Inferences - GED Language Arts (RLA)
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1 That punctual servant of all work, the sun, had just risen, and begun to strike a light on the morning of the thirteenth of May, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-seven, when Mr. Samuel Pickwick burst like another sun from his slumbers, threw open his chamber window, and looked out upon the world beneath. 2 Goswell Street was at his feet, Goswell Street was on his right hand—as far as the eye could reach, Goswell Street extended on his left; and the opposite side of Goswell Street was over the way. 3 'Such,' thought Mr. Pickwick, 'are the narrow views of those philosophers who, content with examining the things that lie before them, look not to the truths which are hidden beyond. 4 As well might I be content to gaze on Goswell Street for ever, without one effort to penetrate to the hidden countries which on every side surround it.' 5 And having given vent to this beautiful reflection, Mr. Pickwick proceeded to put himself into his clothes, and his clothes into his portmanteau. 6 Great men are seldom over scrupulous in the arrangement of their attire; the operation of shaving, dressing, and coffee-imbibing was soon performed; and, in another hour, Mr. Pickwick, with his portmanteau in his hand, his telescope in his greatcoat pocket, and his note-book in his waistcoat, ready for the reception of any discoveries worthy of being noted down, had arrived at the coach-stand in St. Martin's-le-Grand.
7 'Cab!' said Mr. Pickwick.
8 'Here you are, sir,' shouted a strange specimen of the human race, in a sackcloth coat, and apron of the same, who, with a brass label and number round his neck, looked as if he were catalogued in some collection of rarities. 9 This was the waterman.
Based on Sentences 3-4, how might Mr. Pickwick’s character be described?
1 That punctual servant of all work, the sun, had just risen, and begun to strike a light on the morning of the thirteenth of May, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-seven, when Mr. Samuel Pickwick burst like another sun from his slumbers, threw open his chamber window, and looked out upon the world beneath. 2 Goswell Street was at his feet, Goswell Street was on his right hand—as far as the eye could reach, Goswell Street extended on his left; and the opposite side of Goswell Street was over the way. 3 'Such,' thought Mr. Pickwick, 'are the narrow views of those philosophers who, content with examining the things that lie before them, look not to the truths which are hidden beyond. 4 As well might I be content to gaze on Goswell Street for ever, without one effort to penetrate to the hidden countries which on every side surround it.' 5 And having given vent to this beautiful reflection, Mr. Pickwick proceeded to put himself into his clothes, and his clothes into his portmanteau. 6 Great men are seldom over scrupulous in the arrangement of their attire; the operation of shaving, dressing, and coffee-imbibing was soon performed; and, in another hour, Mr. Pickwick, with his portmanteau in his hand, his telescope in his greatcoat pocket, and his note-book in his waistcoat, ready for the reception of any discoveries worthy of being noted down, had arrived at the coach-stand in St. Martin's-le-Grand.
7 'Cab!' said Mr. Pickwick.
8 'Here you are, sir,' shouted a strange specimen of the human race, in a sackcloth coat, and apron of the same, who, with a brass label and number round his neck, looked as if he were catalogued in some collection of rarities. 9 This was the waterman.
Based on Sentences 3-4, how might Mr. Pickwick’s character be described?
Because he is leaving Goswell Street, Mr. Pickwick believes himself to be superior to “the narrow views of those philosophers who, content with examining the things that lie before them, look not to the truths which are hidden beyond” (Sentence 3). We can thus deduce that he is annoyingly self-important; he thinks highly of himself in a conceited way. “Pompous” fits that definition perfectly.
Passage adapted from Charles Dickens’ The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club (1837)
Because he is leaving Goswell Street, Mr. Pickwick believes himself to be superior to “the narrow views of those philosophers who, content with examining the things that lie before them, look not to the truths which are hidden beyond” (Sentence 3). We can thus deduce that he is annoyingly self-important; he thinks highly of himself in a conceited way. “Pompous” fits that definition perfectly.
Passage adapted from Charles Dickens’ The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club (1837)
Compare your answer with the correct one above
1 It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
2 There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. 3 In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled forever. …
4 France, less favored on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness downhill, making paper money and spending it. 5 Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honor to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. 6 It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history.
In Sentence 6, to what historical object is the author alluding?
1 It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
2 There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. 3 In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled forever. …
4 France, less favored on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness downhill, making paper money and spending it. 5 Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honor to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. 6 It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history.
In Sentence 6, to what historical object is the author alluding?
Sentence 6 describes trees that will be “sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it.” This allows us to rule out muskets and brass scales, which are not made of wood. By noting that this object is also described as “terrible in history,” we can rule out market stalls. Lastly, by noting that the wooden framework is “movable,” we can conclude that the author is describing a guillotine and not a crucifix.
Passage adapted from Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities (1859).
Sentence 6 describes trees that will be “sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it.” This allows us to rule out muskets and brass scales, which are not made of wood. By noting that this object is also described as “terrible in history,” we can rule out market stalls. Lastly, by noting that the wooden framework is “movable,” we can conclude that the author is describing a guillotine and not a crucifix.
Passage adapted from Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities (1859).
Compare your answer with the correct one above
1 Call me Ishmael. 2 Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. 3 It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. 4 Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. 5 This is my substitute for pistol and ball. 6 With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. 7 There is nothing surprising in this. 8 If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.
9 There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. 10 Right and left, the streets take you waterward. 11 Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. 12 Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.
In Sentence 2, why does the speaker say “never mind how long precisely”?
1 Call me Ishmael. 2 Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. 3 It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. 4 Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. 5 This is my substitute for pistol and ball. 6 With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. 7 There is nothing surprising in this. 8 If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.
9 There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. 10 Right and left, the streets take you waterward. 11 Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. 12 Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.
In Sentence 2, why does the speaker say “never mind how long precisely”?
The phrase in question is a verbal quirk or idiosyncrasy that helps establish what kind of speaker we’re dealing with. Reading the surrounding sentences makes it clear that the speaker is neither indifferent nor concealing the fact that this is an autobiographical account, which can help you rule out some of the other choices.
Passage adapted from Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick; or, the Whale (1851)
The phrase in question is a verbal quirk or idiosyncrasy that helps establish what kind of speaker we’re dealing with. Reading the surrounding sentences makes it clear that the speaker is neither indifferent nor concealing the fact that this is an autobiographical account, which can help you rule out some of the other choices.
Passage adapted from Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick; or, the Whale (1851)
Compare your answer with the correct one above
1 Call me Ishmael. 2 Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. 3 It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. 4 Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. 5 This is my substitute for pistol and ball. 6 With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. 7 There is nothing surprising in this. 8 If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.
9 There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. 10 Right and left, the streets take you waterward. 11 Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. 12 Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.
Based on the context of the passage, what does “driving off the spleen” (Sentence 3) likely mean?
1 Call me Ishmael. 2 Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. 3 It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. 4 Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. 5 This is my substitute for pistol and ball. 6 With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. 7 There is nothing surprising in this. 8 If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.
9 There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. 10 Right and left, the streets take you waterward. 11 Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. 12 Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.
Based on the context of the passage, what does “driving off the spleen” (Sentence 3) likely mean?
Although spleen is a physical organ in the body, it is also an old-fashioned way to describe bad-temperedness and anger. “Driving off” the spleen, then would mean chasing away or assuaging the anger. This answer fits into the broader context of the passage, in which the speaker describes how going to sea restores his good humor.
Passage adapted from Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick; or, the Whale (1851)
Although spleen is a physical organ in the body, it is also an old-fashioned way to describe bad-temperedness and anger. “Driving off” the spleen, then would mean chasing away or assuaging the anger. This answer fits into the broader context of the passage, in which the speaker describes how going to sea restores his good humor.
Passage adapted from Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick; or, the Whale (1851)
Compare your answer with the correct one above
1 Call me Ishmael. 2 Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. 3 It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. 4 Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. 5 This is my substitute for pistol and ball. 6 With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. 7 There is nothing surprising in this. 8 If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.
9 There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. 10 Right and left, the streets take you waterward. 11 Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. 12 Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.
Sentence 10 conveys an impression of _______________.
1 Call me Ishmael. 2 Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. 3 It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. 4 Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. 5 This is my substitute for pistol and ball. 6 With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. 7 There is nothing surprising in this. 8 If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.
9 There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. 10 Right and left, the streets take you waterward. 11 Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. 12 Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.
Sentence 10 conveys an impression of _______________.
“Right and left, the streets take you waterward” makes it sound like, regardless of what roads you choose, you will be brought to the sea. This makes the action of going to the sea inevitable, or unavoidable. “Doom,” “mirth,” and “anguish” are all far too extreme for the mildness of the sentence, and “cynicism” does not match the speaker’s tone.
Passage adapted from Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick; or, the Whale (1851)
“Right and left, the streets take you waterward” makes it sound like, regardless of what roads you choose, you will be brought to the sea. This makes the action of going to the sea inevitable, or unavoidable. “Doom,” “mirth,” and “anguish” are all far too extreme for the mildness of the sentence, and “cynicism” does not match the speaker’s tone.
Passage adapted from Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick; or, the Whale (1851)
Compare your answer with the correct one above
My dear boy," said Lord Henry, smiling, "anybody can be good in the country. There are no temptations there. That is the reason why people who live out of town are so absolutely uncivilized. Civilization is not by any means an easy thing to attain to. There are only two ways by which man can reach it. One is by being cultured, the other by being corrupt. Country people have no opportunity of being either, so they stagnate."
"Culture and corruption," echoed Dorian. "I have known something of both. It seems terrible to me now that they should ever be found together. For I have a new ideal, Harry. I am going to alter. I think I have altered."
"You have not yet told me what your good action was. Or did you say you had done more than one?" asked his companion as he spilled into his plate a little crimson pyramid of seeded strawberries and, through a perforated, shell-shaped spoon, snowed white sugar upon them.
"I can tell you, Harry. It is not a story I could tell to any one else. I spared somebody. It sounds vain, but you understand what I mean. She was quite beautiful and wonderfully like Sibyl Vane. I think it was that which first attracted me to her. You remember Sibyl, don't you? How long ago that seems! Well, Hetty was not one of our own class, of course. She was simply a girl in a village. But I really loved her. I am quite sure that I loved her. All during this wonderful May that we have been having, I used to run down and see her two or three times a week. Yesterday she met me in a little orchard. The apple-blossoms kept tumbling down on her hair, and she was laughing. We were to have gone away together this morning at dawn. Suddenly I determined to leave her as flowerlike as I had found her."
"I should think the novelty of the emotion must have given you a thrill of real pleasure, Dorian," interrupted Lord Henry. "But I can finish your idyll for you. You gave her good advice and broke her heart. That was the beginning of your reformation."
"Harry, you are horrible! You mustn't say these dreadful things. Hetty's heart is not broken. Of course, she cried and all that. But there is no disgrace upon her. She can live, like Perdita, in her garden of mint and marigold."
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
What does Dorian mean by “Hetty was not one of our own class”?
My dear boy," said Lord Henry, smiling, "anybody can be good in the country. There are no temptations there. That is the reason why people who live out of town are so absolutely uncivilized. Civilization is not by any means an easy thing to attain to. There are only two ways by which man can reach it. One is by being cultured, the other by being corrupt. Country people have no opportunity of being either, so they stagnate."
"Culture and corruption," echoed Dorian. "I have known something of both. It seems terrible to me now that they should ever be found together. For I have a new ideal, Harry. I am going to alter. I think I have altered."
"You have not yet told me what your good action was. Or did you say you had done more than one?" asked his companion as he spilled into his plate a little crimson pyramid of seeded strawberries and, through a perforated, shell-shaped spoon, snowed white sugar upon them.
"I can tell you, Harry. It is not a story I could tell to any one else. I spared somebody. It sounds vain, but you understand what I mean. She was quite beautiful and wonderfully like Sibyl Vane. I think it was that which first attracted me to her. You remember Sibyl, don't you? How long ago that seems! Well, Hetty was not one of our own class, of course. She was simply a girl in a village. But I really loved her. I am quite sure that I loved her. All during this wonderful May that we have been having, I used to run down and see her two or three times a week. Yesterday she met me in a little orchard. The apple-blossoms kept tumbling down on her hair, and she was laughing. We were to have gone away together this morning at dawn. Suddenly I determined to leave her as flowerlike as I had found her."
"I should think the novelty of the emotion must have given you a thrill of real pleasure, Dorian," interrupted Lord Henry. "But I can finish your idyll for you. You gave her good advice and broke her heart. That was the beginning of your reformation."
"Harry, you are horrible! You mustn't say these dreadful things. Hetty's heart is not broken. Of course, she cried and all that. But there is no disgrace upon her. She can live, like Perdita, in her garden of mint and marigold."
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
What does Dorian mean by “Hetty was not one of our own class”?
The correct answer is “Hetty is low class, whereas Lord Henry and Dorian are upper class.” This question is relatively easy: Lord Henry should have given it away. That said, the question is rendered somewhat more difficult by the fact that Dorian is not of the peerage (i.e. titled—Lord, Earl, Duke, etc). At any rate, the answer is clearly that Hetty is low class. Several clues lead to that direction: first and foremost, is the fact that Henry is part of the peerage—Lord Henry—and thus upper class; second, is the fact that Dorian said “of our own class” strongly implying, if not outright saying, that Dorian and Henry are similarly situated, and; finally, Dorian says that Hetty was “simply a girl in a village.”
The correct answer is “Hetty is low class, whereas Lord Henry and Dorian are upper class.” This question is relatively easy: Lord Henry should have given it away. That said, the question is rendered somewhat more difficult by the fact that Dorian is not of the peerage (i.e. titled—Lord, Earl, Duke, etc). At any rate, the answer is clearly that Hetty is low class. Several clues lead to that direction: first and foremost, is the fact that Henry is part of the peerage—Lord Henry—and thus upper class; second, is the fact that Dorian said “of our own class” strongly implying, if not outright saying, that Dorian and Henry are similarly situated, and; finally, Dorian says that Hetty was “simply a girl in a village.”
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Adapted from Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare, III.ii.82-117 (1599)
\[This is a speech by Mark Antony\]
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them,
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious;
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest-
For Brutus is an honorable man;
So are they all, all honorable men-
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me;
But Brutus says he was ambitious,
And Brutus is an honorable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept;
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,
And Brutus is an honorable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal \[a public festival\]
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,
And sure he is an honorable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause;
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.
Based on the underlined sentence, what can we infer about the emotion that Mark Antony is trying to project that he has?
Adapted from Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare, III.ii.82-117 (1599)
\[This is a speech by Mark Antony\]
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them,
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious;
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest-
For Brutus is an honorable man;
So are they all, all honorable men-
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me;
But Brutus says he was ambitious,
And Brutus is an honorable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept;
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,
And Brutus is an honorable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal \[a public festival\]
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,
And sure he is an honorable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause;
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.
Based on the underlined sentence, what can we infer about the emotion that Mark Antony is trying to project that he has?
Remember that earlier Mark Antony said, "He was my friend, faithful and just to me." Clearly, he has an affection for Caesar. Therefore, when he says that his "heart" is in the coffin, he means that his affections and love are there, with the friend who has died. He now wishes to pause for a moment, until his heart "comes back" and he is able to speak. He is at least acting like he is grieved—for he does ask the men why they do not mourn for him. Seemingly, he is mourning, and his heart is "outside of him" with Caesar.
Remember that earlier Mark Antony said, "He was my friend, faithful and just to me." Clearly, he has an affection for Caesar. Therefore, when he says that his "heart" is in the coffin, he means that his affections and love are there, with the friend who has died. He now wishes to pause for a moment, until his heart "comes back" and he is able to speak. He is at least acting like he is grieved—for he does ask the men why they do not mourn for him. Seemingly, he is mourning, and his heart is "outside of him" with Caesar.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
From Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare, III.ii.13-33 (1599)
\[This is a speech by Brutus to a crowd at Caesar’s funeral.\]
Romans, countrymen, and lovers! Hear me for my
cause, and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me
for mine honor, and have respect to mine honor, that
you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom, and
awake your senses, that you may the better judge.
If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of
Caesar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to Caesar
was no less than his. If then that friend demand
why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer:
Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved
Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living and
die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead to live
all free men? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him;
as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was
valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I
slew him. There is tears for his love, joy for his
fortune, honor for his valor, and death for his
ambition. Who is here so base that would be a
bondman? If any, speak, for him have I offended.
Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman? If
any, speak, for him have I offended. Who is here so
vile that will not love his country? If any, speak,
for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.
What can be inferred from this speech regarding what the crowd seems to think about Brutus before he begins talking?
From Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare, III.ii.13-33 (1599)
\[This is a speech by Brutus to a crowd at Caesar’s funeral.\]
Romans, countrymen, and lovers! Hear me for my
cause, and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me
for mine honor, and have respect to mine honor, that
you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom, and
awake your senses, that you may the better judge.
If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of
Caesar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to Caesar
was no less than his. If then that friend demand
why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer:
Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved
Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living and
die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead to live
all free men? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him;
as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was
valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I
slew him. There is tears for his love, joy for his
fortune, honor for his valor, and death for his
ambition. Who is here so base that would be a
bondman? If any, speak, for him have I offended.
Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman? If
any, speak, for him have I offended. Who is here so
vile that will not love his country? If any, speak,
for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.
What can be inferred from this speech regarding what the crowd seems to think about Brutus before he begins talking?
Throughout this passage, Brutus defends the fact that he loved Caesar, even though he loved Rome more. Both of these aspects can be found in this key sentence: "As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honor for his valor, and death for his ambition." Throughout the passage, he has spoken of his love for Caesar. Here, however, we see quite clearly that he also felt it necessary to kill him. Since the speech is clearly directed to the crowd to convince them that he did love Caesar, though he thought it necessary to kill him, it would seem that the crowd doubted this.
Throughout this passage, Brutus defends the fact that he loved Caesar, even though he loved Rome more. Both of these aspects can be found in this key sentence: "As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honor for his valor, and death for his ambition." Throughout the passage, he has spoken of his love for Caesar. Here, however, we see quite clearly that he also felt it necessary to kill him. Since the speech is clearly directed to the crowd to convince them that he did love Caesar, though he thought it necessary to kill him, it would seem that the crowd doubted this.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Adapted from As You Like It by William Shakespeare (1623)
\[This is a monologue by the character Jacques\]
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like a snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like a furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
What can we infer about the character of the "justice" described in the passage?
Adapted from As You Like It by William Shakespeare (1623)
\[This is a monologue by the character Jacques\]
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like a snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like a furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
What can we infer about the character of the "justice" described in the passage?
The "justice" names yet another stage in life being expressed by the speaker in his monologue. Let's look at the description:
"(1) In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With (2) eyes severe and (3) beard of formal cut,
(4) Full of wise saws and modern instances;"
The general image is of a man who has put on some middle-age weight and has a serious demeanor. He is "severe"—that is, intense. His formally cut beard is cleanly presented—he is no long-haired rebel. Having lived a number of years, he has wisdom or at least is ready to express what he believes is wisdom as well as insights regarding the current day ("modern instances").
The "justice" names yet another stage in life being expressed by the speaker in his monologue. Let's look at the description:
"(1) In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With (2) eyes severe and (3) beard of formal cut,
(4) Full of wise saws and modern instances;"
The general image is of a man who has put on some middle-age weight and has a serious demeanor. He is "severe"—that is, intense. His formally cut beard is cleanly presented—he is no long-haired rebel. Having lived a number of years, he has wisdom or at least is ready to express what he believes is wisdom as well as insights regarding the current day ("modern instances").
Compare your answer with the correct one above
From “The Dead” in Dubliners by James Joyce (1915)
She was fast asleep.
Gabriel, leaning on his elbow, looked for a few moments unresentfully on her tangled hair and half-open mouth, listening to her deep-drawn breath. So she had had that romance in her life: a man had died for her sake. It hardly pained him now to think how poor a part he, her husband, had played in her life. He watched her while she slept as though he and she had never lived together as man and wife. His curious eyes rested long upon her face and on her hair: and, as he thought of what she must have been then, in that time of her first girlish beauty, a strange friendly pity for her entered his soul. He did no like to say even to himself that her face was no longer beautiful but he knew that it was no longer the face for which Michael Furey had braved death.
Perhaps she had not told him all the story. His eyes moved to the chair over which she had thrown some of her clothes. A petticoat string dangled to the floor. One boot stood upright, its limp upper fallen: the fellow of it lay upon its side. He wondered at his riot of emotions of an hour before. From what had it proceeded? From his aunt’s supper, from his own foolish speech, from the wine and dancing, the merry-making when saying good-night in the hall, the pleasure of the walk along the river in the snow. Poor Aunt Julia! She, too, would soon be a shade with the shade of Patrick Morkan and his horse. He had caught that haggard look upon her face for a moment when she was singing Arrayed for the Bridal. Soon, perhaps, he would be sitting in that same drawing-room, dressed in black, his silk hat on his knees. The blinds would be drawn down and Aunt Kate would be sitting beside him, crying and blowing her nose and telling him how Julia had died. He would cast about in his mind for some words that might console her, and would find only lame and useless ones. Yes, yes: that would happen very soon.
The air of the room chilled his shoulders. He stretched himself cautiously along under the sheets and lay down beside his wife. One by one they were all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. He thought of how she who lay beside him had locked in her heart for so many years that image of her lover’s eyes when he had told her that he did not wish to live.
Generous tears filled Gabriel’s eyes. He had never felt like that himself towards any woman but he knew that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself which these dead had one time reared and lived in was dissolving and dwindling.
A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.
Michael Furey is __________.
From “The Dead” in Dubliners by James Joyce (1915)
She was fast asleep.
Gabriel, leaning on his elbow, looked for a few moments unresentfully on her tangled hair and half-open mouth, listening to her deep-drawn breath. So she had had that romance in her life: a man had died for her sake. It hardly pained him now to think how poor a part he, her husband, had played in her life. He watched her while she slept as though he and she had never lived together as man and wife. His curious eyes rested long upon her face and on her hair: and, as he thought of what she must have been then, in that time of her first girlish beauty, a strange friendly pity for her entered his soul. He did no like to say even to himself that her face was no longer beautiful but he knew that it was no longer the face for which Michael Furey had braved death.
Perhaps she had not told him all the story. His eyes moved to the chair over which she had thrown some of her clothes. A petticoat string dangled to the floor. One boot stood upright, its limp upper fallen: the fellow of it lay upon its side. He wondered at his riot of emotions of an hour before. From what had it proceeded? From his aunt’s supper, from his own foolish speech, from the wine and dancing, the merry-making when saying good-night in the hall, the pleasure of the walk along the river in the snow. Poor Aunt Julia! She, too, would soon be a shade with the shade of Patrick Morkan and his horse. He had caught that haggard look upon her face for a moment when she was singing Arrayed for the Bridal. Soon, perhaps, he would be sitting in that same drawing-room, dressed in black, his silk hat on his knees. The blinds would be drawn down and Aunt Kate would be sitting beside him, crying and blowing her nose and telling him how Julia had died. He would cast about in his mind for some words that might console her, and would find only lame and useless ones. Yes, yes: that would happen very soon.
The air of the room chilled his shoulders. He stretched himself cautiously along under the sheets and lay down beside his wife. One by one they were all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. He thought of how she who lay beside him had locked in her heart for so many years that image of her lover’s eyes when he had told her that he did not wish to live.
Generous tears filled Gabriel’s eyes. He had never felt like that himself towards any woman but he knew that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself which these dead had one time reared and lived in was dissolving and dwindling.
A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.
Michael Furey is __________.
Gabriel looks at his wife's aged face and thinks "it was no longer the face for which Michael Furey had braved death," implying that the two had been romantically involved when they were young, and that Michael Furey is the subject of the romance in her life mentioned earlier in the paragraph, where "a man had died for her sake."
Gabriel looks at his wife's aged face and thinks "it was no longer the face for which Michael Furey had braved death," implying that the two had been romantically involved when they were young, and that Michael Furey is the subject of the romance in her life mentioned earlier in the paragraph, where "a man had died for her sake."
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Passage adapted from “About Love” by Anton Chekhov (1898)
At lunch next day there were very nice pies, crayfish, and mutton cutlets; and while we were eating, Nikanor, the cook, came up to ask what the visitors would like for dinner. He was a man of medium height, with a puffy face and little eyes; he was close-shaven, and it looked as though his moustaches had not been shaved, but had been pulled out by the roots. Alehin told us that the beautiful Pelagea was in love with this cook. As he drank and was of a violent character, she did not want to marry him, but was willing to live with him without. He was very devout, and his religious convictions would not allow him to “live in sin”; he insisted on her marrying him, and would consent to nothing else, and when he was drunk he used to abuse her and even beat her. Whenever he got drunk she used to hide upstairs and sob, and on such occasions Alehin and the servants stayed in the house to be ready to defend her in case of necessity.
How does Alehin characterize Nikanor, the cook?
Passage adapted from “About Love” by Anton Chekhov (1898)
At lunch next day there were very nice pies, crayfish, and mutton cutlets; and while we were eating, Nikanor, the cook, came up to ask what the visitors would like for dinner. He was a man of medium height, with a puffy face and little eyes; he was close-shaven, and it looked as though his moustaches had not been shaved, but had been pulled out by the roots. Alehin told us that the beautiful Pelagea was in love with this cook. As he drank and was of a violent character, she did not want to marry him, but was willing to live with him without. He was very devout, and his religious convictions would not allow him to “live in sin”; he insisted on her marrying him, and would consent to nothing else, and when he was drunk he used to abuse her and even beat her. Whenever he got drunk she used to hide upstairs and sob, and on such occasions Alehin and the servants stayed in the house to be ready to defend her in case of necessity.
How does Alehin characterize Nikanor, the cook?
While Nikanor claims to be religious, the more important characteristics in this passage are his violent tendencies towards Pelagea and his tendency to be violent when drinking.
While Nikanor claims to be religious, the more important characteristics in this passage are his violent tendencies towards Pelagea and his tendency to be violent when drinking.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
It was rumoured of him once that he \[Dorian Gray\] was about to join the Roman Catholic communion, and certainly the Roman ritual had always a great attraction for him. The daily sacrifice, more awful really than all the sacrifices of the antique world, stirred him as much by its superb rejection of the evidence of the senses as by the primitive simplicity of its elements and the eternal pathos of the human tragedy that it sought to symbolize. He loved to kneel down on the cold marble pavement and watch the priest, in his stiff flowered dalmatic, slowly and with white hands moving aside the veil of the tabernacle, or raising aloft the jewelled, lantern-shaped monstrance with that pallid wafer that at times, one would fain think, is indeed the "panis caelestis," the bread of angels, or, robed in the garments of the Passion of Christ, breaking the Host into the chalice and smiting his breast for his sins. The fuming censers that the grave boys, in their lace and scarlet, tossed into the air like great gilt flowers had their subtle fascination for him. As he passed out, he used to look with wonder at the black confessionals and long to sit in the dim shadow of one of them and listen to men and women whispering through the worn grating the true story of their lives.
But he never fell into the error of arresting his intellectual development by any formal acceptance of creed or system, or of mistaking, for a house in which to live, an inn that is but suitable for the sojourn of a night, or for a few hours of a night in which there are no stars and the moon is in travail. Mysticism, with its marvellous power of making common things strange to us, and the subtle antinomianism that always seems to accompany it, moved him for a season; and for a season he inclined to the materialistic doctrines of the Darwinismus movement in Germany, and found a curious pleasure in tracing the thoughts and passions of men to some pearly cell in the brain, or some white nerve in the body, delighting in the conception of the absolute dependence of the spirit on certain physical conditions, morbid or healthy, normal or diseased. Yet, as has been said of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself. He felt keenly conscious of how barren all intellectual speculation is when separated from action and experiment. He knew that the senses, no less than the soul, have their spiritual mysteries to reveal.
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
Based on of the underlined sentence, and the main idea of the passage as a whole, which of the following is the most accurate statement regarding Dorian’s philosophy (or lack thereof)?
It was rumoured of him once that he \[Dorian Gray\] was about to join the Roman Catholic communion, and certainly the Roman ritual had always a great attraction for him. The daily sacrifice, more awful really than all the sacrifices of the antique world, stirred him as much by its superb rejection of the evidence of the senses as by the primitive simplicity of its elements and the eternal pathos of the human tragedy that it sought to symbolize. He loved to kneel down on the cold marble pavement and watch the priest, in his stiff flowered dalmatic, slowly and with white hands moving aside the veil of the tabernacle, or raising aloft the jewelled, lantern-shaped monstrance with that pallid wafer that at times, one would fain think, is indeed the "panis caelestis," the bread of angels, or, robed in the garments of the Passion of Christ, breaking the Host into the chalice and smiting his breast for his sins. The fuming censers that the grave boys, in their lace and scarlet, tossed into the air like great gilt flowers had their subtle fascination for him. As he passed out, he used to look with wonder at the black confessionals and long to sit in the dim shadow of one of them and listen to men and women whispering through the worn grating the true story of their lives.
But he never fell into the error of arresting his intellectual development by any formal acceptance of creed or system, or of mistaking, for a house in which to live, an inn that is but suitable for the sojourn of a night, or for a few hours of a night in which there are no stars and the moon is in travail. Mysticism, with its marvellous power of making common things strange to us, and the subtle antinomianism that always seems to accompany it, moved him for a season; and for a season he inclined to the materialistic doctrines of the Darwinismus movement in Germany, and found a curious pleasure in tracing the thoughts and passions of men to some pearly cell in the brain, or some white nerve in the body, delighting in the conception of the absolute dependence of the spirit on certain physical conditions, morbid or healthy, normal or diseased. Yet, as has been said of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself. He felt keenly conscious of how barren all intellectual speculation is when separated from action and experiment. He knew that the senses, no less than the soul, have their spiritual mysteries to reveal.
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
Based on of the underlined sentence, and the main idea of the passage as a whole, which of the following is the most accurate statement regarding Dorian’s philosophy (or lack thereof)?
“Dorian believed that experiencing matters was better than simply studying them” is the correct answer. This should have been a relatively simple question as the passage even says that “no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself.” In other words, Dorian did not adhere to any kind of philosophy other than that of life itself—experiencing life to the fullest and its utmost, with both good and bad experiences.
“Dorian believed that experiencing matters was better than simply studying them” is the correct answer. This should have been a relatively simple question as the passage even says that “no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself.” In other words, Dorian did not adhere to any kind of philosophy other than that of life itself—experiencing life to the fullest and its utmost, with both good and bad experiences.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
1 I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. 2 This is certainly a beautiful country! 3 In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society. 4 A perfect misanthropist’s heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. 5 A capital fellow! 6 He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I announced my name.
… 7 \[he\] sullenly preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we entered the court,—‘Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood’s horse; and bring up some wine.’
… 8 Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps, though hale and sinewy. 9 ‘The Lord help us!’ he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner.
What is the speaker’s mood in the first paragraph?
1 I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. 2 This is certainly a beautiful country! 3 In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society. 4 A perfect misanthropist’s heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. 5 A capital fellow! 6 He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I announced my name.
… 7 \[he\] sullenly preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we entered the court,—‘Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood’s horse; and bring up some wine.’
… 8 Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps, though hale and sinewy. 9 ‘The Lord help us!’ he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner.
What is the speaker’s mood in the first paragraph?
Based on sentences such as “This is certainly a beautiful country” and “He little imagined how my heart warmed,” we can conclude that the speaker is not feeling cynical, skeptical, or distrustful. However, the speaker isn’t ingenuously or naively joyful; he notes that his new setting is a “perfect misanthropist’s heaven” and implies that he is happy he only has to share it with one other person. Thus “pleasant optimism” is the best choice.
Passage adapted from Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, 1847.
Based on sentences such as “This is certainly a beautiful country” and “He little imagined how my heart warmed,” we can conclude that the speaker is not feeling cynical, skeptical, or distrustful. However, the speaker isn’t ingenuously or naively joyful; he notes that his new setting is a “perfect misanthropist’s heaven” and implies that he is happy he only has to share it with one other person. Thus “pleasant optimism” is the best choice.
Passage adapted from Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, 1847.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
My dear boy," said Lord Henry, smiling, "anybody can be good in the country. There are no temptations there. That is the reason why people who live out of town are so absolutely uncivilized. Civilization is not by any means an easy thing to attain to. There are only two ways by which man can reach it. One is by being cultured, the other by being corrupt. Country people have no opportunity of being either, so they stagnate."
"Culture and corruption," echoed Dorian. "I have known something of both. It seems terrible to me now that they should ever be found together. For I have a new ideal, Harry. I am going to alter. I think I have altered."
"You have not yet told me what your good action was. Or did you say you had done more than one?" asked his companion as he spilled into his plate a little crimson pyramid of seeded strawberries and, through a perforated, shell-shaped spoon, snowed white sugar upon them.
"I can tell you, Harry. It is not a story I could tell to any one else. I spared somebody. It sounds vain, but you understand what I mean. She was quite beautiful and wonderfully like Sibyl Vane. I think it was that which first attracted me to her. You remember Sibyl, don't you? How long ago that seems! Well, Hetty was not one of our own class, of course. She was simply a girl in a village. But I really loved her. I am quite sure that I loved her. All during this wonderful May that we have been having, I used to run down and see her two or three times a week. Yesterday she met me in a little orchard. The apple-blossoms kept tumbling down on her hair, and she was laughing. We were to have gone away together this morning at dawn. Suddenly I determined to leave her as flowerlike as I had found her."
"I should think the novelty of the emotion must have given you a thrill of real pleasure, Dorian," interrupted Lord Henry. "But I can finish your idyll for you. You gave her good advice and broke her heart. That was the beginning of your reformation."
"Harry, you are horrible! You mustn't say these dreadful things. Hetty's heart is not broken. Of course, she cried and all that. But there is no disgrace upon her. She can live, like Perdita, in her garden of mint and marigold."
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
What is implied by “Suddenly I determined to leave her as flowerlike as I had found her”?
My dear boy," said Lord Henry, smiling, "anybody can be good in the country. There are no temptations there. That is the reason why people who live out of town are so absolutely uncivilized. Civilization is not by any means an easy thing to attain to. There are only two ways by which man can reach it. One is by being cultured, the other by being corrupt. Country people have no opportunity of being either, so they stagnate."
"Culture and corruption," echoed Dorian. "I have known something of both. It seems terrible to me now that they should ever be found together. For I have a new ideal, Harry. I am going to alter. I think I have altered."
"You have not yet told me what your good action was. Or did you say you had done more than one?" asked his companion as he spilled into his plate a little crimson pyramid of seeded strawberries and, through a perforated, shell-shaped spoon, snowed white sugar upon them.
"I can tell you, Harry. It is not a story I could tell to any one else. I spared somebody. It sounds vain, but you understand what I mean. She was quite beautiful and wonderfully like Sibyl Vane. I think it was that which first attracted me to her. You remember Sibyl, don't you? How long ago that seems! Well, Hetty was not one of our own class, of course. She was simply a girl in a village. But I really loved her. I am quite sure that I loved her. All during this wonderful May that we have been having, I used to run down and see her two or three times a week. Yesterday she met me in a little orchard. The apple-blossoms kept tumbling down on her hair, and she was laughing. We were to have gone away together this morning at dawn. Suddenly I determined to leave her as flowerlike as I had found her."
"I should think the novelty of the emotion must have given you a thrill of real pleasure, Dorian," interrupted Lord Henry. "But I can finish your idyll for you. You gave her good advice and broke her heart. That was the beginning of your reformation."
"Harry, you are horrible! You mustn't say these dreadful things. Hetty's heart is not broken. Of course, she cried and all that. But there is no disgrace upon her. She can live, like Perdita, in her garden of mint and marigold."
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
What is implied by “Suddenly I determined to leave her as flowerlike as I had found her”?
The correct answer is “That Dorian refrained from sleeping with Hetty.” This is a relatively difficult question that draws on your ability to piece together a passing inference drawn from the main idea of the paragraph. The first, most obvious clue, is that Dorian “spared” Hetty. To spare someone means to “forbear from harming.” Moreover, Dorian leaves another clue by saying he was “determined to leave her as flowerlike as \[he\] had found her.” Flowers, of one type or another, have long been a symbol of purity and virginity for females. Finally, the paragraph about Hetty leads to the conclusion that Dorian, in a manner unlike him, decided to refrain from indulging (main idea). The passing inference is that Dorian refrained from indulging by sleeping with Hetty.
The correct answer is “That Dorian refrained from sleeping with Hetty.” This is a relatively difficult question that draws on your ability to piece together a passing inference drawn from the main idea of the paragraph. The first, most obvious clue, is that Dorian “spared” Hetty. To spare someone means to “forbear from harming.” Moreover, Dorian leaves another clue by saying he was “determined to leave her as flowerlike as \[he\] had found her.” Flowers, of one type or another, have long been a symbol of purity and virginity for females. Finally, the paragraph about Hetty leads to the conclusion that Dorian, in a manner unlike him, decided to refrain from indulging (main idea). The passing inference is that Dorian refrained from indulging by sleeping with Hetty.
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Dorian said nothing, but rose from the table, and passing into the next room, sat down to the piano and let his fingers stray across the white and black ivory of the keys. After the coffee had been brought in, he stopped, and looking over at Lord Henry, said, "Harry, did it ever occur to you that Basil was murdered?"
Lord Henry yawned. "Basil was very popular, and always wore a Waterbury watch. Why should he have been murdered? He was not clever enough to have enemies. Of course, he had a wonderful genius for painting. But a man can paint like Velasquez and yet be as dull as possible. Basil was really rather dull. He only interested me once, and that was when he told me, years ago, that he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art."
"I was very fond of Basil," said Dorian with a note of sadness in his voice. "But don't people say that he was murdered?"
"Oh, some of the papers do. It does not seem to me to be at all probable. I know there are dreadful places in Paris, but Basil was not the sort of man to have gone to them. He had no curiosity. It was his chief defect."
"What would you say, Harry, if I told you that I had murdered Basil?" said the younger man. He watched him intently after he had spoken.
"I would say, my dear fellow, that you were posing for a character that doesn't suit you. All crime is vulgar, just as all vulgarity is crime. It is not in you, Dorian, to commit a murder. I am sorry if I hurt your vanity by saying so, but I assure you it is true. Crime belongs exclusively to the lower orders. I don't blame them in the smallest degree. I should fancy that crime was to them what art is to us, simply a method of procuring extraordinary sensations."
"A method of procuring sensations? Do you think, then, that a man who has once committed a murder could possibly do the same crime again? Don't tell me that."
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
What does Harry mean by “a man can paint like Velasquez”?
Dorian said nothing, but rose from the table, and passing into the next room, sat down to the piano and let his fingers stray across the white and black ivory of the keys. After the coffee had been brought in, he stopped, and looking over at Lord Henry, said, "Harry, did it ever occur to you that Basil was murdered?"
Lord Henry yawned. "Basil was very popular, and always wore a Waterbury watch. Why should he have been murdered? He was not clever enough to have enemies. Of course, he had a wonderful genius for painting. But a man can paint like Velasquez and yet be as dull as possible. Basil was really rather dull. He only interested me once, and that was when he told me, years ago, that he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art."
"I was very fond of Basil," said Dorian with a note of sadness in his voice. "But don't people say that he was murdered?"
"Oh, some of the papers do. It does not seem to me to be at all probable. I know there are dreadful places in Paris, but Basil was not the sort of man to have gone to them. He had no curiosity. It was his chief defect."
"What would you say, Harry, if I told you that I had murdered Basil?" said the younger man. He watched him intently after he had spoken.
"I would say, my dear fellow, that you were posing for a character that doesn't suit you. All crime is vulgar, just as all vulgarity is crime. It is not in you, Dorian, to commit a murder. I am sorry if I hurt your vanity by saying so, but I assure you it is true. Crime belongs exclusively to the lower orders. I don't blame them in the smallest degree. I should fancy that crime was to them what art is to us, simply a method of procuring extraordinary sensations."
"A method of procuring sensations? Do you think, then, that a man who has once committed a murder could possibly do the same crime again? Don't tell me that."
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
What does Harry mean by “a man can paint like Velasquez”?
The correct answer is “someone can be an immensely talented painter.” This answer should have been relatively obvious given the structure of the sentence—the contrast in between “a man can paint like Velasquez and yet be as dull as possible” quite clearly implies a vast difference between the two. Indeed, Velasquez was the most prominent artist in King Philip IV’s court, and an incredibly important painter during the Spanish Golden Age. Thus, the answer “someone can be an immensely talented painter” makes the most sense.
The correct answer is “someone can be an immensely talented painter.” This answer should have been relatively obvious given the structure of the sentence—the contrast in between “a man can paint like Velasquez and yet be as dull as possible” quite clearly implies a vast difference between the two. Indeed, Velasquez was the most prominent artist in King Philip IV’s court, and an incredibly important painter during the Spanish Golden Age. Thus, the answer “someone can be an immensely talented painter” makes the most sense.
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Dorian said nothing, but rose from the table, and passing into the next room, sat down to the piano and let his fingers stray across the white and black ivory of the keys. After the coffee had been brought in, he stopped, and looking over at Lord Henry, said, "Harry, did it ever occur to you that Basil was murdered?"
Lord Henry yawned. "Basil was very popular, and always wore a Waterbury watch. Why should he have been murdered? He was not clever enough to have enemies. Of course, he had a wonderful genius for painting. But a man can paint like Velasquez and yet be as dull as possible. Basil was really rather dull. He only interested me once, and that was when he told me, years ago, that he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art."
"I was very fond of Basil," said Dorian with a note of sadness in his voice. "But don't people say that he was murdered?"
"Oh, some of the papers do. It does not seem to me to be at all probable. I know there are dreadful places in Paris, but Basil was not the sort of man to have gone to them. He had no curiosity. It was his chief defect."
"What would you say, Harry, if I told you that I had murdered Basil?" said the younger man. He watched him intently after he had spoken.
"I would say, my dear fellow, that you were posing for a character that doesn't suit you. All crime is vulgar, just as all vulgarity is crime. It is not in you, Dorian, to commit a murder. I am sorry if I hurt your vanity by saying so, but I assure you it is true. Crime belongs exclusively to the lower orders. I don't blame them in the smallest degree. I should fancy that crime was to them what art is to us, simply a method of procuring extraordinary sensations."
"A method of procuring sensations? Do you think, then, that a man who has once committed a murder could possibly do the same crime again? Don't tell me that."
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
What does “you were posing for a character that doesn’t suit you” mean?
Dorian said nothing, but rose from the table, and passing into the next room, sat down to the piano and let his fingers stray across the white and black ivory of the keys. After the coffee had been brought in, he stopped, and looking over at Lord Henry, said, "Harry, did it ever occur to you that Basil was murdered?"
Lord Henry yawned. "Basil was very popular, and always wore a Waterbury watch. Why should he have been murdered? He was not clever enough to have enemies. Of course, he had a wonderful genius for painting. But a man can paint like Velasquez and yet be as dull as possible. Basil was really rather dull. He only interested me once, and that was when he told me, years ago, that he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art."
"I was very fond of Basil," said Dorian with a note of sadness in his voice. "But don't people say that he was murdered?"
"Oh, some of the papers do. It does not seem to me to be at all probable. I know there are dreadful places in Paris, but Basil was not the sort of man to have gone to them. He had no curiosity. It was his chief defect."
"What would you say, Harry, if I told you that I had murdered Basil?" said the younger man. He watched him intently after he had spoken.
"I would say, my dear fellow, that you were posing for a character that doesn't suit you. All crime is vulgar, just as all vulgarity is crime. It is not in you, Dorian, to commit a murder. I am sorry if I hurt your vanity by saying so, but I assure you it is true. Crime belongs exclusively to the lower orders. I don't blame them in the smallest degree. I should fancy that crime was to them what art is to us, simply a method of procuring extraordinary sensations."
"A method of procuring sensations? Do you think, then, that a man who has once committed a murder could possibly do the same crime again? Don't tell me that."
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
What does “you were posing for a character that doesn’t suit you” mean?
“Lord Henry does not think that Dorian is capable of murder” is the correct answer. This should have been a simple question, as the remainder of the same paragraph goes on to state: “it is not in you, Dorian, to commit a murder.” Indeed, one of the major ideas of the passage is Lord Henry’s absolute refusal to even consider the possibility of Dorian committing a murder—even when Dorian basically tells Lord Henry.
“Lord Henry does not think that Dorian is capable of murder” is the correct answer. This should have been a simple question, as the remainder of the same paragraph goes on to state: “it is not in you, Dorian, to commit a murder.” Indeed, one of the major ideas of the passage is Lord Henry’s absolute refusal to even consider the possibility of Dorian committing a murder—even when Dorian basically tells Lord Henry.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Dorian said nothing, but rose from the table, and passing into the next room, sat down to the piano and let his fingers stray across the white and black ivory of the keys. After the coffee had been brought in, he stopped, and looking over at Lord Henry, said, "Harry, did it ever occur to you that Basil was murdered?"
Lord Henry yawned. "Basil was very popular, and always wore a Waterbury watch. Why should he have been murdered? He was not clever enough to have enemies. Of course, he had a wonderful genius for painting. But a man can paint like Velasquez and yet be as dull as possible. Basil was really rather dull. He only interested me once, and that was when he told me, years ago, that he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art."
"I was very fond of Basil," said Dorian with a note of sadness in his voice. "But don't people say that he was murdered?"
"Oh, some of the papers do. It does not seem to me to be at all probable. I know there are dreadful places in Paris, but Basil was not the sort of man to have gone to them. He had no curiosity. It was his chief defect."
"What would you say, Harry, if I told you that I had murdered Basil?" said the younger man. He watched him intently after he had spoken.
"I would say, my dear fellow, that you were posing for a character that doesn't suit you. All crime is vulgar, just as all vulgarity is crime. It is not in you, Dorian, to commit a murder. I am sorry if I hurt your vanity by saying so, but I assure you it is true. Crime belongs exclusively to the lower orders. I don't blame them in the smallest degree. I should fancy that crime was to them what art is to us, simply a method of procuring extraordinary sensations."
"A method of procuring sensations? Do you think, then, that a man who has once committed a murder could possibly do the same crime again? Don't tell me that."
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
According to Lord Henry, what was Basil Hallward’s greatest flaw?
Dorian said nothing, but rose from the table, and passing into the next room, sat down to the piano and let his fingers stray across the white and black ivory of the keys. After the coffee had been brought in, he stopped, and looking over at Lord Henry, said, "Harry, did it ever occur to you that Basil was murdered?"
Lord Henry yawned. "Basil was very popular, and always wore a Waterbury watch. Why should he have been murdered? He was not clever enough to have enemies. Of course, he had a wonderful genius for painting. But a man can paint like Velasquez and yet be as dull as possible. Basil was really rather dull. He only interested me once, and that was when he told me, years ago, that he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art."
"I was very fond of Basil," said Dorian with a note of sadness in his voice. "But don't people say that he was murdered?"
"Oh, some of the papers do. It does not seem to me to be at all probable. I know there are dreadful places in Paris, but Basil was not the sort of man to have gone to them. He had no curiosity. It was his chief defect."
"What would you say, Harry, if I told you that I had murdered Basil?" said the younger man. He watched him intently after he had spoken.
"I would say, my dear fellow, that you were posing for a character that doesn't suit you. All crime is vulgar, just as all vulgarity is crime. It is not in you, Dorian, to commit a murder. I am sorry if I hurt your vanity by saying so, but I assure you it is true. Crime belongs exclusively to the lower orders. I don't blame them in the smallest degree. I should fancy that crime was to them what art is to us, simply a method of procuring extraordinary sensations."
"A method of procuring sensations? Do you think, then, that a man who has once committed a murder could possibly do the same crime again? Don't tell me that."
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
According to Lord Henry, what was Basil Hallward’s greatest flaw?
“That he had no curiosity” is the correct answer. This should have been a relatively simple question, given the passage as a whole. Indeed, Lord Henry explicitly says that Hallward’s “chief defect” (which is another way of saying “greatest flaw”) was that “he had no curiosity.” Lord Henry is an interesting character, and his cognitive dissonance plays out in this passage: he claims that murder is “vulgar” and below people like him and Dorian, but mocks Hallward for not having enough “curiosity” to ever visit a place where he might be murdered.
“That he had no curiosity” is the correct answer. This should have been a relatively simple question, given the passage as a whole. Indeed, Lord Henry explicitly says that Hallward’s “chief defect” (which is another way of saying “greatest flaw”) was that “he had no curiosity.” Lord Henry is an interesting character, and his cognitive dissonance plays out in this passage: he claims that murder is “vulgar” and below people like him and Dorian, but mocks Hallward for not having enough “curiosity” to ever visit a place where he might be murdered.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
It was a lovely night, so warm that he threw his coat over his arm and did not even put his silk scarf round his throat. As he strolled home, smoking his cigarette, two young men in evening dress passed him. He heard one of them whisper to the other, "That is Dorian Gray." He remembered how pleased he used to be when he was pointed out, or stared at, or talked about. He was tired of hearing his own name now. Half the charm of the little village where he had been so often lately was that no one knew who he was. He had often told the girl whom he had lured to love him that he was poor, and she had believed him. He had told her once that he was wicked, and she had laughed at him and answered that wicked people were always very old and very ugly. What a laugh she had!—just like a thrush singing. And how pretty she had been in her cotton dresses and her large hats! She \[Hetty\] knew nothing, but she had everything that he had lost.
When he reached home, he found his servant waiting up for him. He sent him to bed, and threw himself down on the sofa in the library, and began to think over some of the things that Lord Henry had said to him.
Was it really true that one could never change? He felt a wild longing for the unstained purity of his boyhood—his rose-white boyhood, as Lord Henry had once called it. He knew that he had tarnished himself, filled his mind with corruption and given horror to his fancy; that he had been an evil influence to others, and had experienced a terrible joy in being so; and that of the lives that had crossed his own, it had been the fairest and the most full of promise that he had brought to shame. But was it all irretrievable? Was there no hope for him?
Ah! in what a monstrous moment of pride and passion he had prayed that the portrait should bear the burden of his days, and he keep the unsullied splendour of eternal youth! All his failure had been due to that. Better for him that each sin of his life had brought its sure swift penalty along with it. There was purification in punishment. Not "Forgive us our sins" but "Smite us for our iniquities" should be the prayer of man to a most just God.
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
What does “she knew nothing, but she had everything that he had lost” mean?
It was a lovely night, so warm that he threw his coat over his arm and did not even put his silk scarf round his throat. As he strolled home, smoking his cigarette, two young men in evening dress passed him. He heard one of them whisper to the other, "That is Dorian Gray." He remembered how pleased he used to be when he was pointed out, or stared at, or talked about. He was tired of hearing his own name now. Half the charm of the little village where he had been so often lately was that no one knew who he was. He had often told the girl whom he had lured to love him that he was poor, and she had believed him. He had told her once that he was wicked, and she had laughed at him and answered that wicked people were always very old and very ugly. What a laugh she had!—just like a thrush singing. And how pretty she had been in her cotton dresses and her large hats! She \[Hetty\] knew nothing, but she had everything that he had lost.
When he reached home, he found his servant waiting up for him. He sent him to bed, and threw himself down on the sofa in the library, and began to think over some of the things that Lord Henry had said to him.
Was it really true that one could never change? He felt a wild longing for the unstained purity of his boyhood—his rose-white boyhood, as Lord Henry had once called it. He knew that he had tarnished himself, filled his mind with corruption and given horror to his fancy; that he had been an evil influence to others, and had experienced a terrible joy in being so; and that of the lives that had crossed his own, it had been the fairest and the most full of promise that he had brought to shame. But was it all irretrievable? Was there no hope for him?
Ah! in what a monstrous moment of pride and passion he had prayed that the portrait should bear the burden of his days, and he keep the unsullied splendour of eternal youth! All his failure had been due to that. Better for him that each sin of his life had brought its sure swift penalty along with it. There was purification in punishment. Not "Forgive us our sins" but "Smite us for our iniquities" should be the prayer of man to a most just God.
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
What does “she knew nothing, but she had everything that he had lost” mean?
“Hetty was ignorant in terms of culture and class, yet pure and innocent” is the correct answer. This is a fairly difficult question, due to the rather archaic prose and the lack of obvious context clues. At any rate, there are a few inferential clues: Dorian mentions that Hetty is from a “little village” and that she (along with the village) did not know who he was. It’s clear from the passage that he lives a very different life in the city; “he was tired of hearing his own name now” strongly suggesting that he is well-known—infamous, even. Moreover, the narrative says that “she believed \[Dorian\]” when he said that he was poor, which clearly means the opposite is true. All of these things taken together lead to the inference that Dorian is wealthy, well-known, and perhaps even idolized in his own community. Hetty, on the other hand, is a simple country girl with no knowledge of Dorian or the ways of the city. Thus “Hetty was ignorant . . .” makes the most sense among the answers provided.
“Hetty was ignorant in terms of culture and class, yet pure and innocent” is the correct answer. This is a fairly difficult question, due to the rather archaic prose and the lack of obvious context clues. At any rate, there are a few inferential clues: Dorian mentions that Hetty is from a “little village” and that she (along with the village) did not know who he was. It’s clear from the passage that he lives a very different life in the city; “he was tired of hearing his own name now” strongly suggesting that he is well-known—infamous, even. Moreover, the narrative says that “she believed \[Dorian\]” when he said that he was poor, which clearly means the opposite is true. All of these things taken together lead to the inference that Dorian is wealthy, well-known, and perhaps even idolized in his own community. Hetty, on the other hand, is a simple country girl with no knowledge of Dorian or the ways of the city. Thus “Hetty was ignorant . . .” makes the most sense among the answers provided.
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It was a lovely night, so warm that he threw his coat over his arm and did not even put his silk scarf round his throat. As he strolled home, smoking his cigarette, two young men in evening dress passed him. He heard one of them whisper to the other, "That is Dorian Gray." He remembered how pleased he used to be when he was pointed out, or stared at, or talked about. He was tired of hearing his own name now. Half the charm of the little village where he had been so often lately was that no one knew who he was. He had often told the girl whom he had lured to love him that he was poor, and she had believed him. He had told her once that he was wicked, and she had laughed at him and answered that wicked people were always very old and very ugly. What a laugh she had!—just like a thrush singing. And how pretty she had been in her cotton dresses and her large hats! She \[Hetty\] knew nothing, but she had everything that he had lost.
When he reached home, he found his servant waiting up for him. He sent him to bed, and threw himself down on the sofa in the library, and began to think over some of the things that Lord Henry had said to him.
Was it really true that one could never change? He felt a wild longing for the unstained purity of his boyhood—his rose-white boyhood, as Lord Henry had once called it. He knew that he had tarnished himself, filled his mind with corruption and given horror to his fancy; that he had been an evil influence to others, and had experienced a terrible joy in being so; and that of the lives that had crossed his own, it had been the fairest and the most full of promise that he had brought to shame. But was it all irretrievable? Was there no hope for him?
Ah! in what a monstrous moment of pride and passion he had prayed that the portrait should bear the burden of his days, and he keep the unsullied splendour of eternal youth! All his failure had been due to that. Better for him that each sin of his life had brought its sure swift penalty along with it. There was purification in punishment. Not "Forgive us our sins" but "Smite us for our iniquities" should be the prayer of man to a most just God.
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
What does the passage mean by: “he knew that he had tarnished himself.”?
It was a lovely night, so warm that he threw his coat over his arm and did not even put his silk scarf round his throat. As he strolled home, smoking his cigarette, two young men in evening dress passed him. He heard one of them whisper to the other, "That is Dorian Gray." He remembered how pleased he used to be when he was pointed out, or stared at, or talked about. He was tired of hearing his own name now. Half the charm of the little village where he had been so often lately was that no one knew who he was. He had often told the girl whom he had lured to love him that he was poor, and she had believed him. He had told her once that he was wicked, and she had laughed at him and answered that wicked people were always very old and very ugly. What a laugh she had!—just like a thrush singing. And how pretty she had been in her cotton dresses and her large hats! She \[Hetty\] knew nothing, but she had everything that he had lost.
When he reached home, he found his servant waiting up for him. He sent him to bed, and threw himself down on the sofa in the library, and began to think over some of the things that Lord Henry had said to him.
Was it really true that one could never change? He felt a wild longing for the unstained purity of his boyhood—his rose-white boyhood, as Lord Henry had once called it. He knew that he had tarnished himself, filled his mind with corruption and given horror to his fancy; that he had been an evil influence to others, and had experienced a terrible joy in being so; and that of the lives that had crossed his own, it had been the fairest and the most full of promise that he had brought to shame. But was it all irretrievable? Was there no hope for him?
Ah! in what a monstrous moment of pride and passion he had prayed that the portrait should bear the burden of his days, and he keep the unsullied splendour of eternal youth! All his failure had been due to that. Better for him that each sin of his life had brought its sure swift penalty along with it. There was purification in punishment. Not "Forgive us our sins" but "Smite us for our iniquities" should be the prayer of man to a most just God.
Passage adapted from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
What does the passage mean by: “he knew that he had tarnished himself.”?
“Dorian was aware that he had led a life of sin and corruption” is the correct answer. This is a very easy question—the passage practically spells out the answer. At any rate, there are many context clues leading to the conclusion that Dorian led a life of sin and corruption: first, Dorian longs for the “unstained purity of his boyhood,” meaning the “innocence of youth”; second, the passage explicitly says that he had “filled his mind with corruption”; third, the passage notes that he had “been an evil influence on others.” Thus, it’s quite clear that “Dorian was aware that he had led a life of sin and corruption” is the correct answer.
“Dorian was aware that he had led a life of sin and corruption” is the correct answer. This is a very easy question—the passage practically spells out the answer. At any rate, there are many context clues leading to the conclusion that Dorian led a life of sin and corruption: first, Dorian longs for the “unstained purity of his boyhood,” meaning the “innocence of youth”; second, the passage explicitly says that he had “filled his mind with corruption”; third, the passage notes that he had “been an evil influence on others.” Thus, it’s quite clear that “Dorian was aware that he had led a life of sin and corruption” is the correct answer.
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Passage adapted from Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad (1907)
Mr Verloc, going out in the morning, left his shop nominally in charge of his brother-in-law. It could be done, because there was very little business at any time, and practically none at all before the evening. Mr Verloc cared but little about his ostensible business. And, moreover, his wife was in charge of his brother-in-law.
The shop was small, and so was the house. It was one of those grimy brick houses which existed in large quantities before the era of reconstruction dawned upon London. The shop was a square box of a place, with the front glazed in small panes. In the daytime the door remained closed; in the evening it stood discreetly but suspiciously ajar.
What can the reader infer about Mr. Verloc's feeling toward his brother-in-law?
Passage adapted from Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad (1907)
Mr Verloc, going out in the morning, left his shop nominally in charge of his brother-in-law. It could be done, because there was very little business at any time, and practically none at all before the evening. Mr Verloc cared but little about his ostensible business. And, moreover, his wife was in charge of his brother-in-law.
The shop was small, and so was the house. It was one of those grimy brick houses which existed in large quantities before the era of reconstruction dawned upon London. The shop was a square box of a place, with the front glazed in small panes. In the daytime the door remained closed; in the evening it stood discreetly but suspiciously ajar.
What can the reader infer about Mr. Verloc's feeling toward his brother-in-law?
Leaving the shop only “nominally” in his brother-in-law's care, during times of slow business and while under his wife's watch, indicates that Mr Verloc does not entrust him with great responsibility.
Leaving the shop only “nominally” in his brother-in-law's care, during times of slow business and while under his wife's watch, indicates that Mr Verloc does not entrust him with great responsibility.
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