Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Mary Helen Stefaniak, The Cailiffs of Baghdad, Georgia: A Novel. ©2010 by Mary Helen Stefaniak. Miss Grace Spivey arrived in Threestep, Georgia, in August 1938. She stepped off the train wearing a pair of thick-soled boots suitable for hiking, a navy Line blue dress, and a little white tam that rode the waves 5 of her red hair at a gravity-defying angle. August was a hellish month to step off the train in Georgia, although it was nothing, she said, compared to the 119 degrees that greeted her when she arrived one time in Timbuktu, which, she assured us, was a real 10 place in Africa. I believe her remark irritated some of the people gathered to welcome her on the burned grass alongside the tracks. When folks are sweating through their shorts, they don’t like to hear that this is nothing compared to someplace else. Irritated or 15 not, the majority of those present were inclined to see the arrival of the new schoolteacher in a positive light. Hard times were still upon us in 1938, but, like my momma said, “We weren’t no poorer than we’d ever been,” and the citizens of Threestep were in the 20 mood for a little excitement. Miss Spivey looked like just the right person to give it to them. She was, by almost anyone’s standards, a woman of the world. She’d gone to boarding schools since she was six years old; she’d 25 studied French in Paris and drama in London; and during what she called a “fruitful intermission” in her formal education, she had traveled extensively in the Near East and Africa with a friend of her grandmother’s, one Janet Miller, who was a medical 30 doctor from Nashville, Tennessee. After her travels with Dr. Miller, Miss Spivey continued her education by attending Barnard College in New York City. She told us all that at school the first day. When my little brother Ralphord asked what did she study at 35 Barnyard College, Miss Spivey explained that Barnard, which she wrote on the blackboard, was the sister school of Columbia University, of which, she expected, we all had heard. It was there, she told us, in the midst of trying to 40 find her true mission in life, that she wandered one afternoon into a lecture by the famous John Dewey, who was talking about his famous book, Democracy and Education. Professor Dewey was in his seventies by then, Miss Spivey said, but he still liked to chat 45 with students after a lecture—especially female students, she added—sometimes over coffee, and see in their eyes the fire his words could kindle. It was after this lecture and subsequent coffee that Miss Spivey had marched to the Teacher’s College and 50 signed up, all aflame. Two years later, she told a cheery blue-suited woman from the WPA1 that she wanted to bring democracy and education to the poorest, darkest, most remote and forgotten corner of America. 55 They sent her to Threestep, Georgia. Miss Spivey paused there for questions, avoiding my brother Ralphord’s eye. What we really wanted to know about—all twenty-six of us across seven grade levels in the one 60 room—was the pearly white button hanging on a string in front of the blackboard behind the teacher’s desk up front. That button on a string was something new. When Mavis Davis (the only bona fide seventh grader, at age thirteen) asked what it was for, Miss 65 Spivey gave the string a tug, and to our astonishment, the whole world—or at least a wrinkled map of it—unfolded before our eyes. Her predecessor, Miss Chandler, had never once made use of that map, which was older than our fathers, and until that 70 moment, not a one of us knew it was there. Miss Spivey showed us on the map how she and Dr. Janet Miller had sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and past the Rock of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea. Using the end of a ruler, she 75 gently tapped such places as Morocco and Tunis and Algiers to mark their route along the top of Africa. They spent twenty hours on the train to Baghdad, she said, swathed in veils against the sand that crept in every crack and crevice. 80 “And can you guess what we saw from the train?” Miss Spivey asked. We could not. “Camels!” she said. “We saw a whole caravan of camels.” She looked around the room, waiting for us to be amazed and delighted at the thought. 85 We all hung there for a minute, thinking hard, until Mavis Davis spoke up. “She means like the three kings rode to Bethlehem,” Mavis said, and she folded her hands smugly on her seventh-grade desk in the back of the 90 room. Miss Spivey made a mistake right then. Instead of beaming upon Mavis the kind of congratulatory smile that old Miss Chandler would have bestowed on her for having enlightened the rest of us, Miss 95 Spivey simply said, “That’s right.” 1 The Works Progress Administration (WPA) was a government agency that hired people for public and cultural development projects and services. Q. The narrator of the passage can best be described as

one of Miss Spivey’s former students.

an anonymous member of the community.

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Mary Helen Stefaniak, The Cailiffs of Baghdad, Georgia: A Novel. ©2010 by Mary Helen Stefaniak. Miss Grace Spivey arrived in Threestep, Georgia, in August 1938. She stepped off the train wearing a pair of thick-soled boots suitable for hiking, a navy Line blue dress, and a little white tam that rode the waves 5 of her red hair at a gravity-defying angle. August was a hellish month to step off the train in Georgia, although it was nothing, she said, compared to the 119 degrees that greeted her when she arrived one time in Timbuktu, which, she assured us, was a real 10 place in Africa. I believe her remark irritated some of the people gathered to welcome her on the burned grass alongside the tracks. When folks are sweating through their shorts, they don’t like to hear that this is nothing compared to someplace else. Irritated or 15 not, the majority of those present were inclined to see the arrival of the new schoolteacher in a positive light. Hard times were still upon us in 1938, but, like my momma said, “We weren’t no poorer than we’d ever been,” and the citizens of Threestep were in the 20 mood for a little excitement. Miss Spivey looked like just the right person to give it to them. She was, by almost anyone’s standards, a woman of the world. She’d gone to boarding schools since she was six years old; she’d 25 studied French in Paris and drama in London; and during what she called a “fruitful intermission” in her formal education, she had traveled extensively in the Near East and Africa with a friend of her grandmother’s, one Janet Miller, who was a medical 30 doctor from Nashville, Tennessee. After her travels with Dr. Miller, Miss Spivey continued her education by attending Barnard College in New York City. She told us all that at school the first day. When my little brother Ralphord asked what did she study at 35 Barnyard College, Miss Spivey explained that Barnard, which she wrote on the blackboard, was the sister school of Columbia University, of which, she expected, we all had heard. It was there, she told us, in the midst of trying to 40 find her true mission in life, that she wandered one afternoon into a lecture by the famous John Dewey, who was talking about his famous book, Democracy and Education. Professor Dewey was in his seventies by then, Miss Spivey said, but he still liked to chat 45 with students after a lecture—especially female students, she added—sometimes over coffee, and see in their eyes the fire his words could kindle. It was after this lecture and subsequent coffee that Miss Spivey had marched to the Teacher’s College and 50 signed up, all aflame. Two years later, she told a cheery blue-suited woman from the WPA1 that she wanted to bring democracy and education to the poorest, darkest, most remote and forgotten corner of America. 55 They sent her to Threestep, Georgia. Miss Spivey paused there for questions, avoiding my brother Ralphord’s eye. What we really wanted to know about—all twenty-six of us across seven grade levels in the one 60 room—was the pearly white button hanging on a string in front of the blackboard behind the teacher’s desk up front. That button on a string was something new. When Mavis Davis (the only bona fide seventh grader, at age thirteen) asked what it was for, Miss 65 Spivey gave the string a tug, and to our astonishment, the whole world—or at least a wrinkled map of it—unfolded before our eyes. Her predecessor, Miss Chandler, had never once made use of that map, which was older than our fathers, and until that 70 moment, not a one of us knew it was there. Miss Spivey showed us on the map how she and Dr. Janet Miller had sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and past the Rock of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea. Using the end of a ruler, she 75 gently tapped such places as Morocco and Tunis and Algiers to mark their route along the top of Africa. They spent twenty hours on the train to Baghdad, she said, swathed in veils against the sand that crept in every crack and crevice. 80 “And can you guess what we saw from the train?” Miss Spivey asked. We could not. “Camels!” she said. “We saw a whole caravan of camels.” She looked around the room, waiting for us to be amazed and delighted at the thought. 85 We all hung there for a minute, thinking hard, until Mavis Davis spoke up. “She means like the three kings rode to Bethlehem,” Mavis said, and she folded her hands smugly on her seventh-grade desk in the back of the 90 room. Miss Spivey made a mistake right then. Instead of beaming upon Mavis the kind of congratulatory smile that old Miss Chandler would have bestowed on her for having enlightened the rest of us, Miss 95 Spivey simply said, “That’s right.” 1 The Works Progress Administration (WPA) was a government agency that hired people for public and cultural development projects and services. Q. In the passage, Threestep is mainly presented as a

summer retreat for vacationers.

town that is home to a prominent university.

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Mary Helen Stefaniak, The Cailiffs of Baghdad, Georgia: A Novel. ©2010 by Mary Helen Stefaniak. Miss Grace Spivey arrived in Threestep, Georgia, in August 1938. She stepped off the train wearing a pair of thick-soled boots suitable for hiking, a navy Line blue dress, and a little white tam that rode the waves 5 of her red hair at a gravity-defying angle. August was a hellish month to step off the train in Georgia, although it was nothing, she said, compared to the 119 degrees that greeted her when she arrived one time in Timbuktu, which, she assured us, was a real 10 place in Africa. I believe her remark irritated some of the people gathered to welcome her on the burned grass alongside the tracks. When folks are sweating through their shorts, they don’t like to hear that this is nothing compared to someplace else. Irritated or 15 not, the majority of those present were inclined to see the arrival of the new schoolteacher in a positive light. Hard times were still upon us in 1938, but, like my momma said, “We weren’t no poorer than we’d ever been,” and the citizens of Threestep were in the 20 mood for a little excitement. Miss Spivey looked like just the right person to give it to them. She was, by almost anyone’s standards, a woman of the world. She’d gone to boarding schools since she was six years old; she’d 25 studied French in Paris and drama in London; and during what she called a “fruitful intermission” in her formal education, she had traveled extensively in the Near East and Africa with a friend of her grandmother’s, one Janet Miller, who was a medical 30 doctor from Nashville, Tennessee. After her travels with Dr. Miller, Miss Spivey continued her education by attending Barnard College in New York City. She told us all that at school the first day. When my little brother Ralphord asked what did she study at 35 Barnyard College, Miss Spivey explained that Barnard, which she wrote on the blackboard, was the sister school of Columbia University, of which, she expected, we all had heard. It was there, she told us, in the midst of trying to 40 find her true mission in life, that she wandered one afternoon into a lecture by the famous John Dewey, who was talking about his famous book, Democracy and Education. Professor Dewey was in his seventies by then, Miss Spivey said, but he still liked to chat 45 with students after a lecture—especially female students, she added—sometimes over coffee, and see in their eyes the fire his words could kindle. It was after this lecture and subsequent coffee that Miss Spivey had marched to the Teacher’s College and 50 signed up, all aflame. Two years later, she told a cheery blue-suited woman from the WPA1 that she wanted to bring democracy and education to the poorest, darkest, most remote and forgotten corner of America. 55 They sent her to Threestep, Georgia. Miss Spivey paused there for questions, avoiding my brother Ralphord’s eye. What we really wanted to know about—all twenty-six of us across seven grade levels in the one 60 room—was the pearly white button hanging on a string in front of the blackboard behind the teacher’s desk up front. That button on a string was something new. When Mavis Davis (the only bona fide seventh grader, at age thirteen) asked what it was for, Miss 65 Spivey gave the string a tug, and to our astonishment, the whole world—or at least a wrinkled map of it—unfolded before our eyes. Her predecessor, Miss Chandler, had never once made use of that map, which was older than our fathers, and until that 70 moment, not a one of us knew it was there. Miss Spivey showed us on the map how she and Dr. Janet Miller had sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and past the Rock of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea. Using the end of a ruler, she 75 gently tapped such places as Morocco and Tunis and Algiers to mark their route along the top of Africa. They spent twenty hours on the train to Baghdad, she said, swathed in veils against the sand that crept in every crack and crevice. 80 “And can you guess what we saw from the train?” Miss Spivey asked. We could not. “Camels!” she said. “We saw a whole caravan of camels.” She looked around the room, waiting for us to be amazed and delighted at the thought. 85 We all hung there for a minute, thinking hard, until Mavis Davis spoke up. “She means like the three kings rode to Bethlehem,” Mavis said, and she folded her hands smugly on her seventh-grade desk in the back of the 90 room. Miss Spivey made a mistake right then. Instead of beaming upon Mavis the kind of congratulatory smile that old Miss Chandler would have bestowed on her for having enlightened the rest of us, Miss 95 Spivey simply said, “That’s right.” 1 The Works Progress Administration (WPA) was a government agency that hired people for public and cultural development projects and services. Q. It can reasonably be inferred from the passage that some of the people at the train station regard Miss Spivey’s comment about the Georgia heat with

sympathy, because they assume that she is experiencing intense heat for the first time.

disappointment, because they doubt that she will stay in Threestep for very long.

embarrassment, because they imagine that she is superior to them.

resentment, because they feel that she is minimizing their discomfort.

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Mary Helen Stefaniak, The Cailiffs of Baghdad, Georgia: A Novel. ©2010 by Mary Helen Stefaniak. Miss Grace Spivey arrived in Threestep, Georgia, in August 1938. She stepped off the train wearing a pair of thick-soled boots suitable for hiking, a navy Line blue dress, and a little white tam that rode the waves 5 of her red hair at a gravity-defying angle. August was a hellish month to step off the train in Georgia, although it was nothing, she said, compared to the 119 degrees that greeted her when she arrived one time in Timbuktu, which, she assured us, was a real 10 place in Africa. I believe her remark irritated some of the people gathered to welcome her on the burned grass alongside the tracks. When folks are sweating through their shorts, they don’t like to hear that this is nothing compared to someplace else. Irritated or 15 not, the majority of those present were inclined to see the arrival of the new schoolteacher in a positive light. Hard times were still upon us in 1938, but, like my momma said, “We weren’t no poorer than we’d ever been,” and the citizens of Threestep were in the 20 mood for a little excitement. Miss Spivey looked like just the right person to give it to them. She was, by almost anyone’s standards, a woman of the world. She’d gone to boarding schools since she was six years old; she’d 25 studied French in Paris and drama in London; and during what she called a “fruitful intermission” in her formal education, she had traveled extensively in the Near East and Africa with a friend of her grandmother’s, one Janet Miller, who was a medical 30 doctor from Nashville, Tennessee. After her travels with Dr. Miller, Miss Spivey continued her education by attending Barnard College in New York City. She told us all that at school the first day. When my little brother Ralphord asked what did she study at 35 Barnyard College, Miss Spivey explained that Barnard, which she wrote on the blackboard, was the sister school of Columbia University, of which, she expected, we all had heard. It was there, she told us, in the midst of trying to 40 find her true mission in life, that she wandered one afternoon into a lecture by the famous John Dewey, who was talking about his famous book, Democracy and Education. Professor Dewey was in his seventies by then, Miss Spivey said, but he still liked to chat 45 with students after a lecture—especially female students, she added—sometimes over coffee, and see in their eyes the fire his words could kindle. It was after this lecture and subsequent coffee that Miss Spivey had marched to the Teacher’s College and 50 signed up, all aflame. Two years later, she told a cheery blue-suited woman from the WPA1 that she wanted to bring democracy and education to the poorest, darkest, most remote and forgotten corner of America. 55 They sent her to Threestep, Georgia. Miss Spivey paused there for questions, avoiding my brother Ralphord’s eye. What we really wanted to know about—all twenty-six of us across seven grade levels in the one 60 room—was the pearly white button hanging on a string in front of the blackboard behind the teacher’s desk up front. That button on a string was something new. When Mavis Davis (the only bona fide seventh grader, at age thirteen) asked what it was for, Miss 65 Spivey gave the string a tug, and to our astonishment, the whole world—or at least a wrinkled map of it—unfolded before our eyes. Her predecessor, Miss Chandler, had never once made use of that map, which was older than our fathers, and until that 70 moment, not a one of us knew it was there. Miss Spivey showed us on the map how she and Dr. Janet Miller had sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and past the Rock of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea. Using the end of a ruler, she 75 gently tapped such places as Morocco and Tunis and Algiers to mark their route along the top of Africa. They spent twenty hours on the train to Baghdad, she said, swathed in veils against the sand that crept in every crack and crevice. 80 “And can you guess what we saw from the train?” Miss Spivey asked. We could not. “Camels!” she said. “We saw a whole caravan of camels.” She looked around the room, waiting for us to be amazed and delighted at the thought. 85 We all hung there for a minute, thinking hard, until Mavis Davis spoke up. “She means like the three kings rode to Bethlehem,” Mavis said, and she folded her hands smugly on her seventh-grade desk in the back of the 90 room. Miss Spivey made a mistake right then. Instead of beaming upon Mavis the kind of congratulatory smile that old Miss Chandler would have bestowed on her for having enlightened the rest of us, Miss 95 Spivey simply said, “That’s right.” 1 The Works Progress Administration (WPA) was a government agency that hired people for public and cultural development projects and services. Q. Which choice provides the best evidence for the answer to the previous question?

Lines 2-5 (“She stepped... angle”)

Lines 10-14 (“I believe... else”)

Lines 14-20 (“Irritated... excitement”)

Lines 23-25 (“She’d gone... London”)

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Mary Helen Stefaniak, The Cailiffs of Baghdad, Georgia: A Novel. ©2010 by Mary Helen Stefaniak. Miss Grace Spivey arrived in Threestep, Georgia, in August 1938. She stepped off the train wearing a pair of thick-soled boots suitable for hiking, a navy Line blue dress, and a little white tam that rode the waves 5 of her red hair at a gravity-defying angle. August was a hellish month to step off the train in Georgia, although it was nothing, she said, compared to the 119 degrees that greeted her when she arrived one time in Timbuktu, which, she assured us, was a real 10 place in Africa. I believe her remark irritated some of the people gathered to welcome her on the burned grass alongside the tracks. When folks are sweating through their shorts, they don’t like to hear that this is nothing compared to someplace else. Irritated or 15 not, the majority of those present were inclined to see the arrival of the new schoolteacher in a positive light. Hard times were still upon us in 1938, but, like my momma said, “We weren’t no poorer than we’d ever been,” and the citizens of Threestep were in the 20 mood for a little excitement. Miss Spivey looked like just the right person to give it to them. She was, by almost anyone’s standards, a woman of the world. She’d gone to boarding schools since she was six years old; she’d 25 studied French in Paris and drama in London; and during what she called a “fruitful intermission” in her formal education, she had traveled extensively in the Near East and Africa with a friend of her grandmother’s, one Janet Miller, who was a medical 30 doctor from Nashville, Tennessee. After her travels with Dr. Miller, Miss Spivey continued her education by attending Barnard College in New York City. She told us all that at school the first day. When my little brother Ralphord asked what did she study at 35 Barnyard College, Miss Spivey explained that Barnard, which she wrote on the blackboard, was the sister school of Columbia University, of which, she expected, we all had heard. It was there, she told us, in the midst of trying to 40 find her true mission in life, that she wandered one afternoon into a lecture by the famous John Dewey, who was talking about his famous book, Democracy and Education. Professor Dewey was in his seventies by then, Miss Spivey said, but he still liked to chat 45 with students after a lecture—especially female students, she added—sometimes over coffee, and see in their eyes the fire his words could kindle. It was after this lecture and subsequent coffee that Miss Spivey had marched to the Teacher’s College and 50 signed up, all aflame. Two years later, she told a cheery blue-suited woman from the WPA1 that she wanted to bring democracy and education to the poorest, darkest, most remote and forgotten corner of America. 55 They sent her to Threestep, Georgia. Miss Spivey paused there for questions, avoiding my brother Ralphord’s eye. What we really wanted to know about—all twenty-six of us across seven grade levels in the one 60 room—was the pearly white button hanging on a string in front of the blackboard behind the teacher’s desk up front. That button on a string was something new. When Mavis Davis (the only bona fide seventh grader, at age thirteen) asked what it was for, Miss 65 Spivey gave the string a tug, and to our astonishment, the whole world—or at least a wrinkled map of it—unfolded before our eyes. Her predecessor, Miss Chandler, had never once made use of that map, which was older than our fathers, and until that 70 moment, not a one of us knew it was there. Miss Spivey showed us on the map how she and Dr. Janet Miller had sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and past the Rock of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea. Using the end of a ruler, she 75 gently tapped such places as Morocco and Tunis and Algiers to mark their route along the top of Africa. They spent twenty hours on the train to Baghdad, she said, swathed in veils against the sand that crept in every crack and crevice. 80 “And can you guess what we saw from the train?” Miss Spivey asked. We could not. “Camels!” she said. “We saw a whole caravan of camels.” She looked around the room, waiting for us to be amazed and delighted at the thought. 85 We all hung there for a minute, thinking hard, until Mavis Davis spoke up. “She means like the three kings rode to Bethlehem,” Mavis said, and she folded her hands smugly on her seventh-grade desk in the back of the 90 room. Miss Spivey made a mistake right then. Instead of beaming upon Mavis the kind of congratulatory smile that old Miss Chandler would have bestowed on her for having enlightened the rest of us, Miss 95 Spivey simply said, “That’s right.” 1 The Works Progress Administration (WPA) was a government agency that hired people for public and cultural development projects and services. Q. Miss Spivey most likely uses the phrase “fruitful intermission” (line 26) to indicate that

she benefited from taking time off from her studies in order to travel.

her travels with Janet Miller encouraged her to start medical school.

her early years at boarding school resulted in unanticipated rewards.

what she thought would be a short break from school lasted several years.

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Mary Helen Stefaniak, The Cailiffs of Baghdad, Georgia: A Novel. ©2010 by Mary Helen Stefaniak. Miss Grace Spivey arrived in Threestep, Georgia, in August 1938. She stepped off the train wearing a pair of thick-soled boots suitable for hiking, a navy Line blue dress, and a little white tam that rode the waves 5 of her red hair at a gravity-defying angle. August was a hellish month to step off the train in Georgia, although it was nothing, she said, compared to the 119 degrees that greeted her when she arrived one time in Timbuktu, which, she assured us, was a real 10 place in Africa. I believe her remark irritated some of the people gathered to welcome her on the burned grass alongside the tracks. When folks are sweating through their shorts, they don’t like to hear that this is nothing compared to someplace else. Irritated or 15 not, the majority of those present were inclined to see the arrival of the new schoolteacher in a positive light. Hard times were still upon us in 1938, but, like my momma said, “We weren’t no poorer than we’d ever been,” and the citizens of Threestep were in the 20 mood for a little excitement. Miss Spivey looked like just the right person to give it to them. She was, by almost anyone’s standards, a woman of the world. She’d gone to boarding schools since she was six years old; she’d 25 studied French in Paris and drama in London; and during what she called a “fruitful intermission” in her formal education, she had traveled extensively in the Near East and Africa with a friend of her grandmother’s, one Janet Miller, who was a medical 30 doctor from Nashville, Tennessee. After her travels with Dr. Miller, Miss Spivey continued her education by attending Barnard College in New York City. She told us all that at school the first day. When my little brother Ralphord asked what did she study at 35 Barnyard College, Miss Spivey explained that Barnard, which she wrote on the blackboard, was the sister school of Columbia University, of which, she expected, we all had heard. It was there, she told us, in the midst of trying to 40 find her true mission in life, that she wandered one afternoon into a lecture by the famous John Dewey, who was talking about his famous book, Democracy and Education. Professor Dewey was in his seventies by then, Miss Spivey said, but he still liked to chat 45 with students after a lecture—especially female students, she added—sometimes over coffee, and see in their eyes the fire his words could kindle. It was after this lecture and subsequent coffee that Miss Spivey had marched to the Teacher’s College and 50 signed up, all aflame. Two years later, she told a cheery blue-suited woman from the WPA1 that she wanted to bring democracy and education to the poorest, darkest, most remote and forgotten corner of America. 55 They sent her to Threestep, Georgia. Miss Spivey paused there for questions, avoiding my brother Ralphord’s eye. What we really wanted to know about—all twenty-six of us across seven grade levels in the one 60 room—was the pearly white button hanging on a string in front of the blackboard behind the teacher’s desk up front. That button on a string was something new. When Mavis Davis (the only bona fide seventh grader, at age thirteen) asked what it was for, Miss 65 Spivey gave the string a tug, and to our astonishment, the whole world—or at least a wrinkled map of it—unfolded before our eyes. Her predecessor, Miss Chandler, had never once made use of that map, which was older than our fathers, and until that 70 moment, not a one of us knew it was there. Miss Spivey showed us on the map how she and Dr. Janet Miller had sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and past the Rock of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea. Using the end of a ruler, she 75 gently tapped such places as Morocco and Tunis and Algiers to mark their route along the top of Africa. They spent twenty hours on the train to Baghdad, she said, swathed in veils against the sand that crept in every crack and crevice. 80 “And can you guess what we saw from the train?” Miss Spivey asked. We could not. “Camels!” she said. “We saw a whole caravan of camels.” She looked around the room, waiting for us to be amazed and delighted at the thought. 85 We all hung there for a minute, thinking hard, until Mavis Davis spoke up. “She means like the three kings rode to Bethlehem,” Mavis said, and she folded her hands smugly on her seventh-grade desk in the back of the 90 room. Miss Spivey made a mistake right then. Instead of beaming upon Mavis the kind of congratulatory smile that old Miss Chandler would have bestowed on her for having enlightened the rest of us, Miss 95 Spivey simply said, “That’s right.” 1 The Works Progress Administration (WPA) was a government agency that hired people for public and cultural development projects and services. Q. The interaction between Miss Spivey and Ralphord serves mainly to

suggest that Miss Spivey has an exaggerated view of what information should be considered common knowledge.

establish a friendly dynamic between the charming schoolchildren and their indulgent and doting new instructor.

introduce Ralphord as a precocious young student and Miss Spivey as a dismissive and disinterested teacher.

demonstrate that the children want to amuse Miss Spivey with their questions.

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Mary Helen Stefaniak, The Cailiffs of Baghdad, Georgia: A Novel. ©2010 by Mary Helen Stefaniak. Miss Grace Spivey arrived in Threestep, Georgia, in August 1938. She stepped off the train wearing a pair of thick-soled boots suitable for hiking, a navy Line blue dress, and a little white tam that rode the waves 5 of her red hair at a gravity-defying angle. August was a hellish month to step off the train in Georgia, although it was nothing, she said, compared to the 119 degrees that greeted her when she arrived one time in Timbuktu, which, she assured us, was a real 10 place in Africa. I believe her remark irritated some of the people gathered to welcome her on the burned grass alongside the tracks. When folks are sweating through their shorts, they don’t like to hear that this is nothing compared to someplace else. Irritated or 15 not, the majority of those present were inclined to see the arrival of the new schoolteacher in a positive light. Hard times were still upon us in 1938, but, like my momma said, “We weren’t no poorer than we’d ever been,” and the citizens of Threestep were in the 20 mood for a little excitement. Miss Spivey looked like just the right person to give it to them. She was, by almost anyone’s standards, a woman of the world. She’d gone to boarding schools since she was six years old; she’d 25 studied French in Paris and drama in London; and during what she called a “fruitful intermission” in her formal education, she had traveled extensively in the Near East and Africa with a friend of her grandmother’s, one Janet Miller, who was a medical 30 doctor from Nashville, Tennessee. After her travels with Dr. Miller, Miss Spivey continued her education by attending Barnard College in New York City. She told us all that at school the first day. When my little brother Ralphord asked what did she study at 35 Barnyard College, Miss Spivey explained that Barnard, which she wrote on the blackboard, was the sister school of Columbia University, of which, she expected, we all had heard. It was there, she told us, in the midst of trying to 40 find her true mission in life, that she wandered one afternoon into a lecture by the famous John Dewey, who was talking about his famous book, Democracy and Education. Professor Dewey was in his seventies by then, Miss Spivey said, but he still liked to chat 45 with students after a lecture—especially female students, she added—sometimes over coffee, and see in their eyes the fire his words could kindle. It was after this lecture and subsequent coffee that Miss Spivey had marched to the Teacher’s College and 50 signed up, all aflame. Two years later, she told a cheery blue-suited woman from the WPA1 that she wanted to bring democracy and education to the poorest, darkest, most remote and forgotten corner of America. 55 They sent her to Threestep, Georgia. Miss Spivey paused there for questions, avoiding my brother Ralphord’s eye. What we really wanted to know about—all twenty-six of us across seven grade levels in the one 60 room—was the pearly white button hanging on a string in front of the blackboard behind the teacher’s desk up front. That button on a string was something new. When Mavis Davis (the only bona fide seventh grader, at age thirteen) asked what it was for, Miss 65 Spivey gave the string a tug, and to our astonishment, the whole world—or at least a wrinkled map of it—unfolded before our eyes. Her predecessor, Miss Chandler, had never once made use of that map, which was older than our fathers, and until that 70 moment, not a one of us knew it was there. Miss Spivey showed us on the map how she and Dr. Janet Miller had sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and past the Rock of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea. Using the end of a ruler, she 75 gently tapped such places as Morocco and Tunis and Algiers to mark their route along the top of Africa. They spent twenty hours on the train to Baghdad, she said, swathed in veils against the sand that crept in every crack and crevice. 80 “And can you guess what we saw from the train?” Miss Spivey asked. We could not. “Camels!” she said. “We saw a whole caravan of camels.” She looked around the room, waiting for us to be amazed and delighted at the thought. 85 We all hung there for a minute, thinking hard, until Mavis Davis spoke up. “She means like the three kings rode to Bethlehem,” Mavis said, and she folded her hands smugly on her seventh-grade desk in the back of the 90 room. Miss Spivey made a mistake right then. Instead of beaming upon Mavis the kind of congratulatory smile that old Miss Chandler would have bestowed on her for having enlightened the rest of us, Miss 95 Spivey simply said, “That’s right.” 1 The Works Progress Administration (WPA) was a government agency that hired people for public and cultural development projects and services. Q. In the third paragraph, what is the narrator most likely suggesting by describing Miss Spivey as having “wandered” (line 40) in one situation and “marched” (line 49) in another situation?

Dewey, knowing Miss Spivey wasn’t very confident in her ability to teach, instilled in her a sense of determination.

Talking with Dewey over coffee made Miss Spivey realize how excited she was to teach in the poorest, most remote corner of America.

After two years spent studying, Miss Spivey was anxious to start teaching and be in charge of her own classroom.

Miss Spivey’s initial encounter with Dewey’s ideas was somewhat accidental but ultimately motivated her to decisive action.

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Mary Helen Stefaniak, The Cailiffs of Baghdad, Georgia: A Novel. ©2010 by Mary Helen Stefaniak. Miss Grace Spivey arrived in Threestep, Georgia, in August 1938. She stepped off the train wearing a pair of thick-soled boots suitable for hiking, a navy Line blue dress, and a little white tam that rode the waves 5 of her red hair at a gravity-defying angle. August was a hellish month to step off the train in Georgia, although it was nothing, she said, compared to the 119 degrees that greeted her when she arrived one time in Timbuktu, which, she assured us, was a real 10 place in Africa. I believe her remark irritated some of the people gathered to welcome her on the burned grass alongside the tracks. When folks are sweating through their shorts, they don’t like to hear that this is nothing compared to someplace else. Irritated or 15 not, the majority of those present were inclined to see the arrival of the new schoolteacher in a positive light. Hard times were still upon us in 1938, but, like my momma said, “We weren’t no poorer than we’d ever been,” and the citizens of Threestep were in the 20 mood for a little excitement. Miss Spivey looked like just the right person to give it to them. She was, by almost anyone’s standards, a woman of the world. She’d gone to boarding schools since she was six years old; she’d 25 studied French in Paris and drama in London; and during what she called a “fruitful intermission” in her formal education, she had traveled extensively in the Near East and Africa with a friend of her grandmother’s, one Janet Miller, who was a medical 30 doctor from Nashville, Tennessee. After her travels with Dr. Miller, Miss Spivey continued her education by attending Barnard College in New York City. She told us all that at school the first day. When my little brother Ralphord asked what did she study at 35 Barnyard College, Miss Spivey explained that Barnard, which she wrote on the blackboard, was the sister school of Columbia University, of which, she expected, we all had heard. It was there, she told us, in the midst of trying to 40 find her true mission in life, that she wandered one afternoon into a lecture by the famous John Dewey, who was talking about his famous book, Democracy and Education. Professor Dewey was in his seventies by then, Miss Spivey said, but he still liked to chat 45 with students after a lecture—especially female students, she added—sometimes over coffee, and see in their eyes the fire his words could kindle. It was after this lecture and subsequent coffee that Miss Spivey had marched to the Teacher’s College and 50 signed up, all aflame. Two years later, she told a cheery blue-suited woman from the WPA1 that she wanted to bring democracy and education to the poorest, darkest, most remote and forgotten corner of America. 55 They sent her to Threestep, Georgia. Miss Spivey paused there for questions, avoiding my brother Ralphord’s eye. What we really wanted to know about—all twenty-six of us across seven grade levels in the one 60 room—was the pearly white button hanging on a string in front of the blackboard behind the teacher’s desk up front. That button on a string was something new. When Mavis Davis (the only bona fide seventh grader, at age thirteen) asked what it was for, Miss 65 Spivey gave the string a tug, and to our astonishment, the whole world—or at least a wrinkled map of it—unfolded before our eyes. Her predecessor, Miss Chandler, had never once made use of that map, which was older than our fathers, and until that 70 moment, not a one of us knew it was there. Miss Spivey showed us on the map how she and Dr. Janet Miller had sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and past the Rock of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea. Using the end of a ruler, she 75 gently tapped such places as Morocco and Tunis and Algiers to mark their route along the top of Africa. They spent twenty hours on the train to Baghdad, she said, swathed in veils against the sand that crept in every crack and crevice. 80 “And can you guess what we saw from the train?” Miss Spivey asked. We could not. “Camels!” she said. “We saw a whole caravan of camels.” She looked around the room, waiting for us to be amazed and delighted at the thought. 85 We all hung there for a minute, thinking hard, until Mavis Davis spoke up. “She means like the three kings rode to Bethlehem,” Mavis said, and she folded her hands smugly on her seventh-grade desk in the back of the 90 room. Miss Spivey made a mistake right then. Instead of beaming upon Mavis the kind of congratulatory smile that old Miss Chandler would have bestowed on her for having enlightened the rest of us, Miss 95 Spivey simply said, “That’s right.” 1 The Works Progress Administration (WPA) was a government agency that hired people for public and cultural development projects and services. Q. According to the passage, Miss Spivey ended up in Threestep as a direct result of

her friendship with Janet Miller.

attending college in New York City.

talking with a woman at the WPA.

Miss Chandler’s retirement from teaching.

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Mary Helen Stefaniak, The Cailiffs of Baghdad, Georgia: A Novel. ©2010 by Mary Helen Stefaniak. Miss Grace Spivey arrived in Threestep, Georgia, in August 1938. She stepped off the train wearing a pair of thick-soled boots suitable for hiking, a navy Line blue dress, and a little white tam that rode the waves 5 of her red hair at a gravity-defying angle. August was a hellish month to step off the train in Georgia, although it was nothing, she said, compared to the 119 degrees that greeted her when she arrived one time in Timbuktu, which, she assured us, was a real 10 place in Africa. I believe her remark irritated some of the people gathered to welcome her on the burned grass alongside the tracks. When folks are sweating through their shorts, they don’t like to hear that this is nothing compared to someplace else. Irritated or 15 not, the majority of those present were inclined to see the arrival of the new schoolteacher in a positive light. Hard times were still upon us in 1938, but, like my momma said, “We weren’t no poorer than we’d ever been,” and the citizens of Threestep were in the 20 mood for a little excitement. Miss Spivey looked like just the right person to give it to them. She was, by almost anyone’s standards, a woman of the world. She’d gone to boarding schools since she was six years old; she’d 25 studied French in Paris and drama in London; and during what she called a “fruitful intermission” in her formal education, she had traveled extensively in the Near East and Africa with a friend of her grandmother’s, one Janet Miller, who was a medical 30 doctor from Nashville, Tennessee. After her travels with Dr. Miller, Miss Spivey continued her education by attending Barnard College in New York City. She told us all that at school the first day. When my little brother Ralphord asked what did she study at 35 Barnyard College, Miss Spivey explained that Barnard, which she wrote on the blackboard, was the sister school of Columbia University, of which, she expected, we all had heard. It was there, she told us, in the midst of trying to 40 find her true mission in life, that she wandered one afternoon into a lecture by the famous John Dewey, who was talking about his famous book, Democracy and Education. Professor Dewey was in his seventies by then, Miss Spivey said, but he still liked to chat 45 with students after a lecture—especially female students, she added—sometimes over coffee, and see in their eyes the fire his words could kindle. It was after this lecture and subsequent coffee that Miss Spivey had marched to the Teacher’s College and 50 signed up, all aflame. Two years later, she told a cheery blue-suited woman from the WPA1 that she wanted to bring democracy and education to the poorest, darkest, most remote and forgotten corner of America. 55 They sent her to Threestep, Georgia. Miss Spivey paused there for questions, avoiding my brother Ralphord’s eye. What we really wanted to know about—all twenty-six of us across seven grade levels in the one 60 room—was the pearly white button hanging on a string in front of the blackboard behind the teacher’s desk up front. That button on a string was something new. When Mavis Davis (the only bona fide seventh grader, at age thirteen) asked what it was for, Miss 65 Spivey gave the string a tug, and to our astonishment, the whole world—or at least a wrinkled map of it—unfolded before our eyes. Her predecessor, Miss Chandler, had never once made use of that map, which was older than our fathers, and until that 70 moment, not a one of us knew it was there. Miss Spivey showed us on the map how she and Dr. Janet Miller had sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and past the Rock of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea. Using the end of a ruler, she 75 gently tapped such places as Morocco and Tunis and Algiers to mark their route along the top of Africa. They spent twenty hours on the train to Baghdad, she said, swathed in veils against the sand that crept in every crack and crevice. 80 “And can you guess what we saw from the train?” Miss Spivey asked. We could not. “Camels!” she said. “We saw a whole caravan of camels.” She looked around the room, waiting for us to be amazed and delighted at the thought. 85 We all hung there for a minute, thinking hard, until Mavis Davis spoke up. “She means like the three kings rode to Bethlehem,” Mavis said, and she folded her hands smugly on her seventh-grade desk in the back of the 90 room. Miss Spivey made a mistake right then. Instead of beaming upon Mavis the kind of congratulatory smile that old Miss Chandler would have bestowed on her for having enlightened the rest of us, Miss 95 Spivey simply said, “That’s right.” 1 The Works Progress Administration (WPA) was a government agency that hired people for public and cultural development projects and services. Q. Which choice provides the best evidence for the answer to the previous question?

Lines 82-84 (“She looked... thought”)

Lines 85-86 (“We all... up”)

Lines 87-90 (“She means... room”)

Lines 91-95 (“Instead... right”)

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Sabrina Richards, “Pleasant tothe Touch.” ©2012 by The Scientist. In the early 1990s, textbooks acknowledged that humans had slow-conducting nerves, but asserted that those nerves only responded to two types of Line stimuli: pain and temperature. Sensations of pressure 5 and vibration were believed to travel only along myelinated, fast-signaling nerve fibers, which also give information about location. Experiments blocking nerve fibers supported this notion. Preventing fast fibers from firing (either by clamping 10 the relevant nerve or by injecting the local anesthetic lidocaine) seemed to eliminate the sensation of pressure altogether, but blocking slow fibers only seemed to reduce sensitivity to warmth or a small painful shock. 15 Håkan Olausson and his Gothenburg University colleagues Åke Vallbo and Johan Wessberg wondered if slow fibers responsive to gentle pressure might be active in humans as well as in other mammals. In 1993, they corralled 28 young 20 volunteers and recorded nerve signals while gently brushing the subjects’ arms with their fingertips. Using a technique called microneurography, in which a fine filament is inserted into a single nerve to capture its electrical impulses, the scientists were able 25 to measure how quickly—or slowly—the nerves fired. They showed that soft stroking prompted two different signals, one immediate and one delayed. The delay, Olausson explains, means that the signal from a gentle touch on the forearm will 30 reach the brain about a half second later. This delay identified nerve impulses traveling at speeds characteristic of slow, unmyelinated fibers—about 1 meter/second—confirming the presence of these fibers in human hairy skin. (In contrast, fast- 35 conducting fibers, already known to respond to touch, signal at a rate between 35 and 75 m/s.) Then, in 1999, the group looked more closely at the characteristics of the slow fibers. They named these “low-threshold” nerves “C-tactile,” or CT, 40 fibers, said Olausson, because of their “exquisite sensitivity” to slow, gentle tactile stimulation, but unresponsiveness to noxious stimuli like pinpricks. But why exactly humans might have such fibers, which respond only to a narrow range of rather 45 subtle stimuli, was initially mystifying. Unlike other types of sensory nerves, CT fibers could be found only in hairy human skin—such as the forearm and thigh. No amount of gentle stroking of hairless skin, such as the palms and soles of the feet, prompted 50 similar activity signatures. Olausson and his colleagues decided that these fibers must be conveying a different dimension of sensory information than fast-conducting fibers. Although microneurography can give 55 information about how a single nerve responds to gentle brushing and pressure, it cannot tease out what aspect of sensation that fiber relays, says Olausson. He wanted to know if that same slow nerve can distinguish where the brush touches the 60 arm, and whether it can discern the difference between a goat-hair brush and a feather. Most importantly, could that same fiber convey a pleasant sensation? To address the question, Olausson’s group sought 65 out a patient known as G.L. who had an unusual nerve defect. More than 2 decades earlier, she had developed numbness across many parts of her body after taking penicillin to treat a cough and fever. Testing showed that she had lost responsiveness to 70 pressure, and a nerve biopsy confirmed that G.L.’s quick-conducting fibers were gone, resulting in an inability to sense any pokes, prods, or pinpricks below her nose. But she could still sense warmth, suggesting that her slow-conducting unmyelinated 75 fibers were intact. Upon recruiting G.L., Olausson tested her by brushing her arm gently at the speed of between 2–10 centimeters per second. She had more trouble distinguishing the direction or pressure of the brush 80 strokes than most subjects, but reported feeling a pleasant sensation. When the researchers tried brushing her palm, where CT fibers are not found, she felt nothing. Olausson used functional MRI studies to examine 85 which areas of the brain lit up when G.L.’s arm was gently brushed to activate CT fibers. In normal subjects, both the somatosensory and insular cortices were activated, but only the insular cortex [which processes emotion] was active when researchers 90 brushed G.L.’s arm. This solidified the notion that CT fibers convey a more emotional quality of touch, rather than the conscious aspect that helps us describe what we are sensing. CT fibers, it seemed, specifically provide pleasurable sensations. Q Based on the passage, textbook authors in the early 1990s would most likely have expected which condition to result from the blocking of fast fibers?

The rate at which other nerve fibers fired would increase.

The test subject would perceive gentle stimuli as painful.

The body would compensate by using slow fibers to sense pressure.

The ability to perceive vibrations would be impaired.

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Sabrina Richards, “Pleasant tothe Touch.” ©2012 by The Scientist. In the early 1990s, textbooks acknowledged that humans had slow-conducting nerves, but asserted that those nerves only responded to two types of Line stimuli: pain and temperature. Sensations of pressure 5 and vibration were believed to travel only along myelinated, fast-signaling nerve fibers, which also give information about location. Experiments blocking nerve fibers supported this notion. Preventing fast fibers from firing (either by clamping 10 the relevant nerve or by injecting the local anesthetic lidocaine) seemed to eliminate the sensation of pressure altogether, but blocking slow fibers only seemed to reduce sensitivity to warmth or a small painful shock. 15 Håkan Olausson and his Gothenburg University colleagues Åke Vallbo and Johan Wessberg wondered if slow fibers responsive to gentle pressure might be active in humans as well as in other mammals. In 1993, they corralled 28 young 20 volunteers and recorded nerve signals while gently brushing the subjects’ arms with their fingertips. Using a technique called microneurography, in which a fine filament is inserted into a single nerve to capture its electrical impulses, the scientists were able 25 to measure how quickly—or slowly—the nerves fired. They showed that soft stroking prompted two different signals, one immediate and one delayed. The delay, Olausson explains, means that the signal from a gentle touch on the forearm will 30 reach the brain about a half second later. This delay identified nerve impulses traveling at speeds characteristic of slow, unmyelinated fibers—about 1 meter/second—confirming the presence of these fibers in human hairy skin. (In contrast, fast- 35 conducting fibers, already known to respond to touch, signal at a rate between 35 and 75 m/s.) Then, in 1999, the group looked more closely at the characteristics of the slow fibers. They named these “low-threshold” nerves “C-tactile,” or CT, 40 fibers, said Olausson, because of their “exquisite sensitivity” to slow, gentle tactile stimulation, but unresponsiveness to noxious stimuli like pinpricks. But why exactly humans might have such fibers, which respond only to a narrow range of rather 45 subtle stimuli, was initially mystifying. Unlike other types of sensory nerves, CT fibers could be found only in hairy human skin—such as the forearm and thigh. No amount of gentle stroking of hairless skin, such as the palms and soles of the feet, prompted 50 similar activity signatures. Olausson and his colleagues decided that these fibers must be conveying a different dimension of sensory information than fast-conducting fibers. Although microneurography can give 55 information about how a single nerve responds to gentle brushing and pressure, it cannot tease out what aspect of sensation that fiber relays, says Olausson. He wanted to know if that same slow nerve can distinguish where the brush touches the 60 arm, and whether it can discern the difference between a goat-hair brush and a feather. Most importantly, could that same fiber convey a pleasant sensation? To address the question, Olausson’s group sought 65 out a patient known as G.L. who had an unusual nerve defect. More than 2 decades earlier, she had developed numbness across many parts of her body after taking penicillin to treat a cough and fever. Testing showed that she had lost responsiveness to 70 pressure, and a nerve biopsy confirmed that G.L.’s quick-conducting fibers were gone, resulting in an inability to sense any pokes, prods, or pinpricks below her nose. But she could still sense warmth, suggesting that her slow-conducting unmyelinated 75 fibers were intact. Upon recruiting G.L., Olausson tested her by brushing her arm gently at the speed of between 2–10 centimeters per second. She had more trouble distinguishing the direction or pressure of the brush 80 strokes than most subjects, but reported feeling a pleasant sensation. When the researchers tried brushing her palm, where CT fibers are not found, she felt nothing. Olausson used functional MRI studies to examine 85 which areas of the brain lit up when G.L.’s arm was gently brushed to activate CT fibers. In normal subjects, both the somatosensory and insular cortices were activated, but only the insular cortex [which processes emotion] was active when researchers 90 brushed G.L.’s arm. This solidified the notion that CT fibers convey a more emotional quality of touch, rather than the conscious aspect that helps us describe what we are sensing. CT fibers, it seemed, specifically provide pleasurable sensations. Q. Which choice provides the best evidence for the answer to the previous question?

Lines 1-4 (“In the... temperature”)

Lines 4-7 (“Sensations... location”)

Lines 12-14 (“blocking... shock”)

Lines 34-36 (“In contrast . . . 75 m/s”)

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Sabrina Richards, “Pleasant tothe Touch.” ©2012 by The Scientist. In the early 1990s, textbooks acknowledged that humans had slow-conducting nerves, but asserted that those nerves only responded to two types of Line stimuli: pain and temperature. Sensations of pressure 5 and vibration were believed to travel only along myelinated, fast-signaling nerve fibers, which also give information about location. Experiments blocking nerve fibers supported this notion. Preventing fast fibers from firing (either by clamping 10 the relevant nerve or by injecting the local anesthetic lidocaine) seemed to eliminate the sensation of pressure altogether, but blocking slow fibers only seemed to reduce sensitivity to warmth or a small painful shock. 15 Håkan Olausson and his Gothenburg University colleagues Åke Vallbo and Johan Wessberg wondered if slow fibers responsive to gentle pressure might be active in humans as well as in other mammals. In 1993, they corralled 28 young 20 volunteers and recorded nerve signals while gently brushing the subjects’ arms with their fingertips. Using a technique called microneurography, in which a fine filament is inserted into a single nerve to capture its electrical impulses, the scientists were able 25 to measure how quickly—or slowly—the nerves fired. They showed that soft stroking prompted two different signals, one immediate and one delayed. The delay, Olausson explains, means that the signal from a gentle touch on the forearm will 30 reach the brain about a half second later. This delay identified nerve impulses traveling at speeds characteristic of slow, unmyelinated fibers—about 1 meter/second—confirming the presence of these fibers in human hairy skin. (In contrast, fast- 35 conducting fibers, already known to respond to touch, signal at a rate between 35 and 75 m/s.) Then, in 1999, the group looked more closely at the characteristics of the slow fibers. They named these “low-threshold” nerves “C-tactile,” or CT, 40 fibers, said Olausson, because of their “exquisite sensitivity” to slow, gentle tactile stimulation, but unresponsiveness to noxious stimuli like pinpricks. But why exactly humans might have such fibers, which respond only to a narrow range of rather 45 subtle stimuli, was initially mystifying. Unlike other types of sensory nerves, CT fibers could be found only in hairy human skin—such as the forearm and thigh. No amount of gentle stroking of hairless skin, such as the palms and soles of the feet, prompted 50 similar activity signatures. Olausson and his colleagues decided that these fibers must be conveying a different dimension of sensory information than fast-conducting fibers. Although microneurography can give 55 information about how a single nerve responds to gentle brushing and pressure, it cannot tease out what aspect of sensation that fiber relays, says Olausson. He wanted to know if that same slow nerve can distinguish where the brush touches the 60 arm, and whether it can discern the difference between a goat-hair brush and a feather. Most importantly, could that same fiber convey a pleasant sensation? To address the question, Olausson’s group sought 65 out a patient known as G.L. who had an unusual nerve defect. More than 2 decades earlier, she had developed numbness across many parts of her body after taking penicillin to treat a cough and fever. Testing showed that she had lost responsiveness to 70 pressure, and a nerve biopsy confirmed that G.L.’s quick-conducting fibers were gone, resulting in an inability to sense any pokes, prods, or pinpricks below her nose. But she could still sense warmth, suggesting that her slow-conducting unmyelinated 75 fibers were intact. Upon recruiting G.L., Olausson tested her by brushing her arm gently at the speed of between 2–10 centimeters per second. She had more trouble distinguishing the direction or pressure of the brush 80 strokes than most subjects, but reported feeling a pleasant sensation. When the researchers tried brushing her palm, where CT fibers are not found, she felt nothing. Olausson used functional MRI studies to examine 85 which areas of the brain lit up when G.L.’s arm was gently brushed to activate CT fibers. In normal subjects, both the somatosensory and insular cortices were activated, but only the insular cortex [which processes emotion] was active when researchers 90 brushed G.L.’s arm. This solidified the notion that CT fibers convey a more emotional quality of touch, rather than the conscious aspect that helps us describe what we are sensing. CT fibers, it seemed, specifically provide pleasurable sensations. Q. Which conclusion is best supported by the findings of Olausson’s 1993 experiment?

Stimulation at bodily extremities can be sensed as rapidly as stimulation closer to the brain.

The presence of hairs in human skin lessens the speed with which nerves conduct signals.

Gentle pressure is sensed not only by fast fibers but also by slow fibers.

The speed at which a nerve fires is dependent on the strength of pressure applied to the nerve.

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Sabrina Richards, “Pleasant tothe Touch.” ©2012 by The Scientist. In the early 1990s, textbooks acknowledged that humans had slow-conducting nerves, but asserted that those nerves only responded to two types of Line stimuli: pain and temperature. Sensations of pressure 5 and vibration were believed to travel only along myelinated, fast-signaling nerve fibers, which also give information about location. Experiments blocking nerve fibers supported this notion. Preventing fast fibers from firing (either by clamping 10 the relevant nerve or by injecting the local anesthetic lidocaine) seemed to eliminate the sensation of pressure altogether, but blocking slow fibers only seemed to reduce sensitivity to warmth or a small painful shock. 15 Håkan Olausson and his Gothenburg University colleagues Åke Vallbo and Johan Wessberg wondered if slow fibers responsive to gentle pressure might be active in humans as well as in other mammals. In 1993, they corralled 28 young 20 volunteers and recorded nerve signals while gently brushing the subjects’ arms with their fingertips. Using a technique called microneurography, in which a fine filament is inserted into a single nerve to capture its electrical impulses, the scientists were able 25 to measure how quickly—or slowly—the nerves fired. They showed that soft stroking prompted two different signals, one immediate and one delayed. The delay, Olausson explains, means that the signal from a gentle touch on the forearm will 30 reach the brain about a half second later. This delay identified nerve impulses traveling at speeds characteristic of slow, unmyelinated fibers—about 1 meter/second—confirming the presence of these fibers in human hairy skin. (In contrast, fast- 35 conducting fibers, already known to respond to touch, signal at a rate between 35 and 75 m/s.) Then, in 1999, the group looked more closely at the characteristics of the slow fibers. They named these “low-threshold” nerves “C-tactile,” or CT, 40 fibers, said Olausson, because of their “exquisite sensitivity” to slow, gentle tactile stimulation, but unresponsiveness to noxious stimuli like pinpricks. But why exactly humans might have such fibers, which respond only to a narrow range of rather 45 subtle stimuli, was initially mystifying. Unlike other types of sensory nerves, CT fibers could be found only in hairy human skin—such as the forearm and thigh. No amount of gentle stroking of hairless skin, such as the palms and soles of the feet, prompted 50 similar activity signatures. Olausson and his colleagues decided that these fibers must be conveying a different dimension of sensory information than fast-conducting fibers. Although microneurography can give 55 information about how a single nerve responds to gentle brushing and pressure, it cannot tease out what aspect of sensation that fiber relays, says Olausson. He wanted to know if that same slow nerve can distinguish where the brush touches the 60 arm, and whether it can discern the difference between a goat-hair brush and a feather. Most importantly, could that same fiber convey a pleasant sensation? To address the question, Olausson’s group sought 65 out a patient known as G.L. who had an unusual nerve defect. More than 2 decades earlier, she had developed numbness across many parts of her body after taking penicillin to treat a cough and fever. Testing showed that she had lost responsiveness to 70 pressure, and a nerve biopsy confirmed that G.L.’s quick-conducting fibers were gone, resulting in an inability to sense any pokes, prods, or pinpricks below her nose. But she could still sense warmth, suggesting that her slow-conducting unmyelinated 75 fibers were intact. Upon recruiting G.L., Olausson tested her by brushing her arm gently at the speed of between 2–10 centimeters per second. She had more trouble distinguishing the direction or pressure of the brush 80 strokes than most subjects, but reported feeling a pleasant sensation. When the researchers tried brushing her palm, where CT fibers are not found, she felt nothing. Olausson used functional MRI studies to examine 85 which areas of the brain lit up when G.L.’s arm was gently brushed to activate CT fibers. In normal subjects, both the somatosensory and insular cortices were activated, but only the insular cortex [which processes emotion] was active when researchers 90 brushed G.L.’s arm. This solidified the notion that CT fibers convey a more emotional quality of touch, rather than the conscious aspect that helps us describe what we are sensing. CT fibers, it seemed, specifically provide pleasurable sensations. Q. Which choice provides the best evidence for the answer to the previous question?

Lines 22-26 (“Using... fired”)

Lines 26-28 (“They... delayed”)

Lines 28-30 (“The delay... later”)

Lines 37-38 (“Then... fibers”)

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Sabrina Richards, “Pleasant tothe Touch.” ©2012 by The Scientist. In the early 1990s, textbooks acknowledged that humans had slow-conducting nerves, but asserted that those nerves only responded to two types of Line stimuli: pain and temperature. Sensations of pressure 5 and vibration were believed to travel only along myelinated, fast-signaling nerve fibers, which also give information about location. Experiments blocking nerve fibers supported this notion. Preventing fast fibers from firing (either by clamping 10 the relevant nerve or by injecting the local anesthetic lidocaine) seemed to eliminate the sensation of pressure altogether, but blocking slow fibers only seemed to reduce sensitivity to warmth or a small painful shock. 15 Håkan Olausson and his Gothenburg University colleagues Åke Vallbo and Johan Wessberg wondered if slow fibers responsive to gentle pressure might be active in humans as well as in other mammals. In 1993, they corralled 28 young 20 volunteers and recorded nerve signals while gently brushing the subjects’ arms with their fingertips. Using a technique called microneurography, in which a fine filament is inserted into a single nerve to capture its electrical impulses, the scientists were able 25 to measure how quickly—or slowly—the nerves fired. They showed that soft stroking prompted two different signals, one immediate and one delayed. The delay, Olausson explains, means that the signal from a gentle touch on the forearm will 30 reach the brain about a half second later. This delay identified nerve impulses traveling at speeds characteristic of slow, unmyelinated fibers—about 1 meter/second—confirming the presence of these fibers in human hairy skin. (In contrast, fast- 35 conducting fibers, already known to respond to touch, signal at a rate between 35 and 75 m/s.) Then, in 1999, the group looked more closely at the characteristics of the slow fibers. They named these “low-threshold” nerves “C-tactile,” or CT, 40 fibers, said Olausson, because of their “exquisite sensitivity” to slow, gentle tactile stimulation, but unresponsiveness to noxious stimuli like pinpricks. But why exactly humans might have such fibers, which respond only to a narrow range of rather 45 subtle stimuli, was initially mystifying. Unlike other types of sensory nerves, CT fibers could be found only in hairy human skin—such as the forearm and thigh. No amount of gentle stroking of hairless skin, such as the palms and soles of the feet, prompted 50 similar activity signatures. Olausson and his colleagues decided that these fibers must be conveying a different dimension of sensory information than fast-conducting fibers. Although microneurography can give 55 information about how a single nerve responds to gentle brushing and pressure, it cannot tease out what aspect of sensation that fiber relays, says Olausson. He wanted to know if that same slow nerve can distinguish where the brush touches the 60 arm, and whether it can discern the difference between a goat-hair brush and a feather. Most importantly, could that same fiber convey a pleasant sensation? To address the question, Olausson’s group sought 65 out a patient known as G.L. who had an unusual nerve defect. More than 2 decades earlier, she had developed numbness across many parts of her body after taking penicillin to treat a cough and fever. Testing showed that she had lost responsiveness to 70 pressure, and a nerve biopsy confirmed that G.L.’s quick-conducting fibers were gone, resulting in an inability to sense any pokes, prods, or pinpricks below her nose. But she could still sense warmth, suggesting that her slow-conducting unmyelinated 75 fibers were intact. Upon recruiting G.L., Olausson tested her by brushing her arm gently at the speed of between 2–10 centimeters per second. She had more trouble distinguishing the direction or pressure of the brush 80 strokes than most subjects, but reported feeling a pleasant sensation. When the researchers tried brushing her palm, where CT fibers are not found, she felt nothing. Olausson used functional MRI studies to examine 85 which areas of the brain lit up when G.L.’s arm was gently brushed to activate CT fibers. In normal subjects, both the somatosensory and insular cortices were activated, but only the insular cortex [which processes emotion] was active when researchers 90 brushed G.L.’s arm. This solidified the notion that CT fibers convey a more emotional quality of touch, rather than the conscious aspect that helps us describe what we are sensing. CT fibers, it seemed, specifically provide pleasurable sensations. Q. The sentence in lines 43-45 (“But... mystifying”) serves mainly to

identify factors that Olausson had previously failed to consider.

propose a solution to a dilemma encountered by Olausson.

anticipate a potential criticism of Olausson by the reader.

show a problem from the perspective of Olausson’s team.

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Sabrina Richards, “Pleasant tothe Touch.” ©2012 by The Scientist. In the early 1990s, textbooks acknowledged that humans had slow-conducting nerves, but asserted that those nerves only responded to two types of Line stimuli: pain and temperature. Sensations of pressure 5 and vibration were believed to travel only along myelinated, fast-signaling nerve fibers, which also give information about location. Experiments blocking nerve fibers supported this notion. Preventing fast fibers from firing (either by clamping 10 the relevant nerve or by injecting the local anesthetic lidocaine) seemed to eliminate the sensation of pressure altogether, but blocking slow fibers only seemed to reduce sensitivity to warmth or a small painful shock. 15 Håkan Olausson and his Gothenburg University colleagues Åke Vallbo and Johan Wessberg wondered if slow fibers responsive to gentle pressure might be active in humans as well as in other mammals. In 1993, they corralled 28 young 20 volunteers and recorded nerve signals while gently brushing the subjects’ arms with their fingertips. Using a technique called microneurography, in which a fine filament is inserted into a single nerve to capture its electrical impulses, the scientists were able 25 to measure how quickly—or slowly—the nerves fired. They showed that soft stroking prompted two different signals, one immediate and one delayed. The delay, Olausson explains, means that the signal from a gentle touch on the forearm will 30 reach the brain about a half second later. This delay identified nerve impulses traveling at speeds characteristic of slow, unmyelinated fibers—about 1 meter/second—confirming the presence of these fibers in human hairy skin. (In contrast, fast- 35 conducting fibers, already known to respond to touch, signal at a rate between 35 and 75 m/s.) Then, in 1999, the group looked more closely at the characteristics of the slow fibers. They named these “low-threshold” nerves “C-tactile,” or CT, 40 fibers, said Olausson, because of their “exquisite sensitivity” to slow, gentle tactile stimulation, but unresponsiveness to noxious stimuli like pinpricks. But why exactly humans might have such fibers, which respond only to a narrow range of rather 45 subtle stimuli, was initially mystifying. Unlike other types of sensory nerves, CT fibers could be found only in hairy human skin—such as the forearm and thigh. No amount of gentle stroking of hairless skin, such as the palms and soles of the feet, prompted 50 similar activity signatures. Olausson and his colleagues decided that these fibers must be conveying a different dimension of sensory information than fast-conducting fibers. Although microneurography can give 55 information about how a single nerve responds to gentle brushing and pressure, it cannot tease out what aspect of sensation that fiber relays, says Olausson. He wanted to know if that same slow nerve can distinguish where the brush touches the 60 arm, and whether it can discern the difference between a goat-hair brush and a feather. Most importantly, could that same fiber convey a pleasant sensation? To address the question, Olausson’s group sought 65 out a patient known as G.L. who had an unusual nerve defect. More than 2 decades earlier, she had developed numbness across many parts of her body after taking penicillin to treat a cough and fever. Testing showed that she had lost responsiveness to 70 pressure, and a nerve biopsy confirmed that G.L.’s quick-conducting fibers were gone, resulting in an inability to sense any pokes, prods, or pinpricks below her nose. But she could still sense warmth, suggesting that her slow-conducting unmyelinated 75 fibers were intact. Upon recruiting G.L., Olausson tested her by brushing her arm gently at the speed of between 2–10 centimeters per second. She had more trouble distinguishing the direction or pressure of the brush 80 strokes than most subjects, but reported feeling a pleasant sensation. When the researchers tried brushing her palm, where CT fibers are not found, she felt nothing. Olausson used functional MRI studies to examine 85 which areas of the brain lit up when G.L.’s arm was gently brushed to activate CT fibers. In normal subjects, both the somatosensory and insular cortices were activated, but only the insular cortex [which processes emotion] was active when researchers 90 brushed G.L.’s arm. This solidified the notion that CT fibers convey a more emotional quality of touch, rather than the conscious aspect that helps us describe what we are sensing. CT fibers, it seemed, specifically provide pleasurable sensations. Q. It can reasonably be inferred that one of the intended goals of the 1999 experiment was to determine the

precise nature of sensations that CT fibers can convey.

relationship between body hair and CT fiber function.

role played by CT fibers in the perception of pain.

effect of microneurography on CT fiber signaling.

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Sabrina Richards, “Pleasant tothe Touch.” ©2012 by The Scientist. In the early 1990s, textbooks acknowledged that humans had slow-conducting nerves, but asserted that those nerves only responded to two types of Line stimuli: pain and temperature. Sensations of pressure 5 and vibration were believed to travel only along myelinated, fast-signaling nerve fibers, which also give information about location. Experiments blocking nerve fibers supported this notion. Preventing fast fibers from firing (either by clamping 10 the relevant nerve or by injecting the local anesthetic lidocaine) seemed to eliminate the sensation of pressure altogether, but blocking slow fibers only seemed to reduce sensitivity to warmth or a small painful shock. 15 Håkan Olausson and his Gothenburg University colleagues Åke Vallbo and Johan Wessberg wondered if slow fibers responsive to gentle pressure might be active in humans as well as in other mammals. In 1993, they corralled 28 young 20 volunteers and recorded nerve signals while gently brushing the subjects’ arms with their fingertips. Using a technique called microneurography, in which a fine filament is inserted into a single nerve to capture its electrical impulses, the scientists were able 25 to measure how quickly—or slowly—the nerves fired. They showed that soft stroking prompted two different signals, one immediate and one delayed. The delay, Olausson explains, means that the signal from a gentle touch on the forearm will 30 reach the brain about a half second later. This delay identified nerve impulses traveling at speeds characteristic of slow, unmyelinated fibers—about 1 meter/second—confirming the presence of these fibers in human hairy skin. (In contrast, fast- 35 conducting fibers, already known to respond to touch, signal at a rate between 35 and 75 m/s.) Then, in 1999, the group looked more closely at the characteristics of the slow fibers. They named these “low-threshold” nerves “C-tactile,” or CT, 40 fibers, said Olausson, because of their “exquisite sensitivity” to slow, gentle tactile stimulation, but unresponsiveness to noxious stimuli like pinpricks. But why exactly humans might have such fibers, which respond only to a narrow range of rather 45 subtle stimuli, was initially mystifying. Unlike other types of sensory nerves, CT fibers could be found only in hairy human skin—such as the forearm and thigh. No amount of gentle stroking of hairless skin, such as the palms and soles of the feet, prompted 50 similar activity signatures. Olausson and his colleagues decided that these fibers must be conveying a different dimension of sensory information than fast-conducting fibers. Although microneurography can give 55 information about how a single nerve responds to gentle brushing and pressure, it cannot tease out what aspect of sensation that fiber relays, says Olausson. He wanted to know if that same slow nerve can distinguish where the brush touches the 60 arm, and whether it can discern the difference between a goat-hair brush and a feather. Most importantly, could that same fiber convey a pleasant sensation? To address the question, Olausson’s group sought 65 out a patient known as G.L. who had an unusual nerve defect. More than 2 decades earlier, she had developed numbness across many parts of her body after taking penicillin to treat a cough and fever. Testing showed that she had lost responsiveness to 70 pressure, and a nerve biopsy confirmed that G.L.’s quick-conducting fibers were gone, resulting in an inability to sense any pokes, prods, or pinpricks below her nose. But she could still sense warmth, suggesting that her slow-conducting unmyelinated 75 fibers were intact. Upon recruiting G.L., Olausson tested her by brushing her arm gently at the speed of between 2–10 centimeters per second. She had more trouble distinguishing the direction or pressure of the brush 80 strokes than most subjects, but reported feeling a pleasant sensation. When the researchers tried brushing her palm, where CT fibers are not found, she felt nothing. Olausson used functional MRI studies to examine 85 which areas of the brain lit up when G.L.’s arm was gently brushed to activate CT fibers. In normal subjects, both the somatosensory and insular cortices were activated, but only the insular cortex [which processes emotion] was active when researchers 90 brushed G.L.’s arm. This solidified the notion that CT fibers convey a more emotional quality of touch, rather than the conscious aspect that helps us describe what we are sensing. CT fibers, it seemed, specifically provide pleasurable sensations. Q. The main purpose of the sixth paragraph (lines 64-75) is to

identify those of G.L.’s neurological conditions that might be relieved by the experiment.

contextualize the nerve function of G.L. by comparing it with that of other adults.

detail procedures that G.L. had experienced during previous experiments.

indicate why G.L.’s medical condition was of value to Olausson’s experiment.

Question is based on the following passage. This passage is adapted from Sabrina Richards, “Pleasant tothe Touch.” ©2012 by The Scientist. In the early 1990s, textbooks acknowledged that humans had slow-conducting nerves, but asserted that those nerves only responded to two types of Line stimuli: pain and temperature. Sensations of pressure 5 and vibration were believed to travel only along myelinated, fast-signaling nerve fibers, which also give information about location. Experiments blocking nerve fibers supported this notion. Preventing fast fibers from firing (either by clamping 10 the relevant nerve or by injecting the local anesthetic lidocaine) seemed to eliminate the sensation of pressure altogether, but blocking slow fibers only seemed to reduce sensitivity to warmth or a small painful shock. 15 Håkan Olausson and his Gothenburg University colleagues Åke Vallbo and Johan Wessberg wondered if slow fibers responsive to gentle pressure might be active in humans as well as in other mammals. In 1993, they corralled 28 young 20 volunteers and recorded nerve signals while gently brushing the subjects’ arms with their fingertips. Using a technique called microneurography, in which a fine filament is inserted into a single nerve to capture its electrical impulses, the scientists were able 25 to measure how quickly—or slowly—the nerves fired. They showed that soft stroking prompted two different signals, one immediate and one delayed. The delay, Olausson explains, means that the signal from a gentle touch on the forearm will 30 reach the brain about a half second later. This delay identified nerve impulses traveling at speeds characteristic of slow, unmyelinated fibers—about 1 meter/second—confirming the presence of these fibers in human hairy skin. (In contrast, fast- 35 conducting fibers, already known to respond to touch, signal at a rate between 35 and 75 m/s.) Then, in 1999, the group looked more closely at the characteristics of the slow fibers. They named these “low-threshold” nerves “C-tactile,” or CT, 40 fibers, said Olausson, because of their “exquisite sensitivity” to slow, gentle tactile stimulation, but unresponsiveness to noxious stimuli like pinpricks. But why exactly humans might have such fibers, which respond only to a narrow range of rather 45 subtle stimuli, was initially mystifying. Unlike other types of sensory nerves, CT fibers could be found only in hairy human skin—such as the forearm and thigh. No amount of gentle stroking of hairless skin, such as the palms and soles of the feet, prompted 50 similar activity signatures. Olausson and his colleagues decided that these fibers must be conveying a different dimension of sensory information than fast-conducting fibers. Although microneurography can give 55 information about how a single nerve responds to gentle brushing and pressure, it cannot tease out what aspect of sensation that fiber relays, says Olausson. He wanted to know if that same slow nerve can distinguish where the brush touches the 60 arm, and whether it can discern the difference between a goat-hair brush and a feather. Most importantly, could that same fiber convey a pleasant sensation? To address the question, Olausson’s group sought 65 out a patient known as G.L. who had an unusual nerve defect. More than 2 decades earlier, she had developed numbness across many parts of her body after taking penicillin to treat a cough and fever. Testing showed that she had lost responsiveness to 70 pressure, and a nerve biopsy confirmed that G.L.’s quick-conducting fibers were gone, resulting in an inability to sense any pokes, prods, or pinpricks below her nose. But she could still sense warmth, suggesting that her slow-conducting unmyelinated 75 fibers were intact. Upon recruiting G.L., Olausson tested her by brushing her arm gently at the speed of between 2–10 centimeters per second. She had more trouble distinguishing the direction or pressure of the brush 80 strokes than most subjects, but reported feeling a pleasant sensation. When the researchers tried brushing her palm, where CT fibers are not found, she felt nothing. Olausson used functional MRI studies to examine 85 which areas of the brain lit up when G.L.’s arm was gently brushed to activate CT fibers. In normal subjects, both the somatosensory and insular cortices were activated, but only the insular cortex [which processes emotion] was active when researchers 90 brushed G.L.’s arm. This solidified the notion that CT fibers convey a more emotional quality of touch, rather than the conscious aspect that helps us describe what we are sensing. CT fibers, it seemed, specifically provide pleasurable sensations. Q. According to the passage, G.L. differed from Olausson’s other test subjects in terms of the

number of cortices activated in the brain during gentle brushing.

physical dimensions of the somatosensory cortex.

intensity of nerve signals required to activate the insular cortex.

effect of MRI scanning on the basic function of brain cortices.

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