Question Description
Question is based on the following passage.This passage is from Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Angel’s Game. ©2008 by Dragonworks, S.L. Translation ©2009 by Lucia Graves. The narrator, a writer, recalls his childhood in early twentieth-century Barcelona.Even then my only friends were made of paperand ink. At school I had learned to read and writelong before the other children. Where my schoolfriends saw notches of ink on incomprehensible5 pages, I saw light, streets, and people. Words and themystery of their hidden science fascinated me, and Isaw in them a key with which I could unlock aboundless world, a safe haven from that home, thosestreets, and those troubled days in which even I10 could sense that only a limited fortune awaited me.My father didn’t like to see books in the house.There was something about them—apart from theletters he could not decipher—that offended him.He used to tell me that as soon as I was ten he would15 send me off to work and that I’d better get rid of allmy scatterbrained ideas if I didn’t want to end up aloser, a nobody. I used to hide my books under themattress and wait for him to go out or fall asleep sothat I could read. Once he caught me reading at night20 and flew into a rage. He tore the book from myhands and flung it out of the window.“If I catch you wasting electricity again, readingall this nonsense, you’ll be sorry.”My father was not a miser and, despite the25 hardships we suffered, whenever he could he gave mea few coins so that I could buy myself some treats likethe other children. He was convinced that I spentthem on licorice sticks, sunflower seeds, or sweets,but I would keep them in a coffee tin under the bed,30 and when I’d collected four or five reales I’d secretlyrush out to buy myself a book.My favorite place in the whole city was theSempere & Sons bookshop on Calle Santa Ana. Itsmelled of old paper and dust and it was my35 sanctuary, my refuge. The bookseller would let me siton a chair in a corner and read any book I liked tomy heart’s content. He hardly ever allowed me to payfor the books he placed in my hands, but when hewasn’t looking I’d leave the coins I’d managed to40 collect on the counter before I left. It was only smallchange—if I’d had to buy a book with that pittance, Iwould probably have been able to afford only abooklet of cigarette papers. When it was time for meto leave, I would do so dragging my feet, a weight on45 my soul. If it had been up to me, I would have stayedthere forever.One Christmas Sempere gave me the best gift Ihave ever received. It was an old volume, read andexperienced to the full.50 “Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens,” I readon the cover.I was aware that Sempere knew a few authors whofrequented his establishment and, judging by the carewith which he handled the volume, I thought55 perhaps this Mr. Dickens was one of them.“A friend of yours?”“A lifelong friend. And from now on, he’s yourfriend too.”That afternoon I took my new friend home,60 hidden under my clothes so that my father wouldn’tsee it. It was a rainy winter, with days as gray as lead,and I read Great Expectations about nine times,partly because I had no other book at hand, partlybecause I did not think there could be a better one in65 the whole world and I was beginning to suspect thatMr. Dickens had written it just for me. Soon I wasconvinced that I didn’t want to do anything else inlife but learn to do what Mr. Dickens had done.Q.It can reasonably be inferred from the passage that the main reason that the narrator considers Great Expectations to be the best gift he ever received is becausea)reading the book convinced him that he wanted to be a writer.b)he’d only ever been given sweets and snacks as gifts in the past.c)the gift meant that Sempere held him in high regard.d)Sempere was a friend of the book’s authorCorrect answer is option 'A'. Can you explain this answer? for SAT 2025 is part of SAT preparation. The Question and answers have been prepared
according to
the SAT exam syllabus. Information about Question is based on the following passage.This passage is from Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Angel’s Game. ©2008 by Dragonworks, S.L. Translation ©2009 by Lucia Graves. The narrator, a writer, recalls his childhood in early twentieth-century Barcelona.Even then my only friends were made of paperand ink. At school I had learned to read and writelong before the other children. Where my schoolfriends saw notches of ink on incomprehensible5 pages, I saw light, streets, and people. Words and themystery of their hidden science fascinated me, and Isaw in them a key with which I could unlock aboundless world, a safe haven from that home, thosestreets, and those troubled days in which even I10 could sense that only a limited fortune awaited me.My father didn’t like to see books in the house.There was something about them—apart from theletters he could not decipher—that offended him.He used to tell me that as soon as I was ten he would15 send me off to work and that I’d better get rid of allmy scatterbrained ideas if I didn’t want to end up aloser, a nobody. I used to hide my books under themattress and wait for him to go out or fall asleep sothat I could read. Once he caught me reading at night20 and flew into a rage. He tore the book from myhands and flung it out of the window.“If I catch you wasting electricity again, readingall this nonsense, you’ll be sorry.”My father was not a miser and, despite the25 hardships we suffered, whenever he could he gave mea few coins so that I could buy myself some treats likethe other children. He was convinced that I spentthem on licorice sticks, sunflower seeds, or sweets,but I would keep them in a coffee tin under the bed,30 and when I’d collected four or five reales I’d secretlyrush out to buy myself a book.My favorite place in the whole city was theSempere & Sons bookshop on Calle Santa Ana. Itsmelled of old paper and dust and it was my35 sanctuary, my refuge. The bookseller would let me siton a chair in a corner and read any book I liked tomy heart’s content. He hardly ever allowed me to payfor the books he placed in my hands, but when hewasn’t looking I’d leave the coins I’d managed to40 collect on the counter before I left. It was only smallchange—if I’d had to buy a book with that pittance, Iwould probably have been able to afford only abooklet of cigarette papers. When it was time for meto leave, I would do so dragging my feet, a weight on45 my soul. If it had been up to me, I would have stayedthere forever.One Christmas Sempere gave me the best gift Ihave ever received. It was an old volume, read andexperienced to the full.50 “Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens,” I readon the cover.I was aware that Sempere knew a few authors whofrequented his establishment and, judging by the carewith which he handled the volume, I thought55 perhaps this Mr. Dickens was one of them.“A friend of yours?”“A lifelong friend. And from now on, he’s yourfriend too.”That afternoon I took my new friend home,60 hidden under my clothes so that my father wouldn’tsee it. It was a rainy winter, with days as gray as lead,and I read Great Expectations about nine times,partly because I had no other book at hand, partlybecause I did not think there could be a better one in65 the whole world and I was beginning to suspect thatMr. Dickens had written it just for me. Soon I wasconvinced that I didn’t want to do anything else inlife but learn to do what Mr. Dickens had done.Q.It can reasonably be inferred from the passage that the main reason that the narrator considers Great Expectations to be the best gift he ever received is becausea)reading the book convinced him that he wanted to be a writer.b)he’d only ever been given sweets and snacks as gifts in the past.c)the gift meant that Sempere held him in high regard.d)Sempere was a friend of the book’s authorCorrect answer is option 'A'. Can you explain this answer? covers all topics & solutions for SAT 2025 Exam.
Find important definitions, questions, meanings, examples, exercises and tests below for Question is based on the following passage.This passage is from Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Angel’s Game. ©2008 by Dragonworks, S.L. Translation ©2009 by Lucia Graves. The narrator, a writer, recalls his childhood in early twentieth-century Barcelona.Even then my only friends were made of paperand ink. At school I had learned to read and writelong before the other children. Where my schoolfriends saw notches of ink on incomprehensible5 pages, I saw light, streets, and people. Words and themystery of their hidden science fascinated me, and Isaw in them a key with which I could unlock aboundless world, a safe haven from that home, thosestreets, and those troubled days in which even I10 could sense that only a limited fortune awaited me.My father didn’t like to see books in the house.There was something about them—apart from theletters he could not decipher—that offended him.He used to tell me that as soon as I was ten he would15 send me off to work and that I’d better get rid of allmy scatterbrained ideas if I didn’t want to end up aloser, a nobody. I used to hide my books under themattress and wait for him to go out or fall asleep sothat I could read. Once he caught me reading at night20 and flew into a rage. He tore the book from myhands and flung it out of the window.“If I catch you wasting electricity again, readingall this nonsense, you’ll be sorry.”My father was not a miser and, despite the25 hardships we suffered, whenever he could he gave mea few coins so that I could buy myself some treats likethe other children. He was convinced that I spentthem on licorice sticks, sunflower seeds, or sweets,but I would keep them in a coffee tin under the bed,30 and when I’d collected four or five reales I’d secretlyrush out to buy myself a book.My favorite place in the whole city was theSempere & Sons bookshop on Calle Santa Ana. Itsmelled of old paper and dust and it was my35 sanctuary, my refuge. The bookseller would let me siton a chair in a corner and read any book I liked tomy heart’s content. He hardly ever allowed me to payfor the books he placed in my hands, but when hewasn’t looking I’d leave the coins I’d managed to40 collect on the counter before I left. It was only smallchange—if I’d had to buy a book with that pittance, Iwould probably have been able to afford only abooklet of cigarette papers. When it was time for meto leave, I would do so dragging my feet, a weight on45 my soul. If it had been up to me, I would have stayedthere forever.One Christmas Sempere gave me the best gift Ihave ever received. It was an old volume, read andexperienced to the full.50 “Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens,” I readon the cover.I was aware that Sempere knew a few authors whofrequented his establishment and, judging by the carewith which he handled the volume, I thought55 perhaps this Mr. Dickens was one of them.“A friend of yours?”“A lifelong friend. And from now on, he’s yourfriend too.”That afternoon I took my new friend home,60 hidden under my clothes so that my father wouldn’tsee it. It was a rainy winter, with days as gray as lead,and I read Great Expectations about nine times,partly because I had no other book at hand, partlybecause I did not think there could be a better one in65 the whole world and I was beginning to suspect thatMr. Dickens had written it just for me. Soon I wasconvinced that I didn’t want to do anything else inlife but learn to do what Mr. Dickens had done.Q.It can reasonably be inferred from the passage that the main reason that the narrator considers Great Expectations to be the best gift he ever received is becausea)reading the book convinced him that he wanted to be a writer.b)he’d only ever been given sweets and snacks as gifts in the past.c)the gift meant that Sempere held him in high regard.d)Sempere was a friend of the book’s authorCorrect answer is option 'A'. Can you explain this answer?.
Solutions for Question is based on the following passage.This passage is from Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Angel’s Game. ©2008 by Dragonworks, S.L. Translation ©2009 by Lucia Graves. The narrator, a writer, recalls his childhood in early twentieth-century Barcelona.Even then my only friends were made of paperand ink. At school I had learned to read and writelong before the other children. Where my schoolfriends saw notches of ink on incomprehensible5 pages, I saw light, streets, and people. Words and themystery of their hidden science fascinated me, and Isaw in them a key with which I could unlock aboundless world, a safe haven from that home, thosestreets, and those troubled days in which even I10 could sense that only a limited fortune awaited me.My father didn’t like to see books in the house.There was something about them—apart from theletters he could not decipher—that offended him.He used to tell me that as soon as I was ten he would15 send me off to work and that I’d better get rid of allmy scatterbrained ideas if I didn’t want to end up aloser, a nobody. I used to hide my books under themattress and wait for him to go out or fall asleep sothat I could read. Once he caught me reading at night20 and flew into a rage. He tore the book from myhands and flung it out of the window.“If I catch you wasting electricity again, readingall this nonsense, you’ll be sorry.”My father was not a miser and, despite the25 hardships we suffered, whenever he could he gave mea few coins so that I could buy myself some treats likethe other children. He was convinced that I spentthem on licorice sticks, sunflower seeds, or sweets,but I would keep them in a coffee tin under the bed,30 and when I’d collected four or five reales I’d secretlyrush out to buy myself a book.My favorite place in the whole city was theSempere & Sons bookshop on Calle Santa Ana. Itsmelled of old paper and dust and it was my35 sanctuary, my refuge. The bookseller would let me siton a chair in a corner and read any book I liked tomy heart’s content. He hardly ever allowed me to payfor the books he placed in my hands, but when hewasn’t looking I’d leave the coins I’d managed to40 collect on the counter before I left. It was only smallchange—if I’d had to buy a book with that pittance, Iwould probably have been able to afford only abooklet of cigarette papers. When it was time for meto leave, I would do so dragging my feet, a weight on45 my soul. If it had been up to me, I would have stayedthere forever.One Christmas Sempere gave me the best gift Ihave ever received. It was an old volume, read andexperienced to the full.50 “Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens,” I readon the cover.I was aware that Sempere knew a few authors whofrequented his establishment and, judging by the carewith which he handled the volume, I thought55 perhaps this Mr. Dickens was one of them.“A friend of yours?”“A lifelong friend. And from now on, he’s yourfriend too.”That afternoon I took my new friend home,60 hidden under my clothes so that my father wouldn’tsee it. It was a rainy winter, with days as gray as lead,and I read Great Expectations about nine times,partly because I had no other book at hand, partlybecause I did not think there could be a better one in65 the whole world and I was beginning to suspect thatMr. Dickens had written it just for me. Soon I wasconvinced that I didn’t want to do anything else inlife but learn to do what Mr. Dickens had done.Q.It can reasonably be inferred from the passage that the main reason that the narrator considers Great Expectations to be the best gift he ever received is becausea)reading the book convinced him that he wanted to be a writer.b)he’d only ever been given sweets and snacks as gifts in the past.c)the gift meant that Sempere held him in high regard.d)Sempere was a friend of the book’s authorCorrect answer is option 'A'. Can you explain this answer? in English & in Hindi are available as part of our courses for SAT.
Download more important topics, notes, lectures and mock test series for SAT Exam by signing up for free.
Here you can find the meaning of Question is based on the following passage.This passage is from Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Angel’s Game. ©2008 by Dragonworks, S.L. Translation ©2009 by Lucia Graves. The narrator, a writer, recalls his childhood in early twentieth-century Barcelona.Even then my only friends were made of paperand ink. At school I had learned to read and writelong before the other children. Where my schoolfriends saw notches of ink on incomprehensible5 pages, I saw light, streets, and people. Words and themystery of their hidden science fascinated me, and Isaw in them a key with which I could unlock aboundless world, a safe haven from that home, thosestreets, and those troubled days in which even I10 could sense that only a limited fortune awaited me.My father didn’t like to see books in the house.There was something about them—apart from theletters he could not decipher—that offended him.He used to tell me that as soon as I was ten he would15 send me off to work and that I’d better get rid of allmy scatterbrained ideas if I didn’t want to end up aloser, a nobody. I used to hide my books under themattress and wait for him to go out or fall asleep sothat I could read. Once he caught me reading at night20 and flew into a rage. He tore the book from myhands and flung it out of the window.“If I catch you wasting electricity again, readingall this nonsense, you’ll be sorry.”My father was not a miser and, despite the25 hardships we suffered, whenever he could he gave mea few coins so that I could buy myself some treats likethe other children. He was convinced that I spentthem on licorice sticks, sunflower seeds, or sweets,but I would keep them in a coffee tin under the bed,30 and when I’d collected four or five reales I’d secretlyrush out to buy myself a book.My favorite place in the whole city was theSempere & Sons bookshop on Calle Santa Ana. Itsmelled of old paper and dust and it was my35 sanctuary, my refuge. The bookseller would let me siton a chair in a corner and read any book I liked tomy heart’s content. He hardly ever allowed me to payfor the books he placed in my hands, but when hewasn’t looking I’d leave the coins I’d managed to40 collect on the counter before I left. It was only smallchange—if I’d had to buy a book with that pittance, Iwould probably have been able to afford only abooklet of cigarette papers. When it was time for meto leave, I would do so dragging my feet, a weight on45 my soul. If it had been up to me, I would have stayedthere forever.One Christmas Sempere gave me the best gift Ihave ever received. It was an old volume, read andexperienced to the full.50 “Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens,” I readon the cover.I was aware that Sempere knew a few authors whofrequented his establishment and, judging by the carewith which he handled the volume, I thought55 perhaps this Mr. Dickens was one of them.“A friend of yours?”“A lifelong friend. And from now on, he’s yourfriend too.”That afternoon I took my new friend home,60 hidden under my clothes so that my father wouldn’tsee it. It was a rainy winter, with days as gray as lead,and I read Great Expectations about nine times,partly because I had no other book at hand, partlybecause I did not think there could be a better one in65 the whole world and I was beginning to suspect thatMr. Dickens had written it just for me. Soon I wasconvinced that I didn’t want to do anything else inlife but learn to do what Mr. Dickens had done.Q.It can reasonably be inferred from the passage that the main reason that the narrator considers Great Expectations to be the best gift he ever received is becausea)reading the book convinced him that he wanted to be a writer.b)he’d only ever been given sweets and snacks as gifts in the past.c)the gift meant that Sempere held him in high regard.d)Sempere was a friend of the book’s authorCorrect answer is option 'A'. Can you explain this answer? defined & explained in the simplest way possible. Besides giving the explanation of
Question is based on the following passage.This passage is from Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Angel’s Game. ©2008 by Dragonworks, S.L. Translation ©2009 by Lucia Graves. The narrator, a writer, recalls his childhood in early twentieth-century Barcelona.Even then my only friends were made of paperand ink. At school I had learned to read and writelong before the other children. Where my schoolfriends saw notches of ink on incomprehensible5 pages, I saw light, streets, and people. Words and themystery of their hidden science fascinated me, and Isaw in them a key with which I could unlock aboundless world, a safe haven from that home, thosestreets, and those troubled days in which even I10 could sense that only a limited fortune awaited me.My father didn’t like to see books in the house.There was something about them—apart from theletters he could not decipher—that offended him.He used to tell me that as soon as I was ten he would15 send me off to work and that I’d better get rid of allmy scatterbrained ideas if I didn’t want to end up aloser, a nobody. I used to hide my books under themattress and wait for him to go out or fall asleep sothat I could read. Once he caught me reading at night20 and flew into a rage. He tore the book from myhands and flung it out of the window.“If I catch you wasting electricity again, readingall this nonsense, you’ll be sorry.”My father was not a miser and, despite the25 hardships we suffered, whenever he could he gave mea few coins so that I could buy myself some treats likethe other children. He was convinced that I spentthem on licorice sticks, sunflower seeds, or sweets,but I would keep them in a coffee tin under the bed,30 and when I’d collected four or five reales I’d secretlyrush out to buy myself a book.My favorite place in the whole city was theSempere & Sons bookshop on Calle Santa Ana. Itsmelled of old paper and dust and it was my35 sanctuary, my refuge. The bookseller would let me siton a chair in a corner and read any book I liked tomy heart’s content. He hardly ever allowed me to payfor the books he placed in my hands, but when hewasn’t looking I’d leave the coins I’d managed to40 collect on the counter before I left. It was only smallchange—if I’d had to buy a book with that pittance, Iwould probably have been able to afford only abooklet of cigarette papers. When it was time for meto leave, I would do so dragging my feet, a weight on45 my soul. If it had been up to me, I would have stayedthere forever.One Christmas Sempere gave me the best gift Ihave ever received. It was an old volume, read andexperienced to the full.50 “Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens,” I readon the cover.I was aware that Sempere knew a few authors whofrequented his establishment and, judging by the carewith which he handled the volume, I thought55 perhaps this Mr. Dickens was one of them.“A friend of yours?”“A lifelong friend. And from now on, he’s yourfriend too.”That afternoon I took my new friend home,60 hidden under my clothes so that my father wouldn’tsee it. It was a rainy winter, with days as gray as lead,and I read Great Expectations about nine times,partly because I had no other book at hand, partlybecause I did not think there could be a better one in65 the whole world and I was beginning to suspect thatMr. Dickens had written it just for me. Soon I wasconvinced that I didn’t want to do anything else inlife but learn to do what Mr. Dickens had done.Q.It can reasonably be inferred from the passage that the main reason that the narrator considers Great Expectations to be the best gift he ever received is becausea)reading the book convinced him that he wanted to be a writer.b)he’d only ever been given sweets and snacks as gifts in the past.c)the gift meant that Sempere held him in high regard.d)Sempere was a friend of the book’s authorCorrect answer is option 'A'. Can you explain this answer?, a detailed solution for Question is based on the following passage.This passage is from Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Angel’s Game. ©2008 by Dragonworks, S.L. Translation ©2009 by Lucia Graves. The narrator, a writer, recalls his childhood in early twentieth-century Barcelona.Even then my only friends were made of paperand ink. At school I had learned to read and writelong before the other children. Where my schoolfriends saw notches of ink on incomprehensible5 pages, I saw light, streets, and people. Words and themystery of their hidden science fascinated me, and Isaw in them a key with which I could unlock aboundless world, a safe haven from that home, thosestreets, and those troubled days in which even I10 could sense that only a limited fortune awaited me.My father didn’t like to see books in the house.There was something about them—apart from theletters he could not decipher—that offended him.He used to tell me that as soon as I was ten he would15 send me off to work and that I’d better get rid of allmy scatterbrained ideas if I didn’t want to end up aloser, a nobody. I used to hide my books under themattress and wait for him to go out or fall asleep sothat I could read. Once he caught me reading at night20 and flew into a rage. He tore the book from myhands and flung it out of the window.“If I catch you wasting electricity again, readingall this nonsense, you’ll be sorry.”My father was not a miser and, despite the25 hardships we suffered, whenever he could he gave mea few coins so that I could buy myself some treats likethe other children. He was convinced that I spentthem on licorice sticks, sunflower seeds, or sweets,but I would keep them in a coffee tin under the bed,30 and when I’d collected four or five reales I’d secretlyrush out to buy myself a book.My favorite place in the whole city was theSempere & Sons bookshop on Calle Santa Ana. Itsmelled of old paper and dust and it was my35 sanctuary, my refuge. The bookseller would let me siton a chair in a corner and read any book I liked tomy heart’s content. He hardly ever allowed me to payfor the books he placed in my hands, but when hewasn’t looking I’d leave the coins I’d managed to40 collect on the counter before I left. It was only smallchange—if I’d had to buy a book with that pittance, Iwould probably have been able to afford only abooklet of cigarette papers. When it was time for meto leave, I would do so dragging my feet, a weight on45 my soul. If it had been up to me, I would have stayedthere forever.One Christmas Sempere gave me the best gift Ihave ever received. It was an old volume, read andexperienced to the full.50 “Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens,” I readon the cover.I was aware that Sempere knew a few authors whofrequented his establishment and, judging by the carewith which he handled the volume, I thought55 perhaps this Mr. Dickens was one of them.“A friend of yours?”“A lifelong friend. And from now on, he’s yourfriend too.”That afternoon I took my new friend home,60 hidden under my clothes so that my father wouldn’tsee it. It was a rainy winter, with days as gray as lead,and I read Great Expectations about nine times,partly because I had no other book at hand, partlybecause I did not think there could be a better one in65 the whole world and I was beginning to suspect thatMr. Dickens had written it just for me. Soon I wasconvinced that I didn’t want to do anything else inlife but learn to do what Mr. Dickens had done.Q.It can reasonably be inferred from the passage that the main reason that the narrator considers Great Expectations to be the best gift he ever received is becausea)reading the book convinced him that he wanted to be a writer.b)he’d only ever been given sweets and snacks as gifts in the past.c)the gift meant that Sempere held him in high regard.d)Sempere was a friend of the book’s authorCorrect answer is option 'A'. Can you explain this answer? has been provided alongside types of Question is based on the following passage.This passage is from Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Angel’s Game. ©2008 by Dragonworks, S.L. Translation ©2009 by Lucia Graves. The narrator, a writer, recalls his childhood in early twentieth-century Barcelona.Even then my only friends were made of paperand ink. At school I had learned to read and writelong before the other children. Where my schoolfriends saw notches of ink on incomprehensible5 pages, I saw light, streets, and people. Words and themystery of their hidden science fascinated me, and Isaw in them a key with which I could unlock aboundless world, a safe haven from that home, thosestreets, and those troubled days in which even I10 could sense that only a limited fortune awaited me.My father didn’t like to see books in the house.There was something about them—apart from theletters he could not decipher—that offended him.He used to tell me that as soon as I was ten he would15 send me off to work and that I’d better get rid of allmy scatterbrained ideas if I didn’t want to end up aloser, a nobody. I used to hide my books under themattress and wait for him to go out or fall asleep sothat I could read. Once he caught me reading at night20 and flew into a rage. He tore the book from myhands and flung it out of the window.“If I catch you wasting electricity again, readingall this nonsense, you’ll be sorry.”My father was not a miser and, despite the25 hardships we suffered, whenever he could he gave mea few coins so that I could buy myself some treats likethe other children. He was convinced that I spentthem on licorice sticks, sunflower seeds, or sweets,but I would keep them in a coffee tin under the bed,30 and when I’d collected four or five reales I’d secretlyrush out to buy myself a book.My favorite place in the whole city was theSempere & Sons bookshop on Calle Santa Ana. Itsmelled of old paper and dust and it was my35 sanctuary, my refuge. The bookseller would let me siton a chair in a corner and read any book I liked tomy heart’s content. He hardly ever allowed me to payfor the books he placed in my hands, but when hewasn’t looking I’d leave the coins I’d managed to40 collect on the counter before I left. It was only smallchange—if I’d had to buy a book with that pittance, Iwould probably have been able to afford only abooklet of cigarette papers. When it was time for meto leave, I would do so dragging my feet, a weight on45 my soul. If it had been up to me, I would have stayedthere forever.One Christmas Sempere gave me the best gift Ihave ever received. It was an old volume, read andexperienced to the full.50 “Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens,” I readon the cover.I was aware that Sempere knew a few authors whofrequented his establishment and, judging by the carewith which he handled the volume, I thought55 perhaps this Mr. Dickens was one of them.“A friend of yours?”“A lifelong friend. And from now on, he’s yourfriend too.”That afternoon I took my new friend home,60 hidden under my clothes so that my father wouldn’tsee it. It was a rainy winter, with days as gray as lead,and I read Great Expectations about nine times,partly because I had no other book at hand, partlybecause I did not think there could be a better one in65 the whole world and I was beginning to suspect thatMr. Dickens had written it just for me. Soon I wasconvinced that I didn’t want to do anything else inlife but learn to do what Mr. Dickens had done.Q.It can reasonably be inferred from the passage that the main reason that the narrator considers Great Expectations to be the best gift he ever received is becausea)reading the book convinced him that he wanted to be a writer.b)he’d only ever been given sweets and snacks as gifts in the past.c)the gift meant that Sempere held him in high regard.d)Sempere was a friend of the book’s authorCorrect answer is option 'A'. Can you explain this answer? theory, EduRev gives you an
ample number of questions to practice Question is based on the following passage.This passage is from Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Angel’s Game. ©2008 by Dragonworks, S.L. Translation ©2009 by Lucia Graves. The narrator, a writer, recalls his childhood in early twentieth-century Barcelona.Even then my only friends were made of paperand ink. At school I had learned to read and writelong before the other children. Where my schoolfriends saw notches of ink on incomprehensible5 pages, I saw light, streets, and people. Words and themystery of their hidden science fascinated me, and Isaw in them a key with which I could unlock aboundless world, a safe haven from that home, thosestreets, and those troubled days in which even I10 could sense that only a limited fortune awaited me.My father didn’t like to see books in the house.There was something about them—apart from theletters he could not decipher—that offended him.He used to tell me that as soon as I was ten he would15 send me off to work and that I’d better get rid of allmy scatterbrained ideas if I didn’t want to end up aloser, a nobody. I used to hide my books under themattress and wait for him to go out or fall asleep sothat I could read. Once he caught me reading at night20 and flew into a rage. He tore the book from myhands and flung it out of the window.“If I catch you wasting electricity again, readingall this nonsense, you’ll be sorry.”My father was not a miser and, despite the25 hardships we suffered, whenever he could he gave mea few coins so that I could buy myself some treats likethe other children. He was convinced that I spentthem on licorice sticks, sunflower seeds, or sweets,but I would keep them in a coffee tin under the bed,30 and when I’d collected four or five reales I’d secretlyrush out to buy myself a book.My favorite place in the whole city was theSempere & Sons bookshop on Calle Santa Ana. Itsmelled of old paper and dust and it was my35 sanctuary, my refuge. The bookseller would let me siton a chair in a corner and read any book I liked tomy heart’s content. He hardly ever allowed me to payfor the books he placed in my hands, but when hewasn’t looking I’d leave the coins I’d managed to40 collect on the counter before I left. It was only smallchange—if I’d had to buy a book with that pittance, Iwould probably have been able to afford only abooklet of cigarette papers. When it was time for meto leave, I would do so dragging my feet, a weight on45 my soul. If it had been up to me, I would have stayedthere forever.One Christmas Sempere gave me the best gift Ihave ever received. It was an old volume, read andexperienced to the full.50 “Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens,” I readon the cover.I was aware that Sempere knew a few authors whofrequented his establishment and, judging by the carewith which he handled the volume, I thought55 perhaps this Mr. Dickens was one of them.“A friend of yours?”“A lifelong friend. And from now on, he’s yourfriend too.”That afternoon I took my new friend home,60 hidden under my clothes so that my father wouldn’tsee it. It was a rainy winter, with days as gray as lead,and I read Great Expectations about nine times,partly because I had no other book at hand, partlybecause I did not think there could be a better one in65 the whole world and I was beginning to suspect thatMr. Dickens had written it just for me. Soon I wasconvinced that I didn’t want to do anything else inlife but learn to do what Mr. Dickens had done.Q.It can reasonably be inferred from the passage that the main reason that the narrator considers Great Expectations to be the best gift he ever received is becausea)reading the book convinced him that he wanted to be a writer.b)he’d only ever been given sweets and snacks as gifts in the past.c)the gift meant that Sempere held him in high regard.d)Sempere was a friend of the book’s authorCorrect answer is option 'A'. Can you explain this answer? tests, examples and also practice SAT tests.