the guests having cocktails in the parlor!”
“Oh, hush, Lida. You worry too much. Let’s go.”
“I need to put a few more logs in the stove so Auntie can boil water for the dishes,” Lida said. “Then we can go.”
Hattie gave a sigh, but did not bother to argue. She knew that when Lida had something to do, she didn’t rest until it was done.
“Let’s take the tracks,” Hattie said when they finally headed out to the party. Daylight was turning into dusk.
“Naw, Hattie,” Lida said. "You know that’s too dangerous in the night.”
“Look, Lida,” Hattie said impatiently. “We’re runnin’ late ‘cause of you. The tracks will take 15 minutes off our walk.” Mary and Florence both mumbled in agreement. “We can take the carriage back.”
Against her better judgment, Lida agreed to take the train tracks. After all, it was her first real dance ever. Why adulterate it with acrimony?
The girls clumsily navigated the moonlit tracks and talked excitedly about the dance: who would be there, who was the best-looking, who was the smartest, and if anyone had remembered money for a carriage ride home. Then Lida heard a whistle in the distance. It seemed to get louder as it persisted and then cut out in a shock of tender silence. “We’ve gotta get off the tracks. Train’s coming,” said Lida.
The girls scurried to the side but found the decline too precipitous. They made their way forward along the tracks and finally found a suitable place to descend. Lida tiptoed nimbly from the precipice. Finding herself safely below, she heard a sudden thud. She gasped and turned about.
“Help!” she heard a voice cry, “Help…down here!” Hattie had fallen in the ash pit, an 8 foot trench between the rails, about 20 feet long, where trains stopped to empty ashes from the engine’s fire box when they pulled through town.
Hattie screamed and tried frantically to climb out, but the pit was too deep. Lida scrambled to the edge, grabbing for her hand, the train getting closer, the whistle growing evermore piercing.
Not wanting to appear scared herself, Lida’s calm voice belied the panic-stricken beating of her heart.
“Just give me your hand, Hattie, and I’ll pull ya right out.”
They fumbled for each other’s hands in the dark. Lida lay down on the rails and hooked her feet under the track to give herself more leverage. She had Hattie in her fingertips. Then she lost her. Then she had her again. Lida pulled and she could feel the joints in Hattie’s hands popping. In this instant, Hattie found better purchase—on what, no one could be sure—and her hands came into view. Wearing a mask of anguish, her teeth clenched and reflecting the pale moonlight, Lida pulled and pulled. Hattie’s amorphous form appeared from below the surface like some stygian phantom. Mary and Florence’s screams could be heard intermittently in the night, watching helplessly as the train lights grew brighter.
Hattie’s torso finally eclipsed the edge of the pit and there she lay, catching her breath. The girls hoisted her to her feet and hobbled away from the tracks like a collection of frenzied grave robbers, their treasure in tow. It was there that they stood, caked in ash, watching as the train screeched to a stop and dropped its load of glowing cinders.
Q. As used in the beginning of the story, which is the best synonym for respite?
Lida sat outside her great aunt’s hotel watching the steam engines go by and listening to the clop-clop of horses as they pulled wagons down the cobbled road. She was taking a short break from her chores at the inn: mopping the ballroom, fixing cornbread for the guests, and tending the fire in the wood-burning stove. She enjoyed working there and was happy to help her illustrious aunt bolster her growing business and notoriety around the city.
Lida had always had an assiduous nature and applied herself to almost any task unremittingly. Today, however, she took this quick respite to daydream about the dance she would be attending that evening.
At 17, it would be her first. Her friends had all purchased brightly colored, ornate dresses to wear. Lida, as a reflection of her demure personality, had chosen a modest, yet elegant dress in a charcoal gray.
“Are you ready, Miss Lida?” Hattie asked as she burst through the parlor doors and into the kitchen. Mary and Florence were in step right behind her.
“Hattie, I done told you never to come in that way. You disturb the guests having cocktails in the parlor!”
“Oh, hush, Lida. You worry too much. Let’s go.”
“I need to put a few more logs in the stove so Auntie can boil water for the dishes,” Lida said. “Then we can go.”
Hattie gave a sigh, but did not bother to argue. She knew that when Lida had something to do, she didn’t rest until it was done.
“Let’s take the tracks,” Hattie said when they finally headed out to the party. Daylight was turning into dusk.
“Naw, Hattie,” Lida said. "You know that’s too dangerous in the night.”
“Look, Lida,” Hattie said impatiently. “We’re runnin’ late ‘cause of you. The tracks will take 15 minutes off our walk.” Mary and Florence both mumbled in agreement. “We can take the carriage back.”
Against her better judgment, Lida agreed to take the train tracks. After all, it was her first real dance ever. Why adulterate it with acrimony?
The girls clumsily navigated the moonlit tracks and talked excitedly about the dance: who would be there, who was the best-looking, who was the smartest, and if anyone had remembered money for a carriage ride home. Then Lida heard a whistle in the distance. It seemed to get louder as it persisted and then cut out in a shock of tender silence. “We’ve gotta get off the tracks. Train’s coming,” said Lida.
The girls scurried to the side but found the decline too precipitous. They made their way forward along the tracks and finally found a suitable place to descend. Lida tiptoed nimbly from the precipice. Finding herself safely below, she heard a sudden thud. She gasped and turned about.
“Help!” she heard a voice cry, “Help…down here!” Hattie had fallen in the ash pit, an 8 foot trench between the rails, about 20 feet long, where trains stopped to empty ashes from the engine’s fire box when they pulled through town.
Hattie screamed and tried frantically to climb out, but the pit was too deep. Lida scrambled to the edge, grabbing for her hand, the train getting closer, the whistle growing evermore piercing.
Not wanting to appear scared herself, Lida’s calm voice belied the panic-stricken beating of her heart.
“Just give me your hand, Hattie, and I’ll pull ya right out.”
They fumbled for each other’s hands in the dark. Lida lay down on the rails and hooked her feet under the track to give herself more leverage. She had Hattie in her fingertips. Then she lost her. Then she had her again. Lida pulled and she could feel the joints in Hattie’s hands popping. In this instant, Hattie found better purchase—on what, no one could be sure—and her hands came into view. Wearing a mask of anguish, her teeth clenched and reflecting the pale moonlight, Lida pulled and pulled. Hattie’s amorphous form appeared from below the surface like some stygian phantom. Mary and Florence’s screams could be heard intermittently in the night, watching helplessly as the train lights grew brighter.
Hattie’s torso finally eclipsed the edge of the pit and there she lay, catching her breath. The girls hoisted her to her feet and hobbled away from the tracks like a collection of frenzied grave robbers, their treasure in tow. It was there that they stood, caked in ash, watching as the train screeched to a stop and dropped its load of glowing cinders.
Q. Using the story as a guide, how do Hattie and Lida differ?
Lida sat outside her great aunt’s hotel watching the steam engines go by and listening to the clop-clop of horses as they pulled wagons down the cobbled road. She was taking a short break from her chores at the inn: mopping the ballroom, fixing cornbread for the guests, and tending the fire in the wood-burning stove. She enjoyed working there and was happy to help her illustrious aunt bolster her growing business and notoriety around the city.
Lida had always had an assiduous nature and applied herself to almost any task unremittingly. Today, however, she took this quick respite to daydream about the dance she would be attending that evening.
At 17, it would be her first. Her friends had all purchased brightly colored, ornate dresses to wear. Lida, as a reflection of her demure personality, had chosen a modest, yet elegant dress in a charcoal gray.
“Are you ready, Miss Lida?” Hattie asked as she burst through the parlor doors and into the kitchen. Mary and Florence were in step right behind her.
“Hattie, I done told you never to come in that way. You disturb the guests having cocktails in the parlor!”
“Oh, hush, Lida. You worry too much. Let’s go.”
“I need to put a few more logs in the stove so Auntie can boil water for the dishes,” Lida said. “Then we can go.”
Hattie gave a sigh, but did not bother to argue. She knew that when Lida had something to do, she didn’t rest until it was done.
“Let’s take the tracks,” Hattie said when they finally headed out to the party. Daylight was turning into dusk.
“Naw, Hattie,” Lida said. "You know that’s too dangerous in the night.”
“Look, Lida,” Hattie said impatiently. “We’re runnin’ late ‘cause of you. The tracks will take 15 minutes off our walk.” Mary and Florence both mumbled in agreement. “We can take the carriage back.”
Against her better judgment, Lida agreed to take the train tracks. After all, it was her first real dance ever. Why adulterate it with acrimony?
The girls clumsily navigated the moonlit tracks and talked excitedly about the dance: who would be there, who was the best-looking, who was the smartest, and if anyone had remembered money for a carriage ride home. Then Lida heard a whistle in the distance. It seemed to get louder as it persisted and then cut out in a shock of tender silence. “We’ve gotta get off the tracks. Train’s coming,” said Lida.
The girls scurried to the side but found the decline too precipitous. They made their way forward along the tracks and finally found a suitable place to descend. Lida tiptoed nimbly from the precipice. Finding herself safely below, she heard a sudden thud. She gasped and turned about.
“Help!” she heard a voice cry, “Help…down here!” Hattie had fallen in the ash pit, an 8 foot trench between the rails, about 20 feet long, where trains stopped to empty ashes from the engine’s fire box when they pulled through town.
Hattie screamed and tried frantically to climb out, but the pit was too deep. Lida scrambled to the edge, grabbing for her hand, the train getting closer, the whistle growing evermore piercing.
Not wanting to appear scared herself, Lida’s calm voice belied the panic-stricken beating of her heart.
“Just give me your hand, Hattie, and I’ll pull ya right out.”
They fumbled for each other’s hands in the dark. Lida lay down on the rails and hooked her feet under the track to give herself more leverage. She had Hattie in her fingertips. Then she lost her. Then she had her again. Lida pulled and she could feel the joints in Hattie’s hands popping. In this instant, Hattie found better purchase—on what, no one could be sure—and her hands came into view. Wearing a mask of anguish, her teeth clenched and reflecting the pale moonlight, Lida pulled and pulled. Hattie’s amorphous form appeared from below the surface like some stygian phantom. Mary and Florence’s screams could be heard intermittently in the night, watching helplessly as the train lights grew brighter.
Hattie’s torso finally eclipsed the edge of the pit and there she lay, catching her breath. The girls hoisted her to her feet and hobbled away from the tracks like a collection of frenzied grave robbers, their treasure in tow. It was there that they stood, caked in ash, watching as the train screeched to a stop and dropped its load of glowing cinders.
Q. What type of characters are Mary and Florence?
Lida sat outside her great aunt’s hotel watching the steam engines go by and listening to the clop-clop of horses as they pulled wagons down the cobbled road. She was taking a short break from her chores at the inn: mopping the ballroom, fixing cornbread for the guests, and tending the fire in the wood-burning stove. She enjoyed working there and was happy to help her illustrious aunt bolster her growing business and notoriety around the city.
Lida had always had an assiduous nature and applied herself to almost any task unremittingly. Today, however, she took this quick respite to daydream about the dance she would be attending that evening.
At 17, it would be her first. Her friends had all purchased brightly colored, ornate dresses to wear. Lida, as a reflection of her demure personality, had chosen a modest, yet elegant dress in a charcoal gray.
“Are you ready, Miss Lida?” Hattie asked as she burst through the parlor doors and into the kitchen. Mary and Florence were in step right behind her.
“Hattie, I done told you never to come in that way. You disturb the guests having cocktails in the parlor!”
“Oh, hush, Lida. You worry too much. Let’s go.”
“I need to put a few more logs in the stove so Auntie can boil water for the dishes,” Lida said. “Then we can go.”
Hattie gave a sigh, but did not bother to argue. She knew that when Lida had something to do, she didn’t rest until it was done.
“Let’s take the tracks,” Hattie said when they finally headed out to the party. Daylight was turning into dusk.
“Naw, Hattie,” Lida said. "You know that’s too dangerous in the night.”
“Look, Lida,” Hattie said impatiently. “We’re runnin’ late ‘cause of you. The tracks will take 15 minutes off our walk.” Mary and Florence both mumbled in agreement. “We can take the carriage back.”
Against her better judgment, Lida agreed to take the train tracks. After all, it was her first real dance ever. Why adulterate it with acrimony?
The girls clumsily navigated the moonlit tracks and talked excitedly about the dance: who would be there, who was the best-looking, who was the smartest, and if anyone had remembered money for a carriage ride home. Then Lida heard a whistle in the distance. It seemed to get louder as it persisted and then cut out in a shock of tender silence. “We’ve gotta get off the tracks. Train’s coming,” said Lida.
The girls scurried to the side but found the decline too precipitous. They made their way forward along the tracks and finally found a suitable place to descend. Lida tiptoed nimbly from the precipice. Finding herself safely below, she heard a sudden thud. She gasped and turned about.
“Help!” she heard a voice cry, “Help…down here!” Hattie had fallen in the ash pit, an 8 foot trench between the rails, about 20 feet long, where trains stopped to empty ashes from the engine’s fire box when they pulled through town.
Hattie screamed and tried frantically to climb out, but the pit was too deep. Lida scrambled to the edge, grabbing for her hand, the train getting closer, the whistle growing evermore piercing.
Not wanting to appear scared herself, Lida’s calm voice belied the panic-stricken beating of her heart.
“Just give me your hand, Hattie, and I’ll pull ya right out.”
They fumbled for each other’s hands in the dark. Lida lay down on the rails and hooked her feet under the track to give herself more leverage. She had Hattie in her fingertips. Then she lost her. Then she had her again. Lida pulled and she could feel the joints in Hattie’s hands popping. In this instant, Hattie found better purchase—on what, no one could be sure—and her hands came into view. Wearing a mask of anguish, her teeth clenched and reflecting the pale moonlight, Lida pulled and pulled. Hattie’s amorphous form appeared from below the surface like some stygian phantom. Mary and Florence’s screams could be heard intermittently in the night, watching helplessly as the train lights grew brighter.
Hattie’s torso finally eclipsed the edge of the pit and there she lay, catching her breath. The girls hoisted her to her feet and hobbled away from the tracks like a collection of frenzied grave robbers, their treasure in tow. It was there that they stood, caked in ash, watching as the train screeched to a stop and dropped its load of glowing cinders.
Q. As used in the beginning of the story, which is the best antonym for demure?
Lida sat outside her great aunt’s hotel watching the steam engines go by and listening to the clop-clop of horses as they pulled wagons down the cobbled road. She was taking a short break from her chores at the inn: mopping the ballroom, fixing cornbread for the guests, and tending the fire in the wood-burning stove. She enjoyed working there and was happy to help her illustrious aunt bolster her growing business and notoriety around the city.
Lida had always had an assiduous nature and applied herself to almost any task unremittingly. Today, however, she took this quick respite to daydream about the dance she would be attending that evening.
At 17, it would be her first. Her friends had all purchased brightly colored, ornate dresses to wear. Lida, as a reflection of her demure personality, had chosen a modest, yet elegant dress in a charcoal gray.
“Are you ready, Miss Lida?” Hattie asked as she burst through the parlor doors and into the kitchen. Mary and Florence were in step right behind her.
“Hattie, I done told you never to come in that way. You disturb the guests having cocktails in the parlor!”
“Oh, hush, Lida. You worry too much. Let’s go.”
“I need to put a few more logs in the stove so Auntie can boil water for the dishes,” Lida said. “Then we can go.”
Hattie gave a sigh, but did not bother to argue. She knew that when Lida had something to do, she didn’t rest until it was done.
“Let’s take the tracks,” Hattie said when they finally headed out to the party. Daylight was turning into dusk.
“Naw, Hattie,” Lida said. "You know that’s too dangerous in the night.”
“Look, Lida,” Hattie said impatiently. “We’re runnin’ late ‘cause of you. The tracks will take 15 minutes off our walk.” Mary and Florence both mumbled in agreement. “We can take the carriage back.”
Against her better judgment, Lida agreed to take the train tracks. After all, it was her first real dance ever. Why adulterate it with acrimony?
The girls clumsily navigated the moonlit tracks and talked excitedly about the dance: who would be there, who was the best-looking, who was the smartest, and if anyone had remembered money for a carriage ride home. Then Lida heard a whistle in the distance. It seemed to get louder as it persisted and then cut out in a shock of tender silence. “We’ve gotta get off the tracks. Train’s coming,” said Lida.
The girls scurried to the side but found the decline too precipitous. They made their way forward along the tracks and finally found a suitable place to descend. Lida tiptoed nimbly from the precipice. Finding herself safely below, she heard a sudden thud. She gasped and turned about.
“Help!” she heard a voice cry, “Help…down here!” Hattie had fallen in the ash pit, an 8 foot trench between the rails, about 20 feet long, where trains stopped to empty ashes from the engine’s fire box when they pulled through town.
Hattie screamed and tried frantically to climb out, but the pit was too deep. Lida scrambled to the edge, grabbing for her hand, the train getting closer, the whistle growing evermore piercing.
Not wanting to appear scared herself, Lida’s calm voice belied the panic-stricken beating of her heart.
“Just give me your hand, Hattie, and I’ll pull ya right out.”
They fumbled for each other’s hands in the dark. Lida lay down on the rails and hooked her feet under the track to give herself more leverage. She had Hattie in her fingertips. Then she lost her. Then she had her again. Lida pulled and she could feel the joints in Hattie’s hands popping. In this instant, Hattie found better purchase—on what, no one could be sure—and her hands came into view. Wearing a mask of anguish, her teeth clenched and reflecting the pale moonlight, Lida pulled and pulled. Hattie’s amorphous form appeared from below the surface like some stygian phantom. Mary and Florence’s screams could be heard intermittently in the night, watching helplessly as the train lights grew brighter.
Hattie’s torso finally eclipsed the edge of the pit and there she lay, catching her breath. The girls hoisted her to her feet and hobbled away from the tracks like a collection of frenzied grave robbers, their treasure in tow. It was there that they stood, caked in ash, watching as the train screeched to a stop and dropped its load of glowing cinders.
Q. As used at the end of the story, which is the best definition for belied?
Lida sat outside her great aunt’s hotel watching the steam engines go by and listening to the clop-clop of horses as they pulled wagons down the cobbled road. She was taking a short break from her chores at the inn: mopping the ballroom, fixing cornbread for the guests, and tending the fire in the wood-burning stove. She enjoyed working there and was happy to help her illustrious aunt bolster her growing business and notoriety around the city.
Lida had always had an assiduous nature and applied herself to almost any task unremittingly. Today, however, she took this quick respite to daydream about the dance she would be attending that evening.
At 17, it would be her first. Her friends had all purchased brightly colored, ornate dresses to wear. Lida, as a reflection of her demure personality, had chosen a modest, yet elegant dress in a charcoal gray.
“Are you ready, Miss Lida?” Hattie asked as she burst through the parlor doors and into the kitchen. Mary and Florence were in step right behind her.
“Hattie, I done told you never to come in that way. You disturb the guests having cocktails in the parlor!”
“Oh, hush, Lida. You worry too much. Let’s go.”
“I need to put a few more logs in the stove so Auntie can boil water for the dishes,” Lida said. “Then we can go.”
Hattie gave a sigh, but did not bother to argue. She knew that when Lida had something to do, she didn’t rest until it was done.
“Let’s take the tracks,” Hattie said when they finally headed out to the party. Daylight was turning into dusk.
“Naw, Hattie,” Lida said. "You know that’s too dangerous in the night.”
“Look, Lida,” Hattie said impatiently. “We’re runnin’ late ‘cause of you. The tracks will take 15 minutes off our walk.” Mary and Florence both mumbled in agreement. “We can take the carriage back.”
Against her better judgment, Lida agreed to take the train tracks. After all, it was her first real dance ever. Why adulterate it with acrimony?
The girls clumsily navigated the moonlit tracks and talked excitedly about the dance: who would be there, who was the best-looking, who was the smartest, and if anyone had remembered money for a carriage ride home. Then Lida heard a whistle in the distance. It seemed to get louder as it persisted and then cut out in a shock of tender silence. “We’ve gotta get off the tracks. Train’s coming,” said Lida.
The girls scurried to the side but found the decline too precipitous. They made their way forward along the tracks and finally found a suitable place to descend. Lida tiptoed nimbly from the precipice. Finding herself safely below, she heard a sudden thud. She gasped and turned about.
“Help!” she heard a voice cry, “Help…down here!” Hattie had fallen in the ash pit, an 8 foot trench between the rails, about 20 feet long, where trains stopped to empty ashes from the engine’s fire box when they pulled through town.
Hattie screamed and tried frantically to climb out, but the pit was too deep. Lida scrambled to the edge, grabbing for her hand, the train getting closer, the whistle growing evermore piercing.
Not wanting to appear scared herself, Lida’s calm voice belied the panic-stricken beating of her heart.
“Just give me your hand, Hattie, and I’ll pull ya right out.”
They fumbled for each other’s hands in the dark. Lida lay down on the rails and hooked her feet under the track to give herself more leverage. She had Hattie in her fingertips. Then she lost her. Then she had her again. Lida pulled and she could feel the joints in Hattie’s hands popping. In this instant, Hattie found better purchase—on what, no one could be sure—and her hands came into view. Wearing a mask of anguish, her teeth clenched and reflecting the pale moonlight, Lida pulled and pulled. Hattie’s amorphous form appeared from below the surface like some stygian phantom. Mary and Florence’s screams could be heard intermittently in the night, watching helplessly as the train lights grew brighter.
Hattie’s torso finally eclipsed the edge of the pit and there she lay, catching her breath. The girls hoisted her to her feet and hobbled away from the tracks like a collection of frenzied grave robbers, their treasure in tow. It was there that they stood, caked in ash, watching as the train screeched to a stop and dropped its load of glowing cinders.
Q. Which literary device is used in the following sentence from the final paragraph: “The girls hoisted her to her feet and hobbled away from the tracks like a collection of frenzied grave robbers, their treasure in tow”?
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