Somebodys at the door, I ---- (check) it out.Correct answer is 'will check'. Can you explain this answer?

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Somebody's at the door, I ---- (check) it out.

Correct answer is 'will check'. Can you explain this answer?

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Somebodys at the door, I ---- (check) it out.Correct answer is 'will c...

Answer :

Somebody's at the door, I will (check) it out.

In grammar, the future tense is the

verb form you use to talk about things that haven't happened yet

. When you say, "The party will be so fun!" "will be" is in the future tense. ... The future tense can be more complicated than this simple form, but it always signifies an intended or expected future action.

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Somebodys at the door, I ---- (check) it out.Correct answer is 'will c...

We use simple future tense to talk about future activities or statements. A present or future certainty is given by will + base form of the verb.
Therefore, the answer is: Somebody's at the door, I will check it out.

Answered by Wizius Careers · View profile

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Somebodys at the door, I ---- (check) it out.Correct answer is 'will c...

Explanation:

When someone says "Somebody's at the door," it means that there is someone waiting or standing outside the door. In this situation, the correct response would be "I will check it out." Let's break down the explanation into the following sections:

1. Understanding the context:
The given statement states that there is somebody at the door. This implies that the speaker is aware of someone's presence outside the door and needs to investigate or verify who it is.

2. Future tense:
The phrase "I will check it out" is written in the future tense. Future tense is used to describe actions that will happen after the present moment. In this case, the speaker is indicating their intention to go and see who is at the door.

3. Use of "will" for decision-making:
The word "will" is used to express a decision, willingness, or intention to do something in the future. In this case, the speaker has made a decision to check out who is at the door based on the information provided.

4. "Check it out" meaning:
The phrase "check it out" means to investigate or examine something carefully in order to gather information or find out more about it. In this case, the speaker intends to go to the door and see who is there.

Conclusion:
In conclusion, when someone says "Somebody's at the door," the appropriate response is "I will check it out." This response indicates the speaker's intention to investigate who is at the door in the future.

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Read the following passage carefully and answer the questions given at the end.Just at that turning between Market Road and the lane leading to the chemists shop he had his establishment. If anyone doesnt like theword establishment, he is welcome to say so, because it was actually something of a vision spun out of air. At eight you would not see him, and again at ten you would see nothing, but between eight and ten he arrived, sold his goods and departed. Those who saw him remarked thus, Lucky fellow! He has hardly an hours work a day and he pockets ten rupeeswhat graduates are unable to earn! Three hundred rupees a month! He felt irritated when he heard such glib remarks and said, What these folk do not see is that I sit before the oven practically all day frying all this stuff...He got up when the cock in the next house crowed; sometimes it had a habit of waking up at three in the morning and letting out a shriek. Why has the cock lost its normal sleep? Rama wondered as he awoke, but it was a signal he could not miss. Whether it was three oclock or four, it was all the same to him. He had to get up and start his day.At about 8:15 in the evening he arrived with a load of stuff. He looked as if he had four arms, so many things he carried about him. His equipment was the big tray balanced on his head, with its assortment of edibles, a stool stuck in the crook of his arm, a lamp in another hand, a couple of portable legs for mounting his tray. He lit the lamp, a lantern which consumed six pies worth of kerosene every day, and kept it near at hand, since he did not like to depend only upon electricity, having to guard a lot of loose cash and a variety of miscellaneous articles.When he set up his tray with the little lamp illuminating his display, even a confirmed dyspeptic could not pass by without throwing a look at it. 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They said in admiration,Is there another place where you can get coffee for six pies and four chappatis for an anna? They sat around his tray, taking what they wanted. A dozen hands hovered about it every minute, because his customers were entitled to pick up, examine and accept their stuff after proper scrutiny.Though so many hands were probing the lot, he knew exactly who was taking what: he knew by an extraordinary sense which of the jutka-drivers was picking up chappatis at a given moment; he could even mention his license number; he knew that the stained hand nervously coming up was that of the youngster who polished the shoes of passers-by; and he knew exactly at what hour he would see the wrestlers arm searching for the perfect ducks egg, which would be knocked against the tray corner before consumption.His custom was drawn from the population swarming the pavement: the bootpolish boys, for instance, who wandered to and fro with brush and polish in a bag, endlessly soliciting, Polish, sir, polish! Rama had a soft corner in his heart for the waifs. When he saw some fat customer haggling over the payment to one of these youngsters he felt like shouting, Give the poor fellow a little more. Dont grudge it. If you pay an anna more he can have a dosai and a chappati. As it is, the poor fellow is on half-rations and remains half- starved all day.It rent his heart to see their hungry, hollow eyes; it pained him to note the rags they wore; and it made him very unhappy to see the tremendous eagerness with which they came to him, laying aside their brown bags. But what could he do? He could not run a charity show; that was impossible. He measured out their half-glass of coffee correct to the fraction of an inch, but they could cling to the glass as long as they liked.The blind beggar, who whined for alms all day in front of the big hotel, brought him part of his collection at the end of the day and demanded refreshment.. . and the grass-selling women. He disliked serving women; their shrill, loud voices got on his nerves. These came to him after disposing of head-loads of grass satisfactorily. And that sly fellow with a limp who bought a packet ofmixed fare every evening and carried it to a man standing under a tree on the pavement opposite.All the coppers that men and women of this part of the universe earned through their miscellaneous jobs ultimately came to him at the end of the day. He put all this money into a little cloth bag dangling from his neck under his shirt, and carried it home, soon after the night show had started at the theatre.He lived in the second lane behind the market. His wife opened the door, throwing into the night air the scent of burnt oil which perpetually hung about their home. She snatched from his hands all his encumbrances, put her hand under his shirt to pull out his cloth bag and counted the cash immediately. They gloated over it. Five rupees invested in the morning has brought us another five ...They ruminated on the exquisite mystery of this multiplication. She put back into his cloth bag the capital for further investment on the morrow, and carefully separated the gains and put them away in a little wooden box that she had brought from her parents house years before.After dinner, he tucked a betel leaf and tobacco in his cheek and slept on the pyol of his house, and had dreams of traffic constables bullying him to move on and health inspectors saying that he was spreading all kinds of disease and depopulating the city. But fortunately in actual life no one bothered him very seriously. He gave an occasional packet of his stuff to the traffic constable going off duty or to the health department menial who might pass that way. The health officer no doubt came and said, You must put all this under a glass lid, otherwise I shall destroy it all someday ... Take care! But he was a kindly man who did not pursue any matter but wondered in private, How his customers survive his food, I cant understand! I suppose people build up a sort of immunity to such poisons, with all that dust blowing on it and the gutter behind ... Rama no doubt violated all the well-accepted canons of cleanliness and sanitation, but still his customers not only survived his fare but seemed actually to flourish on it, having consumed it for years without showing signs of being any the worse for it.Q.Which is the odd one out

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Read the following passage carefully and answer the questions given at the end.Just at that turning between Market Road and the lane leading to the chemists shop he had his establishment. If anyone doesnt like theword establishment, he is welcome to say so, because it was actually something of a vision spun out of air. At eight you would not see him, and again at ten you would see nothing, but between eight and ten he arrived, sold his goods and departed. Those who saw him remarked thus, Lucky fellow! He has hardly an hours work a day and he pockets ten rupeeswhat graduates are unable to earn! Three hundred rupees a month! He felt irritated when he heard such glib remarks and said, What these folk do not see is that I sit before the oven practically all day frying all this stuff...He got up when the cock in the next house crowed; sometimes it had a habit of waking up at three in the morning and letting out a shriek. Why has the cock lost its normal sleep? Rama wondered as he awoke, but it was a signal he could not miss. Whether it was three oclock or four, it was all the same to him. He had to get up and start his day.At about 8:15 in the evening he arrived with a load of stuff. He looked as if he had four arms, so many things he carried about him. His equipment was the big tray balanced on his head, with its assortment of edibles, a stool stuck in the crook of his arm, a lamp in another hand, a couple of portable legs for mounting his tray. He lit the lamp, a lantern which consumed six pies worth of kerosene every day, and kept it near at hand, since he did not like to depend only upon electricity, having to guard a lot of loose cash and a variety of miscellaneous articles.When he set up his tray with the little lamp illuminating his display, even a confirmed dyspeptic could not pass by without throwing a look at it. A heap of bondas, which seemed puffed and big but melted in ones mouth; dosais, white, round and limp, looking like layers of muslin; chappatis so thin that you could lift fifty of them on a little finger; ducks eggs, hard-boiled, resembling a heap of ivory balls; and perpetually boiling coffee on a stove. He had a separate aluminium pot in which he kept chutney, which went gratis with almost every item.He always arrived in time to catch the cinema crowd coming out after the evening show. A pretender to the throne, a young scraggy fellow, sat on his spot until he arrived and did business, but our friend did not let that bother him unduly. In fact, he felt generous enough to say, Let the poor rat do his business when I am not there.This sentiment was amply respected, and the pretender moved off a minute before the arrival of the prince among caterers. His customers liked him. They said in admiration,Is there another place where you can get coffee for six pies and four chappatis for an anna? They sat around his tray, taking what they wanted. A dozen hands hovered about it every minute, because his customers were entitled to pick up, examine and accept their stuff after proper scrutiny.Though so many hands were probing the lot, he knew exactly who was taking what: he knew by an extraordinary sense which of the jutka-drivers was picking up chappatis at a given moment; he could even mention his license number; he knew that the stained hand nervously coming up was that of the youngster who polished the shoes of passers-by; and he knew exactly at what hour he would see the wrestlers arm searching for the perfect ducks egg, which would be knocked against the tray corner before consumption.His custom was drawn from the population swarming the pavement: the bootpolish boys, for instance, who wandered to and fro with brush and polish in a bag, endlessly soliciting, Polish, sir, polish! Rama had a soft corner in his heart for the waifs. When he saw some fat customer haggling over the payment to one of these youngsters he felt like shouting, Give the poor fellow a little more. Dont grudge it. If you pay an anna more he can have a dosai and a chappati. As it is, the poor fellow is on half-rations and remains half- starved all day.It rent his heart to see their hungry, hollow eyes; it pained him to note the rags they wore; and it made him very unhappy to see the tremendous eagerness with which they came to him, laying aside their brown bags. But what could he do? He could not run a charity show; that was impossible. He measured out their half-glass of coffee correct to the fraction of an inch, but they could cling to the glass as long as they liked.The blind beggar, who whined for alms all day in front of the big hotel, brought him part of his collection at the end of the day and demanded refreshment.. . and the grass-selling women. He disliked serving women; their shrill, loud voices got on his nerves. These came to him after disposing of head-loads of grass satisfactorily. And that sly fellow with a limp who bought a packet ofmixed fare every evening and carried it to a man standing under a tree on the pavement opposite.All the coppers that men and women of this part of the universe earned through their miscellaneous jobs ultimately came to him at the end of the day. He put all this money into a little cloth bag dangling from his neck under his shirt, and carried it home, soon after the night show had started at the theatre.He lived in the second lane behind the market. His wife opened the door, throwing into the night air the scent of burnt oil which perpetually hung about their home. She snatched from his hands all his encumbrances, put her hand under his shirt to pull out his cloth bag and counted the cash immediately. They gloated over it. Five rupees invested in the morning has brought us another five ...They ruminated on the exquisite mystery of this multiplication. She put back into his cloth bag the capital for further investment on the morrow, and carefully separated the gains and put them away in a little wooden box that she had brought from her parents house years before.After dinner, he tucked a betel leaf and tobacco in his cheek and slept on the pyol of his house, and had dreams of traffic constables bullying him to move on and health inspectors saying that he was spreading all kinds of disease and depopulating the city. But fortunately in actual life no one bothered him very seriously. He gave an occasional packet of his stuff to the traffic constable going off duty or to the health department menial who might pass that way. The health officer no doubt came and said, You must put all this under a glass lid, otherwise I shall destroy it all someday ... Take care! But he was a kindly man who did not pursue any matter but wondered in private, How his customers survive his food, I cant understand! I suppose people build up a sort of immunity to such poisons, with all that dust blowing on it and the gutter behind ... Rama no doubt violated all the well-accepted canons of cleanliness and sanitation, but still his customers not only survived his fare but seemed actually to flourish on it, having consumed it for years without showing signs of being any the worse for it.Q.What was the health officers take on Ramas food?

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Read the passage carefully and answer the questions that follow:Information has never been more accessible or less reliable. So we are advised to check our sources carefully. There is so much talk of “fake news” that the term has entirely lost meaning. At school, we are taught to avoid Wikipedia, or at the very least never admit to using it in our citations. And most sources on the world wide web have been built without the standardized attributions that scaffold other forms of knowledge dissemination; they are therefore seen as degraded, even as they illuminate.But it was only relatively recently that academic disciplines designed rigid systems for categorizing and organizing source material at all. Historian Anthony Grafton traces the genealogy of the footnote in an excellent book, which reveals many origin stories. It turns out that footnotes are related to early systems of marginalia, glosses, and annotation that existed in theology, early histories, and Medieval law. The footnote in something like its modern form seems to have been devised in the seventeenth century, and has proliferated since, with increasing standardization and rigor. And yet, Grafton writes, “appearances of uniformity are deceptive. To the inexpert, footnotes look like deep root systems, solid and fixed; to the connoisseur, however, they reveal themselves as anthills, swarming with constructive and combative activity.”The purpose of citation, broadly speaking, is to give others credit, but it does much more than that. Famously, citations can be the sources of great enmity — a quick dismissal of a rival argument with a “cf.” They can serve a social purpose, as sly thank-yous to friends and mentors. They can perform a kind of box-checking of requisite major works. (As Grafton points out, the omission of these works can itself be a statement.) Attribution, significantly, allows others to check your work, or at least gives the illusion that they could, following a web of sources back to the origins. But perhaps above all else, citations serve a dual purpose that seems at once complementary and conflicting; they acknowledge a debt to a larger body of work while also conferring on oneself a certain kind of erudition and expertise.Like many systems that appear meticulous, the writing of citations is a subjective art. Never more so than in fiction, where citation is an entirely other kind of animal, not required or even expected, except in the “acknowledgments” page, which is often a who’s who of the publishing world. But in the last two decades, bibliographies and sources cited pages have increasingly cropped up in the backs of novels. “It’s terribly off-putting,” James Wood said of this fad in 2006. “It would be very odd if Thomas Hardy had put at the end of all his books, ‘I’m thankful to the Dorset County Chronicle for dialect books from the 18th century.’ We expect authors to do that work, and I don’t see why we should praise them for that work.” Wood has a point, or had one — at their worst, citations in fiction are annoying, driven by an author’s anxiety to show off what he has read, to check the right boxes.Q.Which of the following is a reason why citation is done?

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Read the following passage carefully and answer the questions given at the end.Just at that turning between Market Road and the lane leading to the chemists shop he had his establishment. If anyone doesnt like theword establishment, he is welcome to say so, because it was actually something of a vision spun out of air. At eight you would not see him, and again at ten you would see nothing, but between eight and ten he arrived, sold his goods and departed. Those who saw him remarked thus, Lucky fellow! He has hardly an hours work a day and he pockets ten rupeeswhat graduates are unable to earn! Three hundred rupees a month! He felt irritated when he heard such glib remarks and said, What these folk do not see is that I sit before the oven practically all day frying all this stuff...He got up when the cock in the next house crowed; sometimes it had a habit of waking up at three in the morning and letting out a shriek. Why has the cock lost its normal sleep? Rama wondered as he awoke, but it was a signal he could not miss. Whether it was three oclock or four, it was all the same to him. He had to get up and start his day.At about 8:15 in the evening he arrived with a load of stuff. He looked as if he had four arms, so many things he carried about him. His equipment was the big tray balanced on his head, with its assortment of edibles, a stool stuck in the crook of his arm, a lamp in another hand, a couple of portable legs for mounting his tray. He lit the lamp, a lantern which consumed six pies worth of kerosene every day, and kept it near at hand, since he did not like to depend only upon electricity, having to guard a lot of loose cash and a variety of miscellaneous articles.When he set up his tray with the little lamp illuminating his display, even a confirmed dyspeptic could not pass by without throwing a look at it. A heap of bondas, which seemed puffed and big but melted in ones mouth; dosais, white, round and limp, looking like layers of muslin; chappatis so thin that you could lift fifty of them on a little finger; ducks eggs, hard-boiled, resembling a heap of ivory balls; and perpetually boiling coffee on a stove. He had a separate aluminium pot in which he kept chutney, which went gratis with almost every item.He always arrived in time to catch the cinema crowd coming out after the evening show. A pretender to the throne, a young scraggy fellow, sat on his spot until he arrived and did business, but our friend did not let that bother him unduly. In fact, he felt generous enough to say, Let the poor rat do his business when I am not there.This sentiment was amply respected, and the pretender moved off a minute before the arrival of the prince among caterers. His customers liked him. They said in admiration,Is there another place where you can get coffee for six pies and four chappatis for an anna? They sat around his tray, taking what they wanted. A dozen hands hovered about it every minute, because his customers were entitled to pick up, examine and accept their stuff after proper scrutiny.Though so many hands were probing the lot, he knew exactly who was taking what: he knew by an extraordinary sense which of the jutka-drivers was picking up chappatis at a given moment; he could even mention his license number; he knew that the stained hand nervously coming up was that of the youngster who polished the shoes of passers-by; and he knew exactly at what hour he would see the wrestlers arm searching for the perfect ducks egg, which would be knocked against the tray corner before consumption.His custom was drawn from the population swarming the pavement: the bootpolish boys, for instance, who wandered to and fro with brush and polish in a bag, endlessly soliciting, Polish, sir, polish! Rama had a soft corner in his heart for the waifs. When he saw some fat customer haggling over the payment to one of these youngsters he felt like shouting, Give the poor fellow a little more. Dont grudge it. If you pay an anna more he can have a dosai and a chappati. As it is, the poor fellow is on half-rations and remains half- starved all day.It rent his heart to see their hungry, hollow eyes; it pained him to note the rags they wore; and it made him very unhappy to see the tremendous eagerness with which they came to him, laying aside their brown bags. But what could he do? He could not run a charity show; that was impossible. He measured out their half-glass of coffee correct to the fraction of an inch, but they could cling to the glass as long as they liked.The blind beggar, who whined for alms all day in front of the big hotel, brought him part of his collection at the end of the day and demanded refreshment.. . and the grass-selling women. He disliked serving women; their shrill, loud voices got on his nerves. These came to him after disposing of head-loads of grass satisfactorily. And that sly fellow with a limp who bought a packet ofmixed fare every evening and carried it to a man standing under a tree on the pavement opposite.All the coppers that men and women of this part of the universe earned through their miscellaneous jobs ultimately came to him at the end of the day. He put all this money into a little cloth bag dangling from his neck under his shirt, and carried it home, soon after the night show had started at the theatre.He lived in the second lane behind the market. His wife opened the door, throwing into the night air the scent of burnt oil which perpetually hung about their home. She snatched from his hands all his encumbrances, put her hand under his shirt to pull out his cloth bag and counted the cash immediately. They gloated over it. Five rupees invested in the morning has brought us another five ...They ruminated on the exquisite mystery of this multiplication. She put back into his cloth bag the capital for further investment on the morrow, and carefully separated the gains and put them away in a little wooden box that she had brought from her parents house years before.After dinner, he tucked a betel leaf and tobacco in his cheek and slept on the pyol of his house, and had dreams of traffic constables bullying him to move on and health inspectors saying that he was spreading all kinds of disease and depopulating the city. But fortunately in actual life no one bothered him very seriously. He gave an occasional packet of his stuff to the traffic constable going off duty or to the health department menial who might pass that way. The health officer no doubt came and said, You must put all this under a glass lid, otherwise I shall destroy it all someday ... Take care! But he was a kindly man who did not pursue any matter but wondered in private, How his customers survive his food, I cant understand! I suppose people build up a sort of immunity to such poisons, with all that dust blowing on it and the gutter behind ... Rama no doubt violated all the well-accepted canons of cleanliness and sanitation, but still his customers not only survived his fare but seemed actually to flourish on it, having consumed it for years without showing signs of being any the worse for it.Q.Ramas shop cannot be associated with the word establishment because

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Read the following passage carefully and answer the questions given at the end.Just at that turning between Market Road and the lane leading to the chemists shop he had his establishment. If anyone doesnt like theword establishment, he is welcome to say so, because it was actually something of a vision spun out of air. At eight you would not see him, and again at ten you would see nothing, but between eight and ten he arrived, sold his goods and departed. Those who saw him remarked thus, Lucky fellow! He has hardly an hours work a day and he pockets ten rupeeswhat graduates are unable to earn! Three hundred rupees a month! He felt irritated when he heard such glib remarks and said, What these folk do not see is that I sit before the oven practically all day frying all this stuff...He got up when the cock in the next house crowed; sometimes it had a habit of waking up at three in the morning and letting out a shriek. Why has the cock lost its normal sleep? Rama wondered as he awoke, but it was a signal he could not miss. Whether it was three oclock or four, it was all the same to him. He had to get up and start his day.At about 8:15 in the evening he arrived with a load of stuff. He looked as if he had four arms, so many things he carried about him. His equipment was the big tray balanced on his head, with its assortment of edibles, a stool stuck in the crook of his arm, a lamp in another hand, a couple of portable legs for mounting his tray. He lit the lamp, a lantern which consumed six pies worth of kerosene every day, and kept it near at hand, since he did not like to depend only upon electricity, having to guard a lot of loose cash and a variety of miscellaneous articles.When he set up his tray with the little lamp illuminating his display, even a confirmed dyspeptic could not pass by without throwing a look at it. A heap of bondas, which seemed puffed and big but melted in ones mouth; dosais, white, round and limp, looking like layers of muslin; chappatis so thin that you could lift fifty of them on a little finger; ducks eggs, hard-boiled, resembling a heap of ivory balls; and perpetually boiling coffee on a stove. He had a separate aluminium pot in which he kept chutney, which went gratis with almost every item.He always arrived in time to catch the cinema crowd coming out after the evening show. A pretender to the throne, a young scraggy fellow, sat on his spot until he arrived and did business, but our friend did not let that bother him unduly. In fact, he felt generous enough to say, Let the poor rat do his business when I am not there.This sentiment was amply respected, and the pretender moved off a minute before the arrival of the prince among caterers. His customers liked him. They said in admiration,Is there another place where you can get coffee for six pies and four chappatis for an anna? They sat around his tray, taking what they wanted. A dozen hands hovered about it every minute, because his customers were entitled to pick up, examine and accept their stuff after proper scrutiny.Though so many hands were probing the lot, he knew exactly who was taking what: he knew by an extraordinary sense which of the jutka-drivers was picking up chappatis at a given moment; he could even mention his license number; he knew that the stained hand nervously coming up was that of the youngster who polished the shoes of passers-by; and he knew exactly at what hour he would see the wrestlers arm searching for the perfect ducks egg, which would be knocked against the tray corner before consumption.His custom was drawn from the population swarming the pavement: the bootpolish boys, for instance, who wandered to and fro with brush and polish in a bag, endlessly soliciting, Polish, sir, polish! Rama had a soft corner in his heart for the waifs. When he saw some fat customer haggling over the payment to one of these youngsters he felt like shouting, Give the poor fellow a little more. Dont grudge it. If you pay an anna more he can have a dosai and a chappati. As it is, the poor fellow is on half-rations and remains half- starved all day.It rent his heart to see their hungry, hollow eyes; it pained him to note the rags they wore; and it made him very unhappy to see the tremendous eagerness with which they came to him, laying aside their brown bags. But what could he do? He could not run a charity show; that was impossible. He measured out their half-glass of coffee correct to the fraction of an inch, but they could cling to the glass as long as they liked.The blind beggar, who whined for alms all day in front of the big hotel, brought him part of his collection at the end of the day and demanded refreshment.. . and the grass-selling women. He disliked serving women; their shrill, loud voices got on his nerves. These came to him after disposing of head-loads of grass satisfactorily. And that sly fellow with a limp who bought a packet ofmixed fare every evening and carried it to a man standing under a tree on the pavement opposite.All the coppers that men and women of this part of the universe earned through their miscellaneous jobs ultimately came to him at the end of the day. He put all this money into a little cloth bag dangling from his neck under his shirt, and carried it home, soon after the night show had started at the theatre.He lived in the second lane behind the market. His wife opened the door, throwing into the night air the scent of burnt oil which perpetually hung about their home. She snatched from his hands all his encumbrances, put her hand under his shirt to pull out his cloth bag and counted the cash immediately. They gloated over it. Five rupees invested in the morning has brought us another five ...They ruminated on the exquisite mystery of this multiplication. She put back into his cloth bag the capital for further investment on the morrow, and carefully separated the gains and put them away in a little wooden box that she had brought from her parents house years before.After dinner, he tucked a betel leaf and tobacco in his cheek and slept on the pyol of his house, and had dreams of traffic constables bullying him to move on and health inspectors saying that he was spreading all kinds of disease and depopulating the city. But fortunately in actual life no one bothered him very seriously. He gave an occasional packet of his stuff to the traffic constable going off duty or to the health department menial who might pass that way. The health officer no doubt came and said, You must put all this under a glass lid, otherwise I shall destroy it all someday ... Take care! But he was a kindly man who did not pursue any matter but wondered in private, How his customers survive his food, I cant understand! I suppose people build up a sort of immunity to such poisons, with all that dust blowing on it and the gutter behind ... Rama no doubt violated all the well-accepted canons of cleanliness and sanitation, but still his customers not only survived his fare but seemed actually to flourish on it, having consumed it for years without showing signs of being any the worse for it.Q.Which of the following statements is incorrect?

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