OneTime: Digital SAT Mock Test - 5 - SAT MCQ

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Prudence." Public domain. First published in 1841.
What right have I to write on prudence, of
which I have little, and that of the negative sort?
My prudence consists in avoiding and going
without, not in the inventing of means and
(5) methods, not in adroit steering, not in gentle
repairing. I have no skill to make money spend
well, no genius in my economy, and whoever sees
my garden discovers that I must have some other
garden. Yet I love facts, and hate shiftiness and
(10) people without perception.
Then I have the same title to write on
prudence that I have to write on poetry or
holiness. We write from aspiration as well as from
experience.
(15) We paint those qualities that we do not
possess. The poet admires the man of energy
and tactics; the merchant breeds his son for the
church or the bar; and where a man is not vain and
egotistic you shall find what he lacks, by his praise.
(20) Yet it would be hardly honest for me not
to balance these fine lyric words with words
of coarser sound. Prudence is the virtue of the
senses. It is the science of appearances. It is the
outmost action of the inward life. It is God taking
(25) thought for oxen. It moves matter after the laws
of matter. It is content to seek health of body by
complying with physical conditions, and health
of mind by the laws of the intellect.
The world of the senses is a world of shows;
(30) it does not exist for itself, but has a symbolic
character; and a true prudence or law of shows
recognizes the co-presence of other laws and
knows that its own office is secondary; knows
that it is surface and not center where it works.
(35) Prudence is false when detached. It is legitimate
when it is the natural history of the soul
incarnate, when it unfolds the beauty of laws
within the narrow scope of the senses.
There are all degrees of proficiency in
(40) knowledge of the world. It is sufficient to our
present purpose to indicate three. One class lives
to the utility of the symbol, esteeming health and
wealth a final good. Another class lives above this
mark, to the beauty of the symbol, as the poet and
(45) artist and the naturalist and man of science.
A third class lives above the beauty of the symbol
to the beauty of the thing signified; these are
wise men. The first class has common sense; the
second, taste; and the third, spiritual perception.
(50) Once in a long time, a man traverses the whole
scale, and sees and enjoys the symbol solidly, then
also has a clear eye for its beauty, and lastly, while
he pitches his tent on this sacred volcanic isle of
nature, does not offer to build houses and barns
(55) thereon, reverencing the splendor of the God
which he sees bursting through each chink and
cranny.
The world is filled with the proverbs and
acts of a base prudence, which is a devotion to
(60) matter, as if we possessed no other faculties than
the palate, the nose, the touch, the eye and ear; a
prudence that never subscribes, that never gives,
that seldom lends, and asks but one question of
any project: will it bake bread? This is a disease
(65) like a thickening of the skin until the vital organs
are destroyed. But culture, revealing the high
origin of the apparent world and aiming at the
perfection of the man as the end, degrades every
thing else, as health and bodily life, into means.
(70) It sees prudence not to be a separate faculty,
but a name for wisdom and virtue conversing
with the body and its wants. Cultivated men
always feel and speak so, as if a great fortune, the
achievement of a civil or social measure, great
(75) personal influence, a graceful and commanding
address, had their value as proofs of the energy
of the spirit. If a man loses his balance and
immerses himself in any trades or pleasures for
their own sake, he may be a good wheel or pin,
(80) but he is not a cultivated man.

Q. The author believes that he is justified in acting as an authority on prudence primarily because of his

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Prudence." Public domain. First published in 1841.
What right have I to write on prudence, of
which I have little, and that of the negative sort?
My prudence consists in avoiding and going
without, not in the inventing of means and
(5) methods, not in adroit steering, not in gentle
repairing. I have no skill to make money spend
well, no genius in my economy, and whoever sees
my garden discovers that I must have some other
garden. Yet I love facts, and hate shiftiness and
(10) people without perception.
Then I have the same title to write on
prudence that I have to write on poetry or
holiness. We write from aspiration as well as from
experience.
(15) We paint those qualities that we do not
possess. The poet admires the man of energy
and tactics; the merchant breeds his son for the
church or the bar; and where a man is not vain and
egotistic you shall find what he lacks, by his praise.
(20) Yet it would be hardly honest for me not
to balance these fine lyric words with words
of coarser sound. Prudence is the virtue of the
senses. It is the science of appearances. It is the
outmost action of the inward life. It is God taking
(25) thought for oxen. It moves matter after the laws
of matter. It is content to seek health of body by
complying with physical conditions, and health
of mind by the laws of the intellect.
The world of the senses is a world of shows;
(30) it does not exist for itself, but has a symbolic
character; and a true prudence or law of shows
recognizes the co-presence of other laws and
knows that its own office is secondary; knows
that it is surface and not center where it works.
(35) Prudence is false when detached. It is legitimate
when it is the natural history of the soul
incarnate, when it unfolds the beauty of laws
within the narrow scope of the senses.
There are all degrees of proficiency in
(40) knowledge of the world. It is sufficient to our
present purpose to indicate three. One class lives
to the utility of the symbol, esteeming health and
wealth a final good. Another class lives above this
mark, to the beauty of the symbol, as the poet and
(45) artist and the naturalist and man of science.
A third class lives above the beauty of the symbol
to the beauty of the thing signified; these are
wise men. The first class has common sense; the
second, taste; and the third, spiritual perception.
(50) Once in a long time, a man traverses the whole
scale, and sees and enjoys the symbol solidly, then
also has a clear eye for its beauty, and lastly, while
he pitches his tent on this sacred volcanic isle of
nature, does not offer to build houses and barns
(55) thereon, reverencing the splendor of the God
which he sees bursting through each chink and
cranny.
The world is filled with the proverbs and
acts of a base prudence, which is a devotion to
(60) matter, as if we possessed no other faculties than
the palate, the nose, the touch, the eye and ear; a
prudence that never subscribes, that never gives,
that seldom lends, and asks but one question of
any project: will it bake bread? This is a disease
(65) like a thickening of the skin until the vital organs
are destroyed. But culture, revealing the high
origin of the apparent world and aiming at the
perfection of the man as the end, degrades every
thing else, as health and bodily life, into means.
(70) It sees prudence not to be a separate faculty,
but a name for wisdom and virtue conversing
with the body and its wants. Cultivated men
always feel and speak so, as if a great fortune, the
achievement of a civil or social measure, great
(75) personal influence, a graceful and commanding
address, had their value as proofs of the energy
of the spirit. If a man loses his balance and
immerses himself in any trades or pleasures for
their own sake, he may be a good wheel or pin,
(80) but he is not a cultivated man.

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

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Prudence." Public domain. First published in 1841.
What right have I to write on prudence, of
which I have little, and that of the negative sort?
My prudence consists in avoiding and going
without, not in the inventing of means and
(5) methods, not in adroit steering, not in gentle
repairing. I have no skill to make money spend
well, no genius in my economy, and whoever sees
my garden discovers that I must have some other
garden. Yet I love facts, and hate shiftiness and
(10) people without perception.
Then I have the same title to write on
prudence that I have to write on poetry or
holiness. We write from aspiration as well as from
experience.
(15) We paint those qualities that we do not
possess. The poet admires the man of energy
and tactics; the merchant breeds his son for the
church or the bar; and where a man is not vain and
egotistic you shall find what he lacks, by his praise.
(20) Yet it would be hardly honest for me not
to balance these fine lyric words with words
of coarser sound. Prudence is the virtue of the
senses. It is the science of appearances. It is the
outmost action of the inward life. It is God taking
(25) thought for oxen. It moves matter after the laws
of matter. It is content to seek health of body by
complying with physical conditions, and health
of mind by the laws of the intellect.
The world of the senses is a world of shows;
(30) it does not exist for itself, but has a symbolic
character; and a true prudence or law of shows
recognizes the co-presence of other laws and
knows that its own office is secondary; knows
that it is surface and not center where it works.
(35) Prudence is false when detached. It is legitimate
when it is the natural history of the soul
incarnate, when it unfolds the beauty of laws
within the narrow scope of the senses.
There are all degrees of proficiency in
(40) knowledge of the world. It is sufficient to our
present purpose to indicate three. One class lives
to the utility of the symbol, esteeming health and
wealth a final good. Another class lives above this
mark, to the beauty of the symbol, as the poet and
(45) artist and the naturalist and man of science.
A third class lives above the beauty of the symbol
to the beauty of the thing signified; these are
wise men. The first class has common sense; the
second, taste; and the third, spiritual perception.
(50) Once in a long time, a man traverses the whole
scale, and sees and enjoys the symbol solidly, then
also has a clear eye for its beauty, and lastly, while
he pitches his tent on this sacred volcanic isle of
nature, does not offer to build houses and barns
(55) thereon, reverencing the splendor of the God
which he sees bursting through each chink and
cranny.
The world is filled with the proverbs and
acts of a base prudence, which is a devotion to
(60) matter, as if we possessed no other faculties than
the palate, the nose, the touch, the eye and ear; a
prudence that never subscribes, that never gives,
that seldom lends, and asks but one question of
any project: will it bake bread? This is a disease
(65) like a thickening of the skin until the vital organs
are destroyed. But culture, revealing the high
origin of the apparent world and aiming at the
perfection of the man as the end, degrades every
thing else, as health and bodily life, into means.
(70) It sees prudence not to be a separate faculty,
but a name for wisdom and virtue conversing
with the body and its wants. Cultivated men
always feel and speak so, as if a great fortune, the
achievement of a civil or social measure, great
(75) personal influence, a graceful and commanding
address, had their value as proofs of the energy
of the spirit. If a man loses his balance and
immerses himself in any trades or pleasures for
their own sake, he may be a good wheel or pin,
(80) but he is not a cultivated man.

Q. The passage suggests that members of the “third class” (line 46) are superior for their ability to

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Prudence." Public domain. First published in 1841.
What right have I to write on prudence, of
which I have little, and that of the negative sort?
My prudence consists in avoiding and going
without, not in the inventing of means and
(5) methods, not in adroit steering, not in gentle
repairing. I have no skill to make money spend
well, no genius in my economy, and whoever sees
my garden discovers that I must have some other
garden. Yet I love facts, and hate shiftiness and
(10) people without perception.
Then I have the same title to write on
prudence that I have to write on poetry or
holiness. We write from aspiration as well as from
experience.
(15) We paint those qualities that we do not
possess. The poet admires the man of energy
and tactics; the merchant breeds his son for the
church or the bar; and where a man is not vain and
egotistic you shall find what he lacks, by his praise.
(20) Yet it would be hardly honest for me not
to balance these fine lyric words with words
of coarser sound. Prudence is the virtue of the
senses. It is the science of appearances. It is the
outmost action of the inward life. It is God taking
(25) thought for oxen. It moves matter after the laws
of matter. It is content to seek health of body by
complying with physical conditions, and health
of mind by the laws of the intellect.
The world of the senses is a world of shows;
(30) it does not exist for itself, but has a symbolic
character; and a true prudence or law of shows
recognizes the co-presence of other laws and
knows that its own office is secondary; knows
that it is surface and not center where it works.
(35) Prudence is false when detached. It is legitimate
when it is the natural history of the soul
incarnate, when it unfolds the beauty of laws
within the narrow scope of the senses.
There are all degrees of proficiency in
(40) knowledge of the world. It is sufficient to our
present purpose to indicate three. One class lives
to the utility of the symbol, esteeming health and
wealth a final good. Another class lives above this
mark, to the beauty of the symbol, as the poet and
(45) artist and the naturalist and man of science.
A third class lives above the beauty of the symbol
to the beauty of the thing signified; these are
wise men. The first class has common sense; the
second, taste; and the third, spiritual perception.
(50) Once in a long time, a man traverses the whole
scale, and sees and enjoys the symbol solidly, then
also has a clear eye for its beauty, and lastly, while
he pitches his tent on this sacred volcanic isle of
nature, does not offer to build houses and barns
(55) thereon, reverencing the splendor of the God
which he sees bursting through each chink and
cranny.
The world is filled with the proverbs and
acts of a base prudence, which is a devotion to
(60) matter, as if we possessed no other faculties than
the palate, the nose, the touch, the eye and ear; a
prudence that never subscribes, that never gives,
that seldom lends, and asks but one question of
any project: will it bake bread? This is a disease
(65) like a thickening of the skin until the vital organs
are destroyed. But culture, revealing the high
origin of the apparent world and aiming at the
perfection of the man as the end, degrades every
thing else, as health and bodily life, into means.
(70) It sees prudence not to be a separate faculty,
but a name for wisdom and virtue conversing
with the body and its wants. Cultivated men
always feel and speak so, as if a great fortune, the
achievement of a civil or social measure, great
(75) personal influence, a graceful and commanding
address, had their value as proofs of the energy
of the spirit. If a man loses his balance and
immerses himself in any trades or pleasures for
their own sake, he may be a good wheel or pin,
(80) but he is not a cultivated man.

Q. The “houses and barns” (line 54) represent

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Prudence." Public domain. First published in 1841.
What right have I to write on prudence, of
which I have little, and that of the negative sort?
My prudence consists in avoiding and going
without, not in the inventing of means and
(5) methods, not in adroit steering, not in gentle
repairing. I have no skill to make money spend
well, no genius in my economy, and whoever sees
my garden discovers that I must have some other
garden. Yet I love facts, and hate shiftiness and
(10) people without perception.
Then I have the same title to write on
prudence that I have to write on poetry or
holiness. We write from aspiration as well as from
experience.
(15) We paint those qualities that we do not
possess. The poet admires the man of energy
and tactics; the merchant breeds his son for the
church or the bar; and where a man is not vain and
egotistic you shall find what he lacks, by his praise.
(20) Yet it would be hardly honest for me not
to balance these fine lyric words with words
of coarser sound. Prudence is the virtue of the
senses. It is the science of appearances. It is the
outmost action of the inward life. It is God taking
(25) thought for oxen. It moves matter after the laws
of matter. It is content to seek health of body by
complying with physical conditions, and health
of mind by the laws of the intellect.
The world of the senses is a world of shows;
(30) it does not exist for itself, but has a symbolic
character; and a true prudence or law of shows
recognizes the co-presence of other laws and
knows that its own office is secondary; knows
that it is surface and not center where it works.
(35) Prudence is false when detached. It is legitimate
when it is the natural history of the soul
incarnate, when it unfolds the beauty of laws
within the narrow scope of the senses.
There are all degrees of proficiency in
(40) knowledge of the world. It is sufficient to our
present purpose to indicate three. One class lives
to the utility of the symbol, esteeming health and
wealth a final good. Another class lives above this
mark, to the beauty of the symbol, as the poet and
(45) artist and the naturalist and man of science.
A third class lives above the beauty of the symbol
to the beauty of the thing signified; these are
wise men. The first class has common sense; the
second, taste; and the third, spiritual perception.
(50) Once in a long time, a man traverses the whole
scale, and sees and enjoys the symbol solidly, then
also has a clear eye for its beauty, and lastly, while
he pitches his tent on this sacred volcanic isle of
nature, does not offer to build houses and barns
(55) thereon, reverencing the splendor of the God
which he sees bursting through each chink and
cranny.
The world is filled with the proverbs and
acts of a base prudence, which is a devotion to
(60) matter, as if we possessed no other faculties than
the palate, the nose, the touch, the eye and ear; a
prudence that never subscribes, that never gives,
that seldom lends, and asks but one question of
any project: will it bake bread? This is a disease
(65) like a thickening of the skin until the vital organs
are destroyed. But culture, revealing the high
origin of the apparent world and aiming at the
perfection of the man as the end, degrades every
thing else, as health and bodily life, into means.
(70) It sees prudence not to be a separate faculty,
but a name for wisdom and virtue conversing
with the body and its wants. Cultivated men
always feel and speak so, as if a great fortune, the
achievement of a civil or social measure, great
(75) personal influence, a graceful and commanding
address, had their value as proofs of the energy
of the spirit. If a man loses his balance and
immerses himself in any trades or pleasures for
their own sake, he may be a good wheel or pin,
(80) but he is not a cultivated man.

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

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Prudence." Public domain. First published in 1841.
What right have I to write on prudence, of
which I have little, and that of the negative sort?
My prudence consists in avoiding and going
without, not in the inventing of means and
(5) methods, not in adroit steering, not in gentle
repairing. I have no skill to make money spend
well, no genius in my economy, and whoever sees
my garden discovers that I must have some other
garden. Yet I love facts, and hate shiftiness and
(10) people without perception.
Then I have the same title to write on
prudence that I have to write on poetry or
holiness. We write from aspiration as well as from
experience.
(15) We paint those qualities that we do not
possess. The poet admires the man of energy
and tactics; the merchant breeds his son for the
church or the bar; and where a man is not vain and
egotistic you shall find what he lacks, by his praise.
(20) Yet it would be hardly honest for me not
to balance these fine lyric words with words
of coarser sound. Prudence is the virtue of the
senses. It is the science of appearances. It is the
outmost action of the inward life. It is God taking
(25) thought for oxen. It moves matter after the laws
of matter. It is content to seek health of body by
complying with physical conditions, and health
of mind by the laws of the intellect.
The world of the senses is a world of shows;
(30) it does not exist for itself, but has a symbolic
character; and a true prudence or law of shows
recognizes the co-presence of other laws and
knows that its own office is secondary; knows
that it is surface and not center where it works.
(35) Prudence is false when detached. It is legitimate
when it is the natural history of the soul
incarnate, when it unfolds the beauty of laws
within the narrow scope of the senses.
There are all degrees of proficiency in
(40) knowledge of the world. It is sufficient to our
present purpose to indicate three. One class lives
to the utility of the symbol, esteeming health and
wealth a final good. Another class lives above this
mark, to the beauty of the symbol, as the poet and
(45) artist and the naturalist and man of science.
A third class lives above the beauty of the symbol
to the beauty of the thing signified; these are
wise men. The first class has common sense; the
second, taste; and the third, spiritual perception.
(50) Once in a long time, a man traverses the whole
scale, and sees and enjoys the symbol solidly, then
also has a clear eye for its beauty, and lastly, while
he pitches his tent on this sacred volcanic isle of
nature, does not offer to build houses and barns
(55) thereon, reverencing the splendor of the God
which he sees bursting through each chink and
cranny.
The world is filled with the proverbs and
acts of a base prudence, which is a devotion to
(60) matter, as if we possessed no other faculties than
the palate, the nose, the touch, the eye and ear; a
prudence that never subscribes, that never gives,
that seldom lends, and asks but one question of
any project: will it bake bread? This is a disease
(65) like a thickening of the skin until the vital organs
are destroyed. But culture, revealing the high
origin of the apparent world and aiming at the
perfection of the man as the end, degrades every
thing else, as health and bodily life, into means.
(70) It sees prudence not to be a separate faculty,
but a name for wisdom and virtue conversing
with the body and its wants. Cultivated men
always feel and speak so, as if a great fortune, the
achievement of a civil or social measure, great
(75) personal influence, a graceful and commanding
address, had their value as proofs of the energy
of the spirit. If a man loses his balance and
immerses himself in any trades or pleasures for
their own sake, he may be a good wheel or pin,
(80) but he is not a cultivated man.

Q. The “disease” mentioned in line 64 is best described as

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Prudence." Public domain. First published in 1841.
What right have I to write on prudence, of
which I have little, and that of the negative sort?
My prudence consists in avoiding and going
without, not in the inventing of means and
(5) methods, not in adroit steering, not in gentle
repairing. I have no skill to make money spend
well, no genius in my economy, and whoever sees
my garden discovers that I must have some other
garden. Yet I love facts, and hate shiftiness and
(10) people without perception.
Then I have the same title to write on
prudence that I have to write on poetry or
holiness. We write from aspiration as well as from
experience.
(15) We paint those qualities that we do not
possess. The poet admires the man of energy
and tactics; the merchant breeds his son for the
church or the bar; and where a man is not vain and
egotistic you shall find what he lacks, by his praise.
(20) Yet it would be hardly honest for me not
to balance these fine lyric words with words
of coarser sound. Prudence is the virtue of the
senses. It is the science of appearances. It is the
outmost action of the inward life. It is God taking
(25) thought for oxen. It moves matter after the laws
of matter. It is content to seek health of body by
complying with physical conditions, and health
of mind by the laws of the intellect.
The world of the senses is a world of shows;
(30) it does not exist for itself, but has a symbolic
character; and a true prudence or law of shows
recognizes the co-presence of other laws and
knows that its own office is secondary; knows
that it is surface and not center where it works.
(35) Prudence is false when detached. It is legitimate
when it is the natural history of the soul
incarnate, when it unfolds the beauty of laws
within the narrow scope of the senses.
There are all degrees of proficiency in
(40) knowledge of the world. It is sufficient to our
present purpose to indicate three. One class lives
to the utility of the symbol, esteeming health and
wealth a final good. Another class lives above this
mark, to the beauty of the symbol, as the poet and
(45) artist and the naturalist and man of science.
A third class lives above the beauty of the symbol
to the beauty of the thing signified; these are
wise men. The first class has common sense; the
second, taste; and the third, spiritual perception.
(50) Once in a long time, a man traverses the whole
scale, and sees and enjoys the symbol solidly, then
also has a clear eye for its beauty, and lastly, while
he pitches his tent on this sacred volcanic isle of
nature, does not offer to build houses and barns
(55) thereon, reverencing the splendor of the God
which he sees bursting through each chink and
cranny.
The world is filled with the proverbs and
acts of a base prudence, which is a devotion to
(60) matter, as if we possessed no other faculties than
the palate, the nose, the touch, the eye and ear; a
prudence that never subscribes, that never gives,
that seldom lends, and asks but one question of
any project: will it bake bread? This is a disease
(65) like a thickening of the skin until the vital organs
are destroyed. But culture, revealing the high
origin of the apparent world and aiming at the
perfection of the man as the end, degrades every
thing else, as health and bodily life, into means.
(70) It sees prudence not to be a separate faculty,
but a name for wisdom and virtue conversing
with the body and its wants. Cultivated men
always feel and speak so, as if a great fortune, the
achievement of a civil or social measure, great
(75) personal influence, a graceful and commanding
address, had their value as proofs of the energy
of the spirit. If a man loses his balance and
immerses himself in any trades or pleasures for
their own sake, he may be a good wheel or pin,
(80) but he is not a cultivated man.

Q. The passage as a whole characterizes prudence primarily as.

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Joseph Conrad, The Secret Sharer. It was originally published in 1912. The narrator of this story is the captain of a ship about to begin a voyage.
She floated at the starting point of a long
journey, very still in an immense stillness, the
shadows of her spars flung far to the eastward by
the setting sun. At that moment I was alone on her
(5) decks. There was not a sound in her—and around
us nothing moved, nothing lived, not a canoe
on the water, not a bird in the air, not a cloud in
the sky. In this breathless pause at the threshold
of a long passage we seemed to be measuring
(10) our fitness for a long and arduous enterprise,
the appointed task of both our existences to be
carried out, far from all human eyes, with only sky
and sea for spectators and for judges.
There must have been some glare in the
(15) air to interfere with one's sight, because it was
only just before the sun left us that my roaming
eyes made out beyond the highest ridges of the
principal islet of the group something that did
away with the solemnity of perfect solitude.
(20) The tide of darkness flowed on swiftly; and with
tropical suddenness a swarm of stars came out
above the shadowy earth, while I lingered yet,
my hand resting lightly on my ship's rail as if on
the shoulder of a trusted friend. But, with all that
(25) multitude of celestial bodies staring down at one,
the comfort of quiet communion with her was
gone for good. And there were also disturbing
sounds by this time—voices, footsteps forward;
the steward flitted along the main-deck, a busily
(30) ministering spirit; a hand bell tinkled urgently
under the poop deck.
I found my two officers waiting for me near
the supper table, in the lighted cuddy. We sat
down at once, and as I helped the chief mate, I
(35) said: “Are you aware that there is a ship anchored
inside the islands? I saw her mastheads above the
ridge as the sun went down.”
He raised sharply his simple face,
overcharged by a terrible growth of whisker, and
(40) emitted his usual ejaculations:
“Bless my soul, sir! You don't say so!”
My second mate was a round-cheeked, silent
young man, grave beyond his years, I thought;
but as our eyes happened to meet I detected a
(45) slight quiver on his lips. I looked down at once. It
was not my part to encourage sneering on board
my ship. It must be said, too, that I knew very
little of my officers. In consequence of certain
events of no particular significance, except to
(50) myself, I had been appointed to the command
only a fortnight before. Neither did I know much
of the hands forward. All these people had been
together for eighteen months or so, and my
position was that of the only stranger on board.
(55) I mention this because it has some bearing on
what is to follow. But what I felt most was my
being a stranger to the ship; and if all the truth
must be told, I was somewhat of a stranger to
myself. The youngest man on board (barring the
(60) second mate), and untried as yet by a position
of the fullest responsibility, I was willing to take
the adequacy of the others for granted. They had
simply to be equal to their tasks. But I wondered
how far I should turn out faithful to that ideal
(65) conception of one's own personality every man
sets up for himself secretly.
Meantime the chief mate, with an almost
visible effect of collaboration on the part of his
round eyes and frightful whiskers, was trying
(70) to evolve a theory of the anchored ship. His
dominant trait was to take all things into earnest
consideration. He was of a painstaking turn of
mind. As he used to say, he “liked to account to
himself” for practically everything that came
(75) in his way, down to a miserable scorpion he had
found in his cabin a week before. The why and
the wherefore of that scorpion—how it got on
board and came to select his room rather than the
pantry (which was a dark place and more what a
(80) scorpion would be partial to), and how on earth
it managed to drown itself in the inkwell of his
writing desk—had exercised him infinitely.
The ship within the islands was much more
easily accounted for.

Q. The tone of the first paragraph (lines 1–13) is primarily one of

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Joseph Conrad, The Secret Sharer. It was originally published in 1912. The narrator of this story is the captain of a ship about to begin a voyage.
She floated at the starting point of a long
journey, very still in an immense stillness, the
shadows of her spars flung far to the eastward by
the setting sun. At that moment I was alone on her
(5) decks. There was not a sound in her—and around
us nothing moved, nothing lived, not a canoe
on the water, not a bird in the air, not a cloud in
the sky. In this breathless pause at the threshold
of a long passage we seemed to be measuring
(10) our fitness for a long and arduous enterprise,
the appointed task of both our existences to be
carried out, far from all human eyes, with only sky
and sea for spectators and for judges.
There must have been some glare in the
(15) air to interfere with one's sight, because it was
only just before the sun left us that my roaming
eyes made out beyond the highest ridges of the
principal islet of the group something that did
away with the solemnity of perfect solitude.
(20) The tide of darkness flowed on swiftly; and with
tropical suddenness a swarm of stars came out
above the shadowy earth, while I lingered yet,
my hand resting lightly on my ship's rail as if on
the shoulder of a trusted friend. But, with all that
(25) multitude of celestial bodies staring down at one,
the comfort of quiet communion with her was
gone for good. And there were also disturbing
sounds by this time—voices, footsteps forward;
the steward flitted along the main-deck, a busily
(30) ministering spirit; a hand bell tinkled urgently
under the poop deck.
I found my two officers waiting for me near
the supper table, in the lighted cuddy. We sat
down at once, and as I helped the chief mate, I
(35) said: “Are you aware that there is a ship anchored
inside the islands? I saw her mastheads above the
ridge as the sun went down.”
He raised sharply his simple face,
overcharged by a terrible growth of whisker, and
(40) emitted his usual ejaculations:
“Bless my soul, sir! You don't say so!”
My second mate was a round-cheeked, silent
young man, grave beyond his years, I thought;
but as our eyes happened to meet I detected a
(45) slight quiver on his lips. I looked down at once. It
was not my part to encourage sneering on board
my ship. It must be said, too, that I knew very
little of my officers. In consequence of certain
events of no particular significance, except to
(50) myself, I had been appointed to the command
only a fortnight before. Neither did I know much
of the hands forward. All these people had been
together for eighteen months or so, and my
position was that of the only stranger on board.
(55) I mention this because it has some bearing on
what is to follow. But what I felt most was my
being a stranger to the ship; and if all the truth
must be told, I was somewhat of a stranger to
myself. The youngest man on board (barring the
(60) second mate), and untried as yet by a position
of the fullest responsibility, I was willing to take
the adequacy of the others for granted. They had
simply to be equal to their tasks. But I wondered
how far I should turn out faithful to that ideal
(65) conception of one's own personality every man
sets up for himself secretly.
Meantime the chief mate, with an almost
visible effect of collaboration on the part of his
round eyes and frightful whiskers, was trying
(70) to evolve a theory of the anchored ship. His
dominant trait was to take all things into earnest
consideration. He was of a painstaking turn of
mind. As he used to say, he “liked to account to
himself” for practically everything that came
(75) in his way, down to a miserable scorpion he had
found in his cabin a week before. The why and
the wherefore of that scorpion—how it got on
board and came to select his room rather than the
pantry (which was a dark place and more what a
(80) scorpion would be partial to), and how on earth
it managed to drown itself in the inkwell of his
writing desk—had exercised him infinitely.
The ship within the islands was much more
easily accounted for.

Q. The reference to “some glare” (line 14) serves primarily to make the point that

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Joseph Conrad, The Secret Sharer. It was originally published in 1912. The narrator of this story is the captain of a ship about to begin a voyage.
She floated at the starting point of a long
journey, very still in an immense stillness, the
shadows of her spars flung far to the eastward by
the setting sun. At that moment I was alone on her
(5) decks. There was not a sound in her—and around
us nothing moved, nothing lived, not a canoe
on the water, not a bird in the air, not a cloud in
the sky. In this breathless pause at the threshold
of a long passage we seemed to be measuring
(10) our fitness for a long and arduous enterprise,
the appointed task of both our existences to be
carried out, far from all human eyes, with only sky
and sea for spectators and for judges.
There must have been some glare in the
(15) air to interfere with one's sight, because it was
only just before the sun left us that my roaming
eyes made out beyond the highest ridges of the
principal islet of the group something that did
away with the solemnity of perfect solitude.
(20) The tide of darkness flowed on swiftly; and with
tropical suddenness a swarm of stars came out
above the shadowy earth, while I lingered yet,
my hand resting lightly on my ship's rail as if on
the shoulder of a trusted friend. But, with all that
(25) multitude of celestial bodies staring down at one,
the comfort of quiet communion with her was
gone for good. And there were also disturbing
sounds by this time—voices, footsteps forward;
the steward flitted along the main-deck, a busily
(30) ministering spirit; a hand bell tinkled urgently
under the poop deck.
I found my two officers waiting for me near
the supper table, in the lighted cuddy. We sat
down at once, and as I helped the chief mate, I
(35) said: “Are you aware that there is a ship anchored
inside the islands? I saw her mastheads above the
ridge as the sun went down.”
He raised sharply his simple face,
overcharged by a terrible growth of whisker, and
(40) emitted his usual ejaculations:
“Bless my soul, sir! You don't say so!”
My second mate was a round-cheeked, silent
young man, grave beyond his years, I thought;
but as our eyes happened to meet I detected a
(45) slight quiver on his lips. I looked down at once. It
was not my part to encourage sneering on board
my ship. It must be said, too, that I knew very
little of my officers. In consequence of certain
events of no particular significance, except to
(50) myself, I had been appointed to the command
only a fortnight before. Neither did I know much
of the hands forward. All these people had been
together for eighteen months or so, and my
position was that of the only stranger on board.
(55) I mention this because it has some bearing on
what is to follow. But what I felt most was my
being a stranger to the ship; and if all the truth
must be told, I was somewhat of a stranger to
myself. The youngest man on board (barring the
(60) second mate), and untried as yet by a position
of the fullest responsibility, I was willing to take
the adequacy of the others for granted. They had
simply to be equal to their tasks. But I wondered
how far I should turn out faithful to that ideal
(65) conception of one's own personality every man
sets up for himself secretly.
Meantime the chief mate, with an almost
visible effect of collaboration on the part of his
round eyes and frightful whiskers, was trying
(70) to evolve a theory of the anchored ship. His
dominant trait was to take all things into earnest
consideration. He was of a painstaking turn of
mind. As he used to say, he “liked to account to
himself” for practically everything that came
(75) in his way, down to a miserable scorpion he had
found in his cabin a week before. The why and
the wherefore of that scorpion—how it got on
board and came to select his room rather than the
pantry (which was a dark place and more what a
(80) scorpion would be partial to), and how on earth
it managed to drown itself in the inkwell of his
writing desk—had exercised him infinitely.
The ship within the islands was much more
easily accounted for.

Q. In lines 20–24 (“The tide . . . friend”) the narrator describes

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Joseph Conrad, The Secret Sharer. It was originally published in 1912. The narrator of this story is the captain of a ship about to begin a voyage.
She floated at the starting point of a long
journey, very still in an immense stillness, the
shadows of her spars flung far to the eastward by
the setting sun. At that moment I was alone on her
(5) decks. There was not a sound in her—and around
us nothing moved, nothing lived, not a canoe
on the water, not a bird in the air, not a cloud in
the sky. In this breathless pause at the threshold
of a long passage we seemed to be measuring
(10) our fitness for a long and arduous enterprise,
the appointed task of both our existences to be
carried out, far from all human eyes, with only sky
and sea for spectators and for judges.
There must have been some glare in the
(15) air to interfere with one's sight, because it was
only just before the sun left us that my roaming
eyes made out beyond the highest ridges of the
principal islet of the group something that did
away with the solemnity of perfect solitude.
(20) The tide of darkness flowed on swiftly; and with
tropical suddenness a swarm of stars came out
above the shadowy earth, while I lingered yet,
my hand resting lightly on my ship's rail as if on
the shoulder of a trusted friend. But, with all that
(25) multitude of celestial bodies staring down at one,
the comfort of quiet communion with her was
gone for good. And there were also disturbing
sounds by this time—voices, footsteps forward;
the steward flitted along the main-deck, a busily
(30) ministering spirit; a hand bell tinkled urgently
under the poop deck.
I found my two officers waiting for me near
the supper table, in the lighted cuddy. We sat
down at once, and as I helped the chief mate, I
(35) said: “Are you aware that there is a ship anchored
inside the islands? I saw her mastheads above the
ridge as the sun went down.”
He raised sharply his simple face,
overcharged by a terrible growth of whisker, and
(40) emitted his usual ejaculations:
“Bless my soul, sir! You don't say so!”
My second mate was a round-cheeked, silent
young man, grave beyond his years, I thought;
but as our eyes happened to meet I detected a
(45) slight quiver on his lips. I looked down at once. It
was not my part to encourage sneering on board
my ship. It must be said, too, that I knew very
little of my officers. In consequence of certain
events of no particular significance, except to
(50) myself, I had been appointed to the command
only a fortnight before. Neither did I know much
of the hands forward. All these people had been
together for eighteen months or so, and my
position was that of the only stranger on board.
(55) I mention this because it has some bearing on
what is to follow. But what I felt most was my
being a stranger to the ship; and if all the truth
must be told, I was somewhat of a stranger to
myself. The youngest man on board (barring the
(60) second mate), and untried as yet by a position
of the fullest responsibility, I was willing to take
the adequacy of the others for granted. They had
simply to be equal to their tasks. But I wondered
how far I should turn out faithful to that ideal
(65) conception of one's own personality every man
sets up for himself secretly.
Meantime the chief mate, with an almost
visible effect of collaboration on the part of his
round eyes and frightful whiskers, was trying
(70) to evolve a theory of the anchored ship. His
dominant trait was to take all things into earnest
consideration. He was of a painstaking turn of
mind. As he used to say, he “liked to account to
himself” for practically everything that came
(75) in his way, down to a miserable scorpion he had
found in his cabin a week before. The why and
the wherefore of that scorpion—how it got on
board and came to select his room rather than the
pantry (which was a dark place and more what a
(80) scorpion would be partial to), and how on earth
it managed to drown itself in the inkwell of his
writing desk—had exercised him infinitely.
The ship within the islands was much more
easily accounted for.

Q. The captain is portrayed primarily as

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Joseph Conrad, The Secret Sharer. It was originally published in 1912. The narrator of this story is the captain of a ship about to begin a voyage.
She floated at the starting point of a long
journey, very still in an immense stillness, the
shadows of her spars flung far to the eastward by
the setting sun. At that moment I was alone on her
(5) decks. There was not a sound in her—and around
us nothing moved, nothing lived, not a canoe
on the water, not a bird in the air, not a cloud in
the sky. In this breathless pause at the threshold
of a long passage we seemed to be measuring
(10) our fitness for a long and arduous enterprise,
the appointed task of both our existences to be
carried out, far from all human eyes, with only sky
and sea for spectators and for judges.
There must have been some glare in the
(15) air to interfere with one's sight, because it was
only just before the sun left us that my roaming
eyes made out beyond the highest ridges of the
principal islet of the group something that did
away with the solemnity of perfect solitude.
(20) The tide of darkness flowed on swiftly; and with
tropical suddenness a swarm of stars came out
above the shadowy earth, while I lingered yet,
my hand resting lightly on my ship's rail as if on
the shoulder of a trusted friend. But, with all that
(25) multitude of celestial bodies staring down at one,
the comfort of quiet communion with her was
gone for good. And there were also disturbing
sounds by this time—voices, footsteps forward;
the steward flitted along the main-deck, a busily
(30) ministering spirit; a hand bell tinkled urgently
under the poop deck.
I found my two officers waiting for me near
the supper table, in the lighted cuddy. We sat
down at once, and as I helped the chief mate, I
(35) said: “Are you aware that there is a ship anchored
inside the islands? I saw her mastheads above the
ridge as the sun went down.”
He raised sharply his simple face,
overcharged by a terrible growth of whisker, and
(40) emitted his usual ejaculations:
“Bless my soul, sir! You don't say so!”
My second mate was a round-cheeked, silent
young man, grave beyond his years, I thought;
but as our eyes happened to meet I detected a
(45) slight quiver on his lips. I looked down at once. It
was not my part to encourage sneering on board
my ship. It must be said, too, that I knew very
little of my officers. In consequence of certain
events of no particular significance, except to
(50) myself, I had been appointed to the command
only a fortnight before. Neither did I know much
of the hands forward. All these people had been
together for eighteen months or so, and my
position was that of the only stranger on board.
(55) I mention this because it has some bearing on
what is to follow. But what I felt most was my
being a stranger to the ship; and if all the truth
must be told, I was somewhat of a stranger to
myself. The youngest man on board (barring the
(60) second mate), and untried as yet by a position
of the fullest responsibility, I was willing to take
the adequacy of the others for granted. They had
simply to be equal to their tasks. But I wondered
how far I should turn out faithful to that ideal
(65) conception of one's own personality every man
sets up for himself secretly.
Meantime the chief mate, with an almost
visible effect of collaboration on the part of his
round eyes and frightful whiskers, was trying
(70) to evolve a theory of the anchored ship. His
dominant trait was to take all things into earnest
consideration. He was of a painstaking turn of
mind. As he used to say, he “liked to account to
himself” for practically everything that came
(75) in his way, down to a miserable scorpion he had
found in his cabin a week before. The why and
the wherefore of that scorpion—how it got on
board and came to select his room rather than the
pantry (which was a dark place and more what a
(80) scorpion would be partial to), and how on earth
it managed to drown itself in the inkwell of his
writing desk—had exercised him infinitely.
The ship within the islands was much more
easily accounted for.

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

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Joseph Conrad, The Secret Sharer. It was originally published in 1912. The narrator of this story is the captain of a ship about to begin a voyage.
She floated at the starting point of a long
journey, very still in an immense stillness, the
shadows of her spars flung far to the eastward by
the setting sun. At that moment I was alone on her
(5) decks. There was not a sound in her—and around
us nothing moved, nothing lived, not a canoe
on the water, not a bird in the air, not a cloud in
the sky. In this breathless pause at the threshold
of a long passage we seemed to be measuring
(10) our fitness for a long and arduous enterprise,
the appointed task of both our existences to be
carried out, far from all human eyes, with only sky
and sea for spectators and for judges.
There must have been some glare in the
(15) air to interfere with one's sight, because it was
only just before the sun left us that my roaming
eyes made out beyond the highest ridges of the
principal islet of the group something that did
away with the solemnity of perfect solitude.
(20) The tide of darkness flowed on swiftly; and with
tropical suddenness a swarm of stars came out
above the shadowy earth, while I lingered yet,
my hand resting lightly on my ship's rail as if on
the shoulder of a trusted friend. But, with all that
(25) multitude of celestial bodies staring down at one,
the comfort of quiet communion with her was
gone for good. And there were also disturbing
sounds by this time—voices, footsteps forward;
the steward flitted along the main-deck, a busily
(30) ministering spirit; a hand bell tinkled urgently
under the poop deck.
I found my two officers waiting for me near
the supper table, in the lighted cuddy. We sat
down at once, and as I helped the chief mate, I
(35) said: “Are you aware that there is a ship anchored
inside the islands? I saw her mastheads above the
ridge as the sun went down.”
He raised sharply his simple face,
overcharged by a terrible growth of whisker, and
(40) emitted his usual ejaculations:
“Bless my soul, sir! You don't say so!”
My second mate was a round-cheeked, silent
young man, grave beyond his years, I thought;
but as our eyes happened to meet I detected a
(45) slight quiver on his lips. I looked down at once. It
was not my part to encourage sneering on board
my ship. It must be said, too, that I knew very
little of my officers. In consequence of certain
events of no particular significance, except to
(50) myself, I had been appointed to the command
only a fortnight before. Neither did I know much
of the hands forward. All these people had been
together for eighteen months or so, and my
position was that of the only stranger on board.
(55) I mention this because it has some bearing on
what is to follow. But what I felt most was my
being a stranger to the ship; and if all the truth
must be told, I was somewhat of a stranger to
myself. The youngest man on board (barring the
(60) second mate), and untried as yet by a position
of the fullest responsibility, I was willing to take
the adequacy of the others for granted. They had
simply to be equal to their tasks. But I wondered
how far I should turn out faithful to that ideal
(65) conception of one's own personality every man
sets up for himself secretly.
Meantime the chief mate, with an almost
visible effect of collaboration on the part of his
round eyes and frightful whiskers, was trying
(70) to evolve a theory of the anchored ship. His
dominant trait was to take all things into earnest
consideration. He was of a painstaking turn of
mind. As he used to say, he “liked to account to
himself” for practically everything that came
(75) in his way, down to a miserable scorpion he had
found in his cabin a week before. The why and
the wherefore of that scorpion—how it got on
board and came to select his room rather than the
pantry (which was a dark place and more what a
(80) scorpion would be partial to), and how on earth
it managed to drown itself in the inkwell of his
writing desk—had exercised him infinitely.
The ship within the islands was much more
easily accounted for.

Q. In line 55, “bearing” most nearly means

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Joseph Conrad, The Secret Sharer. It was originally published in 1912. The narrator of this story is the captain of a ship about to begin a voyage.
She floated at the starting point of a long
journey, very still in an immense stillness, the
shadows of her spars flung far to the eastward by
the setting sun. At that moment I was alone on her
(5) decks. There was not a sound in her—and around
us nothing moved, nothing lived, not a canoe
on the water, not a bird in the air, not a cloud in
the sky. In this breathless pause at the threshold
of a long passage we seemed to be measuring
(10) our fitness for a long and arduous enterprise,
the appointed task of both our existences to be
carried out, far from all human eyes, with only sky
and sea for spectators and for judges.
There must have been some glare in the
(15) air to interfere with one's sight, because it was
only just before the sun left us that my roaming
eyes made out beyond the highest ridges of the
principal islet of the group something that did
away with the solemnity of perfect solitude.
(20) The tide of darkness flowed on swiftly; and with
tropical suddenness a swarm of stars came out
above the shadowy earth, while I lingered yet,
my hand resting lightly on my ship's rail as if on
the shoulder of a trusted friend. But, with all that
(25) multitude of celestial bodies staring down at one,
the comfort of quiet communion with her was
gone for good. And there were also disturbing
sounds by this time—voices, footsteps forward;
the steward flitted along the main-deck, a busily
(30) ministering spirit; a hand bell tinkled urgently
under the poop deck.
I found my two officers waiting for me near
the supper table, in the lighted cuddy. We sat
down at once, and as I helped the chief mate, I
(35) said: “Are you aware that there is a ship anchored
inside the islands? I saw her mastheads above the
ridge as the sun went down.”
He raised sharply his simple face,
overcharged by a terrible growth of whisker, and
(40) emitted his usual ejaculations:
“Bless my soul, sir! You don't say so!”
My second mate was a round-cheeked, silent
young man, grave beyond his years, I thought;
but as our eyes happened to meet I detected a
(45) slight quiver on his lips. I looked down at once. It
was not my part to encourage sneering on board
my ship. It must be said, too, that I knew very
little of my officers. In consequence of certain
events of no particular significance, except to
(50) myself, I had been appointed to the command
only a fortnight before. Neither did I know much
of the hands forward. All these people had been
together for eighteen months or so, and my
position was that of the only stranger on board.
(55) I mention this because it has some bearing on
what is to follow. But what I felt most was my
being a stranger to the ship; and if all the truth
must be told, I was somewhat of a stranger to
myself. The youngest man on board (barring the
(60) second mate), and untried as yet by a position
of the fullest responsibility, I was willing to take
the adequacy of the others for granted. They had
simply to be equal to their tasks. But I wondered
how far I should turn out faithful to that ideal
(65) conception of one's own personality every man
sets up for himself secretly.
Meantime the chief mate, with an almost
visible effect of collaboration on the part of his
round eyes and frightful whiskers, was trying
(70) to evolve a theory of the anchored ship. His
dominant trait was to take all things into earnest
consideration. He was of a painstaking turn of
mind. As he used to say, he “liked to account to
himself” for practically everything that came
(75) in his way, down to a miserable scorpion he had
found in his cabin a week before. The why and
the wherefore of that scorpion—how it got on
board and came to select his room rather than the
pantry (which was a dark place and more what a
(80) scorpion would be partial to), and how on earth
it managed to drown itself in the inkwell of his
writing desk—had exercised him infinitely.
The ship within the islands was much more
easily accounted for.

Q. In line 70, “evolve” most nearly means

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Joseph Conrad, The Secret Sharer. It was originally published in 1912. The narrator of this story is the captain of a ship about to begin a voyage.
She floated at the starting point of a long
journey, very still in an immense stillness, the
shadows of her spars flung far to the eastward by
the setting sun. At that moment I was alone on her
(5) decks. There was not a sound in her—and around
us nothing moved, nothing lived, not a canoe
on the water, not a bird in the air, not a cloud in
the sky. In this breathless pause at the threshold
of a long passage we seemed to be measuring
(10) our fitness for a long and arduous enterprise,
the appointed task of both our existences to be
carried out, far from all human eyes, with only sky
and sea for spectators and for judges.
There must have been some glare in the
(15) air to interfere with one's sight, because it was
only just before the sun left us that my roaming
eyes made out beyond the highest ridges of the
principal islet of the group something that did
away with the solemnity of perfect solitude.
(20) The tide of darkness flowed on swiftly; and with
tropical suddenness a swarm of stars came out
above the shadowy earth, while I lingered yet,
my hand resting lightly on my ship's rail as if on
the shoulder of a trusted friend. But, with all that
(25) multitude of celestial bodies staring down at one,
the comfort of quiet communion with her was
gone for good. And there were also disturbing
sounds by this time—voices, footsteps forward;
the steward flitted along the main-deck, a busily
(30) ministering spirit; a hand bell tinkled urgently
under the poop deck.
I found my two officers waiting for me near
the supper table, in the lighted cuddy. We sat
down at once, and as I helped the chief mate, I
(35) said: “Are you aware that there is a ship anchored
inside the islands? I saw her mastheads above the
ridge as the sun went down.”
He raised sharply his simple face,
overcharged by a terrible growth of whisker, and
(40) emitted his usual ejaculations:
“Bless my soul, sir! You don't say so!”
My second mate was a round-cheeked, silent
young man, grave beyond his years, I thought;
but as our eyes happened to meet I detected a
(45) slight quiver on his lips. I looked down at once. It
was not my part to encourage sneering on board
my ship. It must be said, too, that I knew very
little of my officers. In consequence of certain
events of no particular significance, except to
(50) myself, I had been appointed to the command
only a fortnight before. Neither did I know much
of the hands forward. All these people had been
together for eighteen months or so, and my
position was that of the only stranger on board.
(55) I mention this because it has some bearing on
what is to follow. But what I felt most was my
being a stranger to the ship; and if all the truth
must be told, I was somewhat of a stranger to
myself. The youngest man on board (barring the
(60) second mate), and untried as yet by a position
of the fullest responsibility, I was willing to take
the adequacy of the others for granted. They had
simply to be equal to their tasks. But I wondered
how far I should turn out faithful to that ideal
(65) conception of one's own personality every man
sets up for himself secretly.
Meantime the chief mate, with an almost
visible effect of collaboration on the part of his
round eyes and frightful whiskers, was trying
(70) to evolve a theory of the anchored ship. His
dominant trait was to take all things into earnest
consideration. He was of a painstaking turn of
mind. As he used to say, he “liked to account to
himself” for practically everything that came
(75) in his way, down to a miserable scorpion he had
found in his cabin a week before. The why and
the wherefore of that scorpion—how it got on
board and came to select his room rather than the
pantry (which was a dark place and more what a
(80) scorpion would be partial to), and how on earth
it managed to drown itself in the inkwell of his
writing desk—had exercised him infinitely.
The ship within the islands was much more
easily accounted for.

Q. The “truth” to which the narrator refers in lines 57 is his

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Joseph Conrad, The Secret Sharer. It was originally published in 1912. The narrator of this story is the captain of a ship about to begin a voyage.
She floated at the starting point of a long
journey, very still in an immense stillness, the
shadows of her spars flung far to the eastward by
the setting sun. At that moment I was alone on her
(5) decks. There was not a sound in her—and around
us nothing moved, nothing lived, not a canoe
on the water, not a bird in the air, not a cloud in
the sky. In this breathless pause at the threshold
of a long passage we seemed to be measuring
(10) our fitness for a long and arduous enterprise,
the appointed task of both our existences to be
carried out, far from all human eyes, with only sky
and sea for spectators and for judges.
There must have been some glare in the
(15) air to interfere with one's sight, because it was
only just before the sun left us that my roaming
eyes made out beyond the highest ridges of the
principal islet of the group something that did
away with the solemnity of perfect solitude.
(20) The tide of darkness flowed on swiftly; and with
tropical suddenness a swarm of stars came out
above the shadowy earth, while I lingered yet,
my hand resting lightly on my ship's rail as if on
the shoulder of a trusted friend. But, with all that
(25) multitude of celestial bodies staring down at one,
the comfort of quiet communion with her was
gone for good. And there were also disturbing
sounds by this time—voices, footsteps forward;
the steward flitted along the main-deck, a busily
(30) ministering spirit; a hand bell tinkled urgently
under the poop deck.
I found my two officers waiting for me near
the supper table, in the lighted cuddy. We sat
down at once, and as I helped the chief mate, I
(35) said: “Are you aware that there is a ship anchored
inside the islands? I saw her mastheads above the
ridge as the sun went down.”
He raised sharply his simple face,
overcharged by a terrible growth of whisker, and
(40) emitted his usual ejaculations:
“Bless my soul, sir! You don't say so!”
My second mate was a round-cheeked, silent
young man, grave beyond his years, I thought;
but as our eyes happened to meet I detected a
(45) slight quiver on his lips. I looked down at once. It
was not my part to encourage sneering on board
my ship. It must be said, too, that I knew very
little of my officers. In consequence of certain
events of no particular significance, except to
(50) myself, I had been appointed to the command
only a fortnight before. Neither did I know much
of the hands forward. All these people had been
together for eighteen months or so, and my
position was that of the only stranger on board.
(55) I mention this because it has some bearing on
what is to follow. But what I felt most was my
being a stranger to the ship; and if all the truth
must be told, I was somewhat of a stranger to
myself. The youngest man on board (barring the
(60) second mate), and untried as yet by a position
of the fullest responsibility, I was willing to take
the adequacy of the others for granted. They had
simply to be equal to their tasks. But I wondered
how far I should turn out faithful to that ideal
(65) conception of one's own personality every man
sets up for himself secretly.
Meantime the chief mate, with an almost
visible effect of collaboration on the part of his
round eyes and frightful whiskers, was trying
(70) to evolve a theory of the anchored ship. His
dominant trait was to take all things into earnest
consideration. He was of a painstaking turn of
mind. As he used to say, he “liked to account to
himself” for practically everything that came
(75) in his way, down to a miserable scorpion he had
found in his cabin a week before. The why and
the wherefore of that scorpion—how it got on
board and came to select his room rather than the
pantry (which was a dark place and more what a
(80) scorpion would be partial to), and how on earth
it managed to drown itself in the inkwell of his
writing desk—had exercised him infinitely.
The ship within the islands was much more
easily accounted for.

Q. In line 82, “exercised” most nearly means

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Joseph Conrad, The Secret Sharer. It was originally published in 1912. The narrator of this story is the captain of a ship about to begin a voyage.
She floated at the starting point of a long
journey, very still in an immense stillness, the
shadows of her spars flung far to the eastward by
the setting sun. At that moment I was alone on her
(5) decks. There was not a sound in her—and around
us nothing moved, nothing lived, not a canoe
on the water, not a bird in the air, not a cloud in
the sky. In this breathless pause at the threshold
of a long passage we seemed to be measuring
(10) our fitness for a long and arduous enterprise,
the appointed task of both our existences to be
carried out, far from all human eyes, with only sky
and sea for spectators and for judges.
There must have been some glare in the
(15) air to interfere with one's sight, because it was
only just before the sun left us that my roaming
eyes made out beyond the highest ridges of the
principal islet of the group something that did
away with the solemnity of perfect solitude.
(20) The tide of darkness flowed on swiftly; and with
tropical suddenness a swarm of stars came out
above the shadowy earth, while I lingered yet,
my hand resting lightly on my ship's rail as if on
the shoulder of a trusted friend. But, with all that
(25) multitude of celestial bodies staring down at one,
the comfort of quiet communion with her was
gone for good. And there were also disturbing
sounds by this time—voices, footsteps forward;
the steward flitted along the main-deck, a busily
(30) ministering spirit; a hand bell tinkled urgently
under the poop deck.
I found my two officers waiting for me near
the supper table, in the lighted cuddy. We sat
down at once, and as I helped the chief mate, I
(35) said: “Are you aware that there is a ship anchored
inside the islands? I saw her mastheads above the
ridge as the sun went down.”
He raised sharply his simple face,
overcharged by a terrible growth of whisker, and
(40) emitted his usual ejaculations:
“Bless my soul, sir! You don't say so!”
My second mate was a round-cheeked, silent
young man, grave beyond his years, I thought;
but as our eyes happened to meet I detected a
(45) slight quiver on his lips. I looked down at once. It
was not my part to encourage sneering on board
my ship. It must be said, too, that I knew very
little of my officers. In consequence of certain
events of no particular significance, except to
(50) myself, I had been appointed to the command
only a fortnight before. Neither did I know much
of the hands forward. All these people had been
together for eighteen months or so, and my
position was that of the only stranger on board.
(55) I mention this because it has some bearing on
what is to follow. But what I felt most was my
being a stranger to the ship; and if all the truth
must be told, I was somewhat of a stranger to
myself. The youngest man on board (barring the
(60) second mate), and untried as yet by a position
of the fullest responsibility, I was willing to take
the adequacy of the others for granted. They had
simply to be equal to their tasks. But I wondered
how far I should turn out faithful to that ideal
(65) conception of one's own personality every man
sets up for himself secretly.
Meantime the chief mate, with an almost
visible effect of collaboration on the part of his
round eyes and frightful whiskers, was trying
(70) to evolve a theory of the anchored ship. His
dominant trait was to take all things into earnest
consideration. He was of a painstaking turn of
mind. As he used to say, he “liked to account to
himself” for practically everything that came
(75) in his way, down to a miserable scorpion he had
found in his cabin a week before. The why and
the wherefore of that scorpion—how it got on
board and came to select his room rather than the
pantry (which was a dark place and more what a
(80) scorpion would be partial to), and how on earth
it managed to drown itself in the inkwell of his
writing desk—had exercised him infinitely.
The ship within the islands was much more
easily accounted for.

Q. The “collaboration” (line 68) refers to an act of

Question based on the following passage.
This passage is from Joseph Conrad, The Secret Sharer. It was originally published in 1912. The narrator of this story is the captain of a ship about to begin a voyage.
She floated at the starting point of a long
journey, very still in an immense stillness, the
shadows of her spars flung far to the eastward by
the setting sun. At that moment I was alone on her
(5) decks. There was not a sound in her—and around
us nothing moved, nothing lived, not a canoe
on the water, not a bird in the air, not a cloud in
the sky. In this breathless pause at the threshold
of a long passage we seemed to be measuring
(10) our fitness for a long and arduous enterprise,
the appointed task of both our existences to be
carried out, far from all human eyes, with only sky
and sea for spectators and for judges.
There must have been some glare in the
(15) air to interfere with one's sight, because it was
only just before the sun left us that my roaming
eyes made out beyond the highest ridges of the
principal islet of the group something that did
away with the solemnity of perfect solitude.
(20) The tide of darkness flowed on swiftly; and with
tropical suddenness a swarm of stars came out
above the shadowy earth, while I lingered yet,
my hand resting lightly on my ship's rail as if on
the shoulder of a trusted friend. But, with all that
(25) multitude of celestial bodies staring down at one,
the comfort of quiet communion with her was
gone for good. And there were also disturbing
sounds by this time—voices, footsteps forward;
the steward flitted along the main-deck, a busily
(30) ministering spirit; a hand bell tinkled urgently
under the poop deck.
I found my two officers waiting for me near
the supper table, in the lighted cuddy. We sat
down at once, and as I helped the chief mate, I
(35) said: “Are you aware that there is a ship anchored
inside the islands? I saw her mastheads above the
ridge as the sun went down.”
He raised sharply his simple face,
overcharged by a terrible growth of whisker, and
(40) emitted his usual ejaculations:
“Bless my soul, sir! You don't say so!”
My second mate was a round-cheeked, silent
young man, grave beyond his years, I thought;
but as our eyes happened to meet I detected a
(45) slight quiver on his lips. I looked down at once. It
was not my part to encourage sneering on board
my ship. It must be said, too, that I knew very
little of my officers. In consequence of certain
events of no particular significance, except to
(50) myself, I had been appointed to the command
only a fortnight before. Neither did I know much
of the hands forward. All these people had been
together for eighteen months or so, and my
position was that of the only stranger on board.
(55) I mention this because it has some bearing on
what is to follow. But what I felt most was my
being a stranger to the ship; and if all the truth
must be told, I was somewhat of a stranger to
myself. The youngest man on board (barring the
(60) second mate), and untried as yet by a position
of the fullest responsibility, I was willing to take
the adequacy of the others for granted. They had
simply to be equal to their tasks. But I wondered
how far I should turn out faithful to that ideal
(65) conception of one's own personality every man
sets up for himself secretly.
Meantime the chief mate, with an almost
visible effect of collaboration on the part of his
round eyes and frightful whiskers, was trying
(70) to evolve a theory of the anchored ship. His
dominant trait was to take all things into earnest
consideration. He was of a painstaking turn of
mind. As he used to say, he “liked to account to
himself” for practically everything that came
(75) in his way, down to a miserable scorpion he had
found in his cabin a week before. The why and
the wherefore of that scorpion—how it got on
board and came to select his room rather than the
pantry (which was a dark place and more what a
(80) scorpion would be partial to), and how on earth
it managed to drown itself in the inkwell of his
writing desk—had exercised him infinitely.
The ship within the islands was much more
easily accounted for.

Q. The chief mate believed that, compared to the recently discovered ship, the “scorpion” (line 75) was

Question based on the following passages.
Passage 1 is from Lindsay Smith-Doyle, "Thoughts on the Value of Life." ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is from C. F. Black, “Who's Afraid of Cloning?" ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Since 1996, when scientists at the Roslin Institute in England cloned a sheep from the cells of another adult sheep, many have debated the ethics of cloning human cells. These passages are excerpts from arguments on this issue.
Passage 1
How should human life be bestowed? With
human cloning looming as a real scientific
possibility, we must question the provenance of
this ultimate gift. Our intimate participation in
(5) the creation of life must never be misconstrued as
control. Rather, our attitude toward the creation
of life must be one of humility.
The idea of “outsourcing” the creation of
human life, of relegating it to a laboratory, of
(10) reducing the anticipation of childbirth to a trip
to the mall or a selection from a catalog, mocks
the profundity of life. The mystery is replaced by
design and control. Should we turn our noses up
at the most precious gift in the universe, only to
(15) say: “Sorry, but I think I can do better?”
Cloning is the engineering of human life. We
have for the first time the ability to determine the
exact genetic makeup of a human being. Whether
you believe in evolution or creationism, cloning
(20) thwarts an essential step of the conception
process: randomness in the case of natural
selection, and guided purpose in the case of
creationism. A child can be created that is no
longer uniquely human but the end product of an
(25) assembly line, with carefully designed and tested
features. Are the astonishing processes of nature
somehow deficient?
If human cloning becomes acceptable, we will
have created a new society in which the value of
(30) human life is marginalized. Industries will arise
that turn human procreation into a profitable
free-market enterprise. The executive boards of
these companies will decide the course of human
evolution, with more concern for quarterly profit
(35) reports than for the fate of humanity.
These are not idle concerns. Even as we
ponder the ethical implications of human
cloning, companies are forging ahead with
procedures to clone human cells for seemingly
(40) beneficial purposes, marching steadily toward
a Brave New World in which humanity will be
forever less human.
Passage 2
The breathless fears about human cloning
should not surprise anyone who knows the
(45) history of science. Every step in human progress
is met with close-mindedness that often verges on
paranoia. Not even medicine is spared.
As doctors toil to save, prolong, and improve
lives, the uninformed rage at the arrogance
(50) of science. Before the merits of surgery and
vaccination became commonplace and obvious,
many refused to believe that cutting flesh or
introducing degraded germs could do more good
than harm. Perhaps we should turn from science
(55) and return to superstition and magic spells?
At first glance, it might seem that cloning is
a whole new ballgame. After all, cloning is “the
engineering of human life,” isn't it? It is the mass
production of designer babies. It is the end of
(60) evolution, or at least the beginning of its corporate
management. It is certainly a slap in the face of
God. Or is it?
Cloning foe Jeremy Rifkin is afraid of nothing
so much as duplication: “It's a horrendous crime
(65) to make a Xerox of someone. You're putting a
human into a genetic straitjacket.” The horror! I
wonder how Mr. Rifkin would feel at the annual
Twins Days Festival in Twinsburg, Ohio. Genetic
Xeroxes everywhere!
(70) Identical twins are not monsters. Rifkin's
fear is vacuous. Each identical twin has his or
her own unique thoughts, talents, experiences,
and beliefs. Mr. Rifkin must learn that human
beings are more than just their DNA; they are
(75) the products of the continual and inscrutably
complex interactions of environment and biology.
Human clones would be no different.
“But you are playing God!” we hear. It is the
cry of all whose power is threatened by the march
(80) of human progress. It is the reasoning of the Dark
Ages, used to keep the subservient masses in their
place. Every great step humanity has ever taken
has disrupted the "natural order." Should we be
shivering in caves, eating uncooked bugs, and
(85) dying of parasites, as nature intended?
But perhaps procreation is different—more
sacred. Then why have the technologies of fertility
enhancement, in vitro fertilization, embryo
transfer, and birth control become so widely
(90) accepted? Each of these technologies was met at
first with legions of strident opponents. But over
time, reality and compassion overcame unreason
and paranoia. Familiarity dissipates fear.
These supposedly "moral" objections are
(95) in fact impeding moral progress. With genetic
engineering, cloning, and stem cell research,
scientists finally have within their grasp
technologies that can provide ample food for
a starving world, cure devastating illnesses,
(100) and replace diseased organs. Only ignorant
superstition stands in their way.

Q. In line 13, “control” refers specifically to control over

Question based on the following passages.
Passage 1 is from Lindsay Smith-Doyle, "Thoughts on the Value of Life." ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is from C. F. Black, “Who's Afraid of Cloning?" ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Since 1996, when scientists at the Roslin Institute in England cloned a sheep from the cells of another adult sheep, many have debated the ethics of cloning human cells. These passages are excerpts from arguments on this issue.
Passage 1
How should human life be bestowed? With
human cloning looming as a real scientific
possibility, we must question the provenance of
this ultimate gift. Our intimate participation in
(5) the creation of life must never be misconstrued as
control. Rather, our attitude toward the creation
of life must be one of humility.
The idea of “outsourcing” the creation of
human life, of relegating it to a laboratory, of
(10) reducing the anticipation of childbirth to a trip
to the mall or a selection from a catalog, mocks
the profundity of life. The mystery is replaced by
design and control. Should we turn our noses up
at the most precious gift in the universe, only to
(15) say: “Sorry, but I think I can do better?”
Cloning is the engineering of human life. We
have for the first time the ability to determine the
exact genetic makeup of a human being. Whether
you believe in evolution or creationism, cloning
(20) thwarts an essential step of the conception
process: randomness in the case of natural
selection, and guided purpose in the case of
creationism. A child can be created that is no
longer uniquely human but the end product of an
(25) assembly line, with carefully designed and tested
features. Are the astonishing processes of nature
somehow deficient?
If human cloning becomes acceptable, we will
have created a new society in which the value of
(30) human life is marginalized. Industries will arise
that turn human procreation into a profitable
free-market enterprise. The executive boards of
these companies will decide the course of human
evolution, with more concern for quarterly profit
(35) reports than for the fate of humanity.
These are not idle concerns. Even as we
ponder the ethical implications of human
cloning, companies are forging ahead with
procedures to clone human cells for seemingly
(40) beneficial purposes, marching steadily toward
a Brave New World in which humanity will be
forever less human.
Passage 2
The breathless fears about human cloning
should not surprise anyone who knows the
(45) history of science. Every step in human progress
is met with close-mindedness that often verges on
paranoia. Not even medicine is spared.
As doctors toil to save, prolong, and improve
lives, the uninformed rage at the arrogance
(50) of science. Before the merits of surgery and
vaccination became commonplace and obvious,
many refused to believe that cutting flesh or
introducing degraded germs could do more good
than harm. Perhaps we should turn from science
(55) and return to superstition and magic spells?
At first glance, it might seem that cloning is
a whole new ballgame. After all, cloning is “the
engineering of human life,” isn't it? It is the mass
production of designer babies. It is the end of
(60) evolution, or at least the beginning of its corporate
management. It is certainly a slap in the face of
God. Or is it?
Cloning foe Jeremy Rifkin is afraid of nothing
so much as duplication: “It's a horrendous crime
(65) to make a Xerox of someone. You're putting a
human into a genetic straitjacket.” The horror! I
wonder how Mr. Rifkin would feel at the annual
Twins Days Festival in Twinsburg, Ohio. Genetic
Xeroxes everywhere!
(70) Identical twins are not monsters. Rifkin's
fear is vacuous. Each identical twin has his or
her own unique thoughts, talents, experiences,
and beliefs. Mr. Rifkin must learn that human
beings are more than just their DNA; they are
(75) the products of the continual and inscrutably
complex interactions of environment and biology.
Human clones would be no different.
“But you are playing God!” we hear. It is the
cry of all whose power is threatened by the march
(80) of human progress. It is the reasoning of the Dark
Ages, used to keep the subservient masses in their
place. Every great step humanity has ever taken
has disrupted the "natural order." Should we be
shivering in caves, eating uncooked bugs, and
(85) dying of parasites, as nature intended?
But perhaps procreation is different—more
sacred. Then why have the technologies of fertility
enhancement, in vitro fertilization, embryo
transfer, and birth control become so widely
(90) accepted? Each of these technologies was met at
first with legions of strident opponents. But over
time, reality and compassion overcame unreason
and paranoia. Familiarity dissipates fear.
These supposedly "moral" objections are
(95) in fact impeding moral progress. With genetic
engineering, cloning, and stem cell research,
scientists finally have within their grasp
technologies that can provide ample food for
a starving world, cure devastating illnesses,
(100) and replace diseased organs. Only ignorant
superstition stands in their way.

Q. In Passage 1, the author’s attitude toward “outsourcing” (line 8) is one of

Question based on the following passages.
Passage 1 is from Lindsay Smith-Doyle, "Thoughts on the Value of Life." ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is from C. F. Black, “Who's Afraid of Cloning?" ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Since 1996, when scientists at the Roslin Institute in England cloned a sheep from the cells of another adult sheep, many have debated the ethics of cloning human cells. These passages are excerpts from arguments on this issue.
Passage 1
How should human life be bestowed? With
human cloning looming as a real scientific
possibility, we must question the provenance of
this ultimate gift. Our intimate participation in
(5) the creation of life must never be misconstrued as
control. Rather, our attitude toward the creation
of life must be one of humility.
The idea of “outsourcing” the creation of
human life, of relegating it to a laboratory, of
(10) reducing the anticipation of childbirth to a trip
to the mall or a selection from a catalog, mocks
the profundity of life. The mystery is replaced by
design and control. Should we turn our noses up
at the most precious gift in the universe, only to
(15) say: “Sorry, but I think I can do better?”
Cloning is the engineering of human life. We
have for the first time the ability to determine the
exact genetic makeup of a human being. Whether
you believe in evolution or creationism, cloning
(20) thwarts an essential step of the conception
process: randomness in the case of natural
selection, and guided purpose in the case of
creationism. A child can be created that is no
longer uniquely human but the end product of an
(25) assembly line, with carefully designed and tested
features. Are the astonishing processes of nature
somehow deficient?
If human cloning becomes acceptable, we will
have created a new society in which the value of
(30) human life is marginalized. Industries will arise
that turn human procreation into a profitable
free-market enterprise. The executive boards of
these companies will decide the course of human
evolution, with more concern for quarterly profit
(35) reports than for the fate of humanity.
These are not idle concerns. Even as we
ponder the ethical implications of human
cloning, companies are forging ahead with
procedures to clone human cells for seemingly
(40) beneficial purposes, marching steadily toward
a Brave New World in which humanity will be
forever less human.
Passage 2
The breathless fears about human cloning
should not surprise anyone who knows the
(45) history of science. Every step in human progress
is met with close-mindedness that often verges on
paranoia. Not even medicine is spared.
As doctors toil to save, prolong, and improve
lives, the uninformed rage at the arrogance
(50) of science. Before the merits of surgery and
vaccination became commonplace and obvious,
many refused to believe that cutting flesh or
introducing degraded germs could do more good
than harm. Perhaps we should turn from science
(55) and return to superstition and magic spells?
At first glance, it might seem that cloning is
a whole new ballgame. After all, cloning is “the
engineering of human life,” isn't it? It is the mass
production of designer babies. It is the end of
(60) evolution, or at least the beginning of its corporate
management. It is certainly a slap in the face of
God. Or is it?
Cloning foe Jeremy Rifkin is afraid of nothing
so much as duplication: “It's a horrendous crime
(65) to make a Xerox of someone. You're putting a
human into a genetic straitjacket.” The horror! I
wonder how Mr. Rifkin would feel at the annual
Twins Days Festival in Twinsburg, Ohio. Genetic
Xeroxes everywhere!
(70) Identical twins are not monsters. Rifkin's
fear is vacuous. Each identical twin has his or
her own unique thoughts, talents, experiences,
and beliefs. Mr. Rifkin must learn that human
beings are more than just their DNA; they are
(75) the products of the continual and inscrutably
complex interactions of environment and biology.
Human clones would be no different.
“But you are playing God!” we hear. It is the
cry of all whose power is threatened by the march
(80) of human progress. It is the reasoning of the Dark
Ages, used to keep the subservient masses in their
place. Every great step humanity has ever taken
has disrupted the "natural order." Should we be
shivering in caves, eating uncooked bugs, and
(85) dying of parasites, as nature intended?
But perhaps procreation is different—more
sacred. Then why have the technologies of fertility
enhancement, in vitro fertilization, embryo
transfer, and birth control become so widely
(90) accepted? Each of these technologies was met at
first with legions of strident opponents. But over
time, reality and compassion overcame unreason
and paranoia. Familiarity dissipates fear.
These supposedly "moral" objections are
(95) in fact impeding moral progress. With genetic
engineering, cloning, and stem cell research,
scientists finally have within their grasp
technologies that can provide ample food for
a starving world, cure devastating illnesses,
(100) and replace diseased organs. Only ignorant
superstition stands in their way.

Q. The quotations in line 15 and line 78 are similar in that both

Question based on the following passages.
Passage 1 is from Lindsay Smith-Doyle, "Thoughts on the Value of Life." ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is from C. F. Black, “Who's Afraid of Cloning?" ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Since 1996, when scientists at the Roslin Institute in England cloned a sheep from the cells of another adult sheep, many have debated the ethics of cloning human cells. These passages are excerpts from arguments on this issue.
Passage 1
How should human life be bestowed? With
human cloning looming as a real scientific
possibility, we must question the provenance of
this ultimate gift. Our intimate participation in
(5) the creation of life must never be misconstrued as
control. Rather, our attitude toward the creation
of life must be one of humility.
The idea of “outsourcing” the creation of
human life, of relegating it to a laboratory, of
(10) reducing the anticipation of childbirth to a trip
to the mall or a selection from a catalog, mocks
the profundity of life. The mystery is replaced by
design and control. Should we turn our noses up
at the most precious gift in the universe, only to
(15) say: “Sorry, but I think I can do better?”
Cloning is the engineering of human life. We
have for the first time the ability to determine the
exact genetic makeup of a human being. Whether
you believe in evolution or creationism, cloning
(20) thwarts an essential step of the conception
process: randomness in the case of natural
selection, and guided purpose in the case of
creationism. A child can be created that is no
longer uniquely human but the end product of an
(25) assembly line, with carefully designed and tested
features. Are the astonishing processes of nature
somehow deficient?
If human cloning becomes acceptable, we will
have created a new society in which the value of
(30) human life is marginalized. Industries will arise
that turn human procreation into a profitable
free-market enterprise. The executive boards of
these companies will decide the course of human
evolution, with more concern for quarterly profit
(35) reports than for the fate of humanity.
These are not idle concerns. Even as we
ponder the ethical implications of human
cloning, companies are forging ahead with
procedures to clone human cells for seemingly
(40) beneficial purposes, marching steadily toward
a Brave New World in which humanity will be
forever less human.
Passage 2
The breathless fears about human cloning
should not surprise anyone who knows the
(45) history of science. Every step in human progress
is met with close-mindedness that often verges on
paranoia. Not even medicine is spared.
As doctors toil to save, prolong, and improve
lives, the uninformed rage at the arrogance
(50) of science. Before the merits of surgery and
vaccination became commonplace and obvious,
many refused to believe that cutting flesh or
introducing degraded germs could do more good
than harm. Perhaps we should turn from science
(55) and return to superstition and magic spells?
At first glance, it might seem that cloning is
a whole new ballgame. After all, cloning is “the
engineering of human life,” isn't it? It is the mass
production of designer babies. It is the end of
(60) evolution, or at least the beginning of its corporate
management. It is certainly a slap in the face of
God. Or is it?
Cloning foe Jeremy Rifkin is afraid of nothing
so much as duplication: “It's a horrendous crime
(65) to make a Xerox of someone. You're putting a
human into a genetic straitjacket.” The horror! I
wonder how Mr. Rifkin would feel at the annual
Twins Days Festival in Twinsburg, Ohio. Genetic
Xeroxes everywhere!
(70) Identical twins are not monsters. Rifkin's
fear is vacuous. Each identical twin has his or
her own unique thoughts, talents, experiences,
and beliefs. Mr. Rifkin must learn that human
beings are more than just their DNA; they are
(75) the products of the continual and inscrutably
complex interactions of environment and biology.
Human clones would be no different.
“But you are playing God!” we hear. It is the
cry of all whose power is threatened by the march
(80) of human progress. It is the reasoning of the Dark
Ages, used to keep the subservient masses in their
place. Every great step humanity has ever taken
has disrupted the "natural order." Should we be
shivering in caves, eating uncooked bugs, and
(85) dying of parasites, as nature intended?
But perhaps procreation is different—more
sacred. Then why have the technologies of fertility
enhancement, in vitro fertilization, embryo
transfer, and birth control become so widely
(90) accepted? Each of these technologies was met at
first with legions of strident opponents. But over
time, reality and compassion overcame unreason
and paranoia. Familiarity dissipates fear.
These supposedly "moral" objections are
(95) in fact impeding moral progress. With genetic
engineering, cloning, and stem cell research,
scientists finally have within their grasp
technologies that can provide ample food for
a starving world, cure devastating illnesses,
(100) and replace diseased organs. Only ignorant
superstition stands in their way.

Q. Jeremy Rifkin (line 63) would most likely advocate

Question based on the following passages.
Passage 1 is from Lindsay Smith-Doyle, "Thoughts on the Value of Life." ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is from C. F. Black, “Who's Afraid of Cloning?" ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Since 1996, when scientists at the Roslin Institute in England cloned a sheep from the cells of another adult sheep, many have debated the ethics of cloning human cells. These passages are excerpts from arguments on this issue.
Passage 1
How should human life be bestowed? With
human cloning looming as a real scientific
possibility, we must question the provenance of
this ultimate gift. Our intimate participation in
(5) the creation of life must never be misconstrued as
control. Rather, our attitude toward the creation
of life must be one of humility.
The idea of “outsourcing” the creation of
human life, of relegating it to a laboratory, of
(10) reducing the anticipation of childbirth to a trip
to the mall or a selection from a catalog, mocks
the profundity of life. The mystery is replaced by
design and control. Should we turn our noses up
at the most precious gift in the universe, only to
(15) say: “Sorry, but I think I can do better?”
Cloning is the engineering of human life. We
have for the first time the ability to determine the
exact genetic makeup of a human being. Whether
you believe in evolution or creationism, cloning
(20) thwarts an essential step of the conception
process: randomness in the case of natural
selection, and guided purpose in the case of
creationism. A child can be created that is no
longer uniquely human but the end product of an
(25) assembly line, with carefully designed and tested
features. Are the astonishing processes of nature
somehow deficient?
If human cloning becomes acceptable, we will
have created a new society in which the value of
(30) human life is marginalized. Industries will arise
that turn human procreation into a profitable
free-market enterprise. The executive boards of
these companies will decide the course of human
evolution, with more concern for quarterly profit
(35) reports than for the fate of humanity.
These are not idle concerns. Even as we
ponder the ethical implications of human
cloning, companies are forging ahead with
procedures to clone human cells for seemingly
(40) beneficial purposes, marching steadily toward
a Brave New World in which humanity will be
forever less human.
Passage 2
The breathless fears about human cloning
should not surprise anyone who knows the
(45) history of science. Every step in human progress
is met with close-mindedness that often verges on
paranoia. Not even medicine is spared.
As doctors toil to save, prolong, and improve
lives, the uninformed rage at the arrogance
(50) of science. Before the merits of surgery and
vaccination became commonplace and obvious,
many refused to believe that cutting flesh or
introducing degraded germs could do more good
than harm. Perhaps we should turn from science
(55) and return to superstition and magic spells?
At first glance, it might seem that cloning is
a whole new ballgame. After all, cloning is “the
engineering of human life,” isn't it? It is the mass
production of designer babies. It is the end of
(60) evolution, or at least the beginning of its corporate
management. It is certainly a slap in the face of
God. Or is it?
Cloning foe Jeremy Rifkin is afraid of nothing
so much as duplication: “It's a horrendous crime
(65) to make a Xerox of someone. You're putting a
human into a genetic straitjacket.” The horror! I
wonder how Mr. Rifkin would feel at the annual
Twins Days Festival in Twinsburg, Ohio. Genetic
Xeroxes everywhere!
(70) Identical twins are not monsters. Rifkin's
fear is vacuous. Each identical twin has his or
her own unique thoughts, talents, experiences,
and beliefs. Mr. Rifkin must learn that human
beings are more than just their DNA; they are
(75) the products of the continual and inscrutably
complex interactions of environment and biology.
Human clones would be no different.
“But you are playing God!” we hear. It is the
cry of all whose power is threatened by the march
(80) of human progress. It is the reasoning of the Dark
Ages, used to keep the subservient masses in their
place. Every great step humanity has ever taken
has disrupted the "natural order." Should we be
shivering in caves, eating uncooked bugs, and
(85) dying of parasites, as nature intended?
But perhaps procreation is different—more
sacred. Then why have the technologies of fertility
enhancement, in vitro fertilization, embryo
transfer, and birth control become so widely
(90) accepted? Each of these technologies was met at
first with legions of strident opponents. But over
time, reality and compassion overcame unreason
and paranoia. Familiarity dissipates fear.
These supposedly "moral" objections are
(95) in fact impeding moral progress. With genetic
engineering, cloning, and stem cell research,
scientists finally have within their grasp
technologies that can provide ample food for
a starving world, cure devastating illnesses,
(100) and replace diseased organs. Only ignorant
superstition stands in their way.

Q. The diagram best illustrates

Question based on the following passages.
Passage 1 is from Lindsay Smith-Doyle, "Thoughts on the Value of Life." ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is from C. F. Black, “Who's Afraid of Cloning?" ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Since 1996, when scientists at the Roslin Institute in England cloned a sheep from the cells of another adult sheep, many have debated the ethics of cloning human cells. These passages are excerpts from arguments on this issue.
Passage 1
How should human life be bestowed? With
human cloning looming as a real scientific
possibility, we must question the provenance of
this ultimate gift. Our intimate participation in
(5) the creation of life must never be misconstrued as
control. Rather, our attitude toward the creation
of life must be one of humility.
The idea of “outsourcing” the creation of
human life, of relegating it to a laboratory, of
(10) reducing the anticipation of childbirth to a trip
to the mall or a selection from a catalog, mocks
the profundity of life. The mystery is replaced by
design and control. Should we turn our noses up
at the most precious gift in the universe, only to
(15) say: “Sorry, but I think I can do better?”
Cloning is the engineering of human life. We
have for the first time the ability to determine the
exact genetic makeup of a human being. Whether
you believe in evolution or creationism, cloning
(20) thwarts an essential step of the conception
process: randomness in the case of natural
selection, and guided purpose in the case of
creationism. A child can be created that is no
longer uniquely human but the end product of an
(25) assembly line, with carefully designed and tested
features. Are the astonishing processes of nature
somehow deficient?
If human cloning becomes acceptable, we will
have created a new society in which the value of
(30) human life is marginalized. Industries will arise
that turn human procreation into a profitable
free-market enterprise. The executive boards of
these companies will decide the course of human
evolution, with more concern for quarterly profit
(35) reports than for the fate of humanity.
These are not idle concerns. Even as we
ponder the ethical implications of human
cloning, companies are forging ahead with
procedures to clone human cells for seemingly
(40) beneficial purposes, marching steadily toward
a Brave New World in which humanity will be
forever less human.
Passage 2
The breathless fears about human cloning
should not surprise anyone who knows the
(45) history of science. Every step in human progress
is met with close-mindedness that often verges on
paranoia. Not even medicine is spared.
As doctors toil to save, prolong, and improve
lives, the uninformed rage at the arrogance
(50) of science. Before the merits of surgery and
vaccination became commonplace and obvious,
many refused to believe that cutting flesh or
introducing degraded germs could do more good
than harm. Perhaps we should turn from science
(55) and return to superstition and magic spells?
At first glance, it might seem that cloning is
a whole new ballgame. After all, cloning is “the
engineering of human life,” isn't it? It is the mass
production of designer babies. It is the end of
(60) evolution, or at least the beginning of its corporate
management. It is certainly a slap in the face of
God. Or is it?
Cloning foe Jeremy Rifkin is afraid of nothing
so much as duplication: “It's a horrendous crime
(65) to make a Xerox of someone. You're putting a
human into a genetic straitjacket.” The horror! I
wonder how Mr. Rifkin would feel at the annual
Twins Days Festival in Twinsburg, Ohio. Genetic
Xeroxes everywhere!
(70) Identical twins are not monsters. Rifkin's
fear is vacuous. Each identical twin has his or
her own unique thoughts, talents, experiences,
and beliefs. Mr. Rifkin must learn that human
beings are more than just their DNA; they are
(75) the products of the continual and inscrutably
complex interactions of environment and biology.
Human clones would be no different.
“But you are playing God!” we hear. It is the
cry of all whose power is threatened by the march
(80) of human progress. It is the reasoning of the Dark
Ages, used to keep the subservient masses in their
place. Every great step humanity has ever taken
has disrupted the "natural order." Should we be
shivering in caves, eating uncooked bugs, and
(85) dying of parasites, as nature intended?
But perhaps procreation is different—more
sacred. Then why have the technologies of fertility
enhancement, in vitro fertilization, embryo
transfer, and birth control become so widely
(90) accepted? Each of these technologies was met at
first with legions of strident opponents. But over
time, reality and compassion overcame unreason
and paranoia. Familiarity dissipates fear.
These supposedly "moral" objections are
(95) in fact impeding moral progress. With genetic
engineering, cloning, and stem cell research,
scientists finally have within their grasp
technologies that can provide ample food for
a starving world, cure devastating illnesses,
(100) and replace diseased organs. Only ignorant
superstition stands in their way.

Q. In line 53, “introducing” refers to an act of

Question based on the following passages.
Passage 1 is from Lindsay Smith-Doyle, "Thoughts on the Value of Life." ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is from C. F. Black, “Who's Afraid of Cloning?" ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Since 1996, when scientists at the Roslin Institute in England cloned a sheep from the cells of another adult sheep, many have debated the ethics of cloning human cells. These passages are excerpts from arguments on this issue.
Passage 1
How should human life be bestowed? With
human cloning looming as a real scientific
possibility, we must question the provenance of
this ultimate gift. Our intimate participation in
(5) the creation of life must never be misconstrued as
control. Rather, our attitude toward the creation
of life must be one of humility.
The idea of “outsourcing” the creation of
human life, of relegating it to a laboratory, of
(10) reducing the anticipation of childbirth to a trip
to the mall or a selection from a catalog, mocks
the profundity of life. The mystery is replaced by
design and control. Should we turn our noses up
at the most precious gift in the universe, only to
(15) say: “Sorry, but I think I can do better?”
Cloning is the engineering of human life. We
have for the first time the ability to determine the
exact genetic makeup of a human being. Whether
you believe in evolution or creationism, cloning
(20) thwarts an essential step of the conception
process: randomness in the case of natural
selection, and guided purpose in the case of
creationism. A child can be created that is no
longer uniquely human but the end product of an
(25) assembly line, with carefully designed and tested
features. Are the astonishing processes of nature
somehow deficient?
If human cloning becomes acceptable, we will
have created a new society in which the value of
(30) human life is marginalized. Industries will arise
that turn human procreation into a profitable
free-market enterprise. The executive boards of
these companies will decide the course of human
evolution, with more concern for quarterly profit
(35) reports than for the fate of humanity.
These are not idle concerns. Even as we
ponder the ethical implications of human
cloning, companies are forging ahead with
procedures to clone human cells for seemingly
(40) beneficial purposes, marching steadily toward
a Brave New World in which humanity will be
forever less human.
Passage 2
The breathless fears about human cloning
should not surprise anyone who knows the
(45) history of science. Every step in human progress
is met with close-mindedness that often verges on
paranoia. Not even medicine is spared.
As doctors toil to save, prolong, and improve
lives, the uninformed rage at the arrogance
(50) of science. Before the merits of surgery and
vaccination became commonplace and obvious,
many refused to believe that cutting flesh or
introducing degraded germs could do more good
than harm. Perhaps we should turn from science
(55) and return to superstition and magic spells?
At first glance, it might seem that cloning is
a whole new ballgame. After all, cloning is “the
engineering of human life,” isn't it? It is the mass
production of designer babies. It is the end of
(60) evolution, or at least the beginning of its corporate
management. It is certainly a slap in the face of
God. Or is it?
Cloning foe Jeremy Rifkin is afraid of nothing
so much as duplication: “It's a horrendous crime
(65) to make a Xerox of someone. You're putting a
human into a genetic straitjacket.” The horror! I
wonder how Mr. Rifkin would feel at the annual
Twins Days Festival in Twinsburg, Ohio. Genetic
Xeroxes everywhere!
(70) Identical twins are not monsters. Rifkin's
fear is vacuous. Each identical twin has his or
her own unique thoughts, talents, experiences,
and beliefs. Mr. Rifkin must learn that human
beings are more than just their DNA; they are
(75) the products of the continual and inscrutably
complex interactions of environment and biology.
Human clones would be no different.
“But you are playing God!” we hear. It is the
cry of all whose power is threatened by the march
(80) of human progress. It is the reasoning of the Dark
Ages, used to keep the subservient masses in their
place. Every great step humanity has ever taken
has disrupted the "natural order." Should we be
shivering in caves, eating uncooked bugs, and
(85) dying of parasites, as nature intended?
But perhaps procreation is different—more
sacred. Then why have the technologies of fertility
enhancement, in vitro fertilization, embryo
transfer, and birth control become so widely
(90) accepted? Each of these technologies was met at
first with legions of strident opponents. But over
time, reality and compassion overcame unreason
and paranoia. Familiarity dissipates fear.
These supposedly "moral" objections are
(95) in fact impeding moral progress. With genetic
engineering, cloning, and stem cell research,
scientists finally have within their grasp
technologies that can provide ample food for
a starving world, cure devastating illnesses,
(100) and replace diseased organs. Only ignorant
superstition stands in their way.

Q. The author of Passage 1 would most likely regard the “management” (line 61) described in Passage 2 as

Question based on the following passages.
Passage 1 is from Lindsay Smith-Doyle, "Thoughts on the Value of Life." ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is from C. F. Black, “Who's Afraid of Cloning?" ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Since 1996, when scientists at the Roslin Institute in England cloned a sheep from the cells of another adult sheep, many have debated the ethics of cloning human cells. These passages are excerpts from arguments on this issue.
Passage 1
How should human life be bestowed? With
human cloning looming as a real scientific
possibility, we must question the provenance of
this ultimate gift. Our intimate participation in
(5) the creation of life must never be misconstrued as
control. Rather, our attitude toward the creation
of life must be one of humility.
The idea of “outsourcing” the creation of
human life, of relegating it to a laboratory, of
(10) reducing the anticipation of childbirth to a trip
to the mall or a selection from a catalog, mocks
the profundity of life. The mystery is replaced by
design and control. Should we turn our noses up
at the most precious gift in the universe, only to
(15) say: “Sorry, but I think I can do better?”
Cloning is the engineering of human life. We
have for the first time the ability to determine the
exact genetic makeup of a human being. Whether
you believe in evolution or creationism, cloning
(20) thwarts an essential step of the conception
process: randomness in the case of natural
selection, and guided purpose in the case of
creationism. A child can be created that is no
longer uniquely human but the end product of an
(25) assembly line, with carefully designed and tested
features. Are the astonishing processes of nature
somehow deficient?
If human cloning becomes acceptable, we will
have created a new society in which the value of
(30) human life is marginalized. Industries will arise
that turn human procreation into a profitable
free-market enterprise. The executive boards of
these companies will decide the course of human
evolution, with more concern for quarterly profit
(35) reports than for the fate of humanity.
These are not idle concerns. Even as we
ponder the ethical implications of human
cloning, companies are forging ahead with
procedures to clone human cells for seemingly
(40) beneficial purposes, marching steadily toward
a Brave New World in which humanity will be
forever less human.
Passage 2
The breathless fears about human cloning
should not surprise anyone who knows the
(45) history of science. Every step in human progress
is met with close-mindedness that often verges on
paranoia. Not even medicine is spared.
As doctors toil to save, prolong, and improve
lives, the uninformed rage at the arrogance
(50) of science. Before the merits of surgery and
vaccination became commonplace and obvious,
many refused to believe that cutting flesh or
introducing degraded germs could do more good
than harm. Perhaps we should turn from science
(55) and return to superstition and magic spells?
At first glance, it might seem that cloning is
a whole new ballgame. After all, cloning is “the
engineering of human life,” isn't it? It is the mass
production of designer babies. It is the end of
(60) evolution, or at least the beginning of its corporate
management. It is certainly a slap in the face of
God. Or is it?
Cloning foe Jeremy Rifkin is afraid of nothing
so much as duplication: “It's a horrendous crime
(65) to make a Xerox of someone. You're putting a
human into a genetic straitjacket.” The horror! I
wonder how Mr. Rifkin would feel at the annual
Twins Days Festival in Twinsburg, Ohio. Genetic
Xeroxes everywhere!
(70) Identical twins are not monsters. Rifkin's
fear is vacuous. Each identical twin has his or
her own unique thoughts, talents, experiences,
and beliefs. Mr. Rifkin must learn that human
beings are more than just their DNA; they are
(75) the products of the continual and inscrutably
complex interactions of environment and biology.
Human clones would be no different.
“But you are playing God!” we hear. It is the
cry of all whose power is threatened by the march
(80) of human progress. It is the reasoning of the Dark
Ages, used to keep the subservient masses in their
place. Every great step humanity has ever taken
has disrupted the "natural order." Should we be
shivering in caves, eating uncooked bugs, and
(85) dying of parasites, as nature intended?
But perhaps procreation is different—more
sacred. Then why have the technologies of fertility
enhancement, in vitro fertilization, embryo
transfer, and birth control become so widely
(90) accepted? Each of these technologies was met at
first with legions of strident opponents. But over
time, reality and compassion overcame unreason
and paranoia. Familiarity dissipates fear.
These supposedly "moral" objections are
(95) in fact impeding moral progress. With genetic
engineering, cloning, and stem cell research,
scientists finally have within their grasp
technologies that can provide ample food for
a starving world, cure devastating illnesses,
(100) and replace diseased organs. Only ignorant
superstition stands in their way.

Q. Passage 2 quotes Jeremy Rifkin in lines 64–66 primarily to

Question based on the following passages.
Passage 1 is from Lindsay Smith-Doyle, "Thoughts on the Value of Life." ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Passage 2 is from C. F. Black, “Who's Afraid of Cloning?" ©2015 by College Hill Coaching. Since 1996, when scientists at the Roslin Institute in England cloned a sheep from the cells of another adult sheep, many have debated the ethics of cloning human cells. These passages are excerpts from arguments on this issue.
Passage 1
How should human life be bestowed? With
human cloning looming as a real scientific
possibility, we must question the provenance of
this ultimate gift. Our intimate participation in
(5) the creation of life must never be misconstrued as
control. Rather, our attitude toward the creation
of life must be one of humility.
The idea of “outsourcing” the creation of
human life, of relegating it to a laboratory, of
(10) reducing the anticipation of childbirth to a trip
to the mall or a selection from a catalog, mocks
the profundity of life. The mystery is replaced by
design and control. Should we turn our noses up
at the most precious gift in the universe, only to
(15) say: “Sorry, but I think I can do better?”
Cloning is the engineering of human life. We
have for the first time the ability to determine the
exact genetic makeup of a human being. Whether
you believe in evolution or creationism, cloning
(20) thwarts an essential step of the conception
process: randomness in the case of natural
selection, and guided purpose in the case of
creationism. A child can be created that is no
longer uniquely human but the end product of an
(25) assembly line, with carefully designed and tested
features. Are the astonishing processes of nature
somehow deficient?
If human cloning becomes acceptable, we will
have created a new society in which the value of
(30) human life is marginalized. Industries will arise
that turn human procreation into a profitable
free-market enterprise. The executive boards of
these companies will decide the course of human
evolution, with more concern for quarterly profit
(35) reports than for the fate of humanity.
These are not idle concerns. Even as we
ponder the ethical implications of human
cloning, companies are forging ahead with
procedures to clone human cells for seemingly
(40) beneficial purposes, marching steadily toward
a Brave New World in which humanity will be
forever less human.
Passage 2
The breathless fears about human cloning
should not surprise anyone who knows the
(45) history of science. Every step in human progress
is met with close-mindedness that often verges on
paranoia. Not even medicine is spared.
As doctors toil to save, prolong, and improve
lives, the uninformed rage at the arrogance
(50) of science. Before the merits of surgery and
vaccination became commonplace and obvious,
many refused to believe that cutting flesh or
introducing degraded germs could do more good
than harm. Perhaps we should turn from science
(55) and return to superstition and magic spells?
At first glance, it might seem that cloning is
a whole new ballgame. After all, cloning is “the
engineering of human life,” isn't it? It is the mass
production of designer babies. It is the end of
(60) evolution, or at least the beginning of its corporate
management. It is certainly a slap in the face of
God. Or is it?
Cloning foe Jeremy Rifkin is afraid of nothing
so much as duplication: “It's a horrendous crime
(65) to make a Xerox of someone. You're putting a
human into a genetic straitjacket.” The horror! I
wonder how Mr. Rifkin would feel at the annual
Twins Days Festival in Twinsburg, Ohio. Genetic
Xeroxes everywhere!
(70) Identical twins are not monsters. Rifkin's
fear is vacuous. Each identical twin has his or
her own unique thoughts, talents, experiences,
and beliefs. Mr. Rifkin must learn that human
beings are more than just their DNA; they are
(75) the products of the continual and inscrutably
complex interactions of environment and biology.
Human clones would be no different.
“But you are playing God!” we hear. It is the
cry of all whose power is threatened by the march
(80) of human progress. It is the reasoning of the Dark
Ages, used to keep the subservient masses in their
place. Every great step humanity has ever taken
has disrupted the "natural order." Should we be
shivering in caves, eating uncooked bugs, and
(85) dying of parasites, as nature intended?
But perhaps procreation is different—more
sacred. Then why have the technologies of fertility
enhancement, in vitro fertilization, embryo
transfer, and birth control become so widely
(90) accepted? Each of these technologies was met at
first with legions of strident opponents. But over
time, reality and compassion overcame unreason
and paranoia. Familiarity dissipates fear.
These supposedly "moral" objections are
(95) in fact impeding moral progress. With genetic
engineering, cloning, and stem cell research,
scientists finally have within their grasp
technologies that can provide ample food for
a starving world, cure devastating illnesses,
(100) and replace diseased organs. Only ignorant
superstition stands in their way.

Q. Passage 2 refers to the Twin’s Days Festival in line 68 as an example of