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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 paper
and ink. At school I had learned to read and write
long before the other children. Where my school
friends saw notches of ink on incomprehensible
5 pages, I saw light, streets, and people. Words and the
mystery of their hidden science fascinated me, and I
saw in them a key with which I could unlock a
boundless world, a safe haven from that home, those
streets, and those troubled days in which even I
10 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 the
letters he could not decipher—that offended him.
He used to tell me that as soon as I was ten he would
15 send me off to work and that I’d better get rid of all
my scatterbrained ideas if I didn’t want to end up a
loser, a nobody. I used to hide my books under the
mattress and wait for him to go out or fall asleep so
that I could read. Once he caught me reading at night
20 and flew into a rage. He tore the book from my
hands and flung it out of the window.
“If I catch you wasting electricity again, reading
all this nonsense, you’ll be sorry.”
My father was not a miser and, despite the
25 hardships we suffered, whenever he could he gave me
a few coins so that I could buy myself some treats like
the other children. He was convinced that I spent
them 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 secretly
rush out to buy myself a book.
My favorite place in the whole city was the
Sempere & Sons bookshop on Calle Santa Ana. It
smelled of old paper and dust and it was my
35 sanctuary, my refuge. The bookseller would let me sit
on a chair in a corner and read any book I liked to
my heart’s content. He hardly ever allowed me to pay
for the books he placed in my hands, but when he
wasn’t looking I’d leave the coins I’d managed to
40 collect on the counter before I left. It was only small
change—if I’d had to buy a book with that pittance, I
would probably have been able to afford only a
booklet of cigarette papers. When it was time for me
to leave, I would do so dragging my feet, a weight on
45 my soul. If it had been up to me, I would have stayed
there forever.
One Christmas Sempere gave me the best gift I
have ever received. It was an old volume, read and
experienced to the full.
50 “Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens,” I read
on the cover.
I was aware that Sempere knew a few authors who
frequented his establishment and, judging by the care
with which he handled the volume, I thought
55 perhaps this Mr. Dickens was one of them.
“A friend of yours?”
“A lifelong friend. And from now on, he’s your
friend too.”
That afternoon I took my new friend home,
60 hidden under my clothes so that my father wouldn’t
see 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, partly
because I did not think there could be a better one in
65 the whole world and I was beginning to suspect that
Mr. Dickens had written it just for me. Soon I was
convinced that I didn’t want to do anything else in
life but learn to do what Mr. Dickens had done.
Even then my only friends were made of paper
and ink. At school I had learned to read and write
long before the other children. Where my school
friends saw notches of ink on incomprehensible
5 pages, I saw light, streets, and people. Words and the
mystery of their hidden science fascinated me, and I
saw in them a key with which I could unlock a
boundless world, a safe haven from that home, those
streets, and those troubled days in which even I
10 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 the
letters he could not decipher—that offended him.
He used to tell me that as soon as I was ten he would
15 send me off to work and that I’d better get rid of all
my scatterbrained ideas if I didn’t want to end up a
loser, a nobody. I used to hide my books under the
mattress and wait for him to go out or fall asleep so
that I could read. Once he caught me reading at night
20 and flew into a rage. He tore the book from my
hands and flung it out of the window.
“If I catch you wasting electricity again, reading
all this nonsense, you’ll be sorry.”
My father was not a miser and, despite the
25 hardships we suffered, whenever he could he gave me
a few coins so that I could buy myself some treats like
the other children. He was convinced that I spent
them 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 secretly
rush out to buy myself a book.
My favorite place in the whole city was the
Sempere & Sons bookshop on Calle Santa Ana. It
smelled of old paper and dust and it was my
35 sanctuary, my refuge. The bookseller would let me sit
on a chair in a corner and read any book I liked to
my heart’s content. He hardly ever allowed me to pay
for the books he placed in my hands, but when he
wasn’t looking I’d leave the coins I’d managed to
40 collect on the counter before I left. It was only small
change—if I’d had to buy a book with that pittance, I
would probably have been able to afford only a
booklet of cigarette papers. When it was time for me
to leave, I would do so dragging my feet, a weight on
45 my soul. If it had been up to me, I would have stayed
there forever.
One Christmas Sempere gave me the best gift I
have ever received. It was an old volume, read and
experienced to the full.
50 “Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens,” I read
on the cover.
I was aware that Sempere knew a few authors who
frequented his establishment and, judging by the care
with which he handled the volume, I thought
55 perhaps this Mr. Dickens was one of them.
“A friend of yours?”
“A lifelong friend. And from now on, he’s your
friend too.”
That afternoon I took my new friend home,
60 hidden under my clothes so that my father wouldn’t
see 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, partly
because I did not think there could be a better one in
65 the whole world and I was beginning to suspect that
Mr. Dickens had written it just for me. Soon I was
convinced that I didn’t want to do anything else in
life but learn to do what Mr. Dickens had done.
Q. The narrator indicates that he pays Sempere
- a)less than Sempere expects him to pay for the books.
- b)nothing, because Sempere won’t take his money.
- c)the money he makes selling sweets to the other children.
- d)much less for the books than they are worth.
Correct answer is option 'D'. Can you explain this answer?
Most Upvoted Answer
Question is based on the following passage.This passage is from Carlos...
Choice D is the best answer. In the fourth paragraph, the narrator explains that although Sempere normally didn’t charge him for books, he still left Sempere a few coins as payment: “It was only small change—if I’d had to buy a book with that pittance, I would probably have been able to afford only a booklet of cigarette papers.” These lines signal the narrator’s awareness that he was paying less for the books than they were worth. Choice A is incorrect because the passage states that Sempere didn’t expect or want the narrator to pay: “He hardly ever allowed me to pay for the books.” Choice B is incorrect because the fourth paragraph makes clear that even if Sempere didn’t want the narrator's money, the narrator would still “leave the coins I’d managed to collect.” Choice C is incorrect because the third paragraph states that the money with which the narrator paid Sempere was originally given to the narrator by his father.
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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.The narrator indicates that he pays Semperea)less than Sempere expects him to pay for the books.b)nothing, because Sempere won’t take his money.c)the money he makes selling sweets to the other children.d)much less for the books than they are worth.Correct answer is option 'D'. Can you explain this answer?
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.The narrator indicates that he pays Semperea)less than Sempere expects him to pay for the books.b)nothing, because Sempere won’t take his money.c)the money he makes selling sweets to the other children.d)much less for the books than they are worth.Correct answer is option 'D'. 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.The narrator indicates that he pays Semperea)less than Sempere expects him to pay for the books.b)nothing, because Sempere won’t take his money.c)the money he makes selling sweets to the other children.d)much less for the books than they are worth.Correct answer is option 'D'. 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.The narrator indicates that he pays Semperea)less than Sempere expects him to pay for the books.b)nothing, because Sempere won’t take his money.c)the money he makes selling sweets to the other children.d)much less for the books than they are worth.Correct answer is option 'D'. Can you explain this answer?.
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.The narrator indicates that he pays Semperea)less than Sempere expects him to pay for the books.b)nothing, because Sempere won’t take his money.c)the money he makes selling sweets to the other children.d)much less for the books than they are worth.Correct answer is option 'D'. 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.The narrator indicates that he pays Semperea)less than Sempere expects him to pay for the books.b)nothing, because Sempere won’t take his money.c)the money he makes selling sweets to the other children.d)much less for the books than they are worth.Correct answer is option 'D'. 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.The narrator indicates that he pays Semperea)less than Sempere expects him to pay for the books.b)nothing, because Sempere won’t take his money.c)the money he makes selling sweets to the other children.d)much less for the books than they are worth.Correct answer is option 'D'. 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.The narrator indicates that he pays Semperea)less than Sempere expects him to pay for the books.b)nothing, because Sempere won’t take his money.c)the money he makes selling sweets to the other children.d)much less for the books than they are worth.Correct answer is option 'D'. Can you explain this answer? in English & in Hindi are available as part of our courses for SAT.
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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.The narrator indicates that he pays Semperea)less than Sempere expects him to pay for the books.b)nothing, because Sempere won’t take his money.c)the money he makes selling sweets to the other children.d)much less for the books than they are worth.Correct answer is option 'D'. 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.The narrator indicates that he pays Semperea)less than Sempere expects him to pay for the books.b)nothing, because Sempere won’t take his money.c)the money he makes selling sweets to the other children.d)much less for the books than they are worth.Correct answer is option 'D'. 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.The narrator indicates that he pays Semperea)less than Sempere expects him to pay for the books.b)nothing, because Sempere won’t take his money.c)the money he makes selling sweets to the other children.d)much less for the books than they are worth.Correct answer is option 'D'. 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.The narrator indicates that he pays Semperea)less than Sempere expects him to pay for the books.b)nothing, because Sempere won’t take his money.c)the money he makes selling sweets to the other children.d)much less for the books than they are worth.Correct answer is option 'D'. 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.The narrator indicates that he pays Semperea)less than Sempere expects him to pay for the books.b)nothing, because Sempere won’t take his money.c)the money he makes selling sweets to the other children.d)much less for the books than they are worth.Correct answer is option 'D'. Can you explain this answer? tests, examples and also practice SAT tests.
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