Which of these inferences about the narrator is best supported by the following section of the poem (lines 65-70)?I resist anything better than my own diversityBreathe the air but leave plenty after me,And am not stuck up, and am in my place.(The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place,The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place,The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.)Answer choices for the above questionA. He feels superior to others.B. He would identify with other people if they behaved better.C. He does not consider himself superior or different to any other person.D. He believes in a rigid natural hierarchy.

Which line from the section best supports the correct answer to Question 7?Answer choices for the above questionA. “The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.”B. “Breathe the air but leave plenty after me[.]”C. “I resist any thing better than my own diversity[.]”D. “And am not stuck up, and am in my place.”

Select the correct text in the passage.Which sentence in the passage best shows how the setting contributes to the speaker's problem?from Robinson Crusoeby Daniel Defoe     Nothing can describe the confusion of thought which I felt when I sank into the water. Though I swam very well, I could not deliver myself from the waves so as to draw breath, till that wave having driven me, or rather carried me, a vast way on towards the shore, and having spent itself, went back, and left me upon the land almost dry, but half dead with the water I took in. I had so much presence of mind, as well as breath left, that seeing myself nearer the mainland than I expected, I got upon my feet, and endeavored to make on towards the land as fast as I could before another wave should return and take me up again.However, I soon found it was impossible to avoid it; for I saw the sea come after me as high as a great hill, and as furious as an enemy, which I had no means or strength to contend with: my business was to hold my breath, and raise myself upon the water if I could.By swimming, I could preserve my breathing, and pilot myself towards the shore, if possible. My greatest concern now being that the sea, as it would carry me a great way towards the shore when it came on, might not carry me back again with it when it gave back towards the sea.     The wave that came upon me again buried me at once twenty or thirty feet deep in its own body.I could feel myself carried with a mighty force and swiftness towards the shore—a very great way, but I held my breath, and assisted myself to swim still forward with all my might.I was ready to burst with holding my breath, when, as I felt myself rising up, so, to my immediate relief, I found my head and hands shoot out above the surface of the water. Though it was not two seconds of time that I could keep myself so, yet it relieved me greatly, gave me breath, and new courage.I was covered again with water a good while, but not so long but I held it out; and finding the water had spent itself, and began to return, I struck forward against the return of the waves, and felt ground again with my feet.I stood still a few moments to recover breath, and till the waters went from me, and then took to my heels and ran with what strength I had further towards the shore. But neither would this deliver me from the fury of the sea, which came pouring in after me again; and twice more I was lifted up by the waves and carried forward as before, the shore being very flat.     The last time of these two had well-nigh been fatal to me, for the sea having hurried me along as before, landed me, or rather dashed me, against a piece of rock, and that with such force, that it left me senseless, and indeed helpless, as to my own deliverance. The blow taking my side and breast, beat the breath as it were quite out of my body; and had it returned again immediately, I must have been strangled in the water; but I recovered a little before the return of the waves.Seeing I should be covered again with the water, I resolved to hold fast by a piece of the rock, and so to hold my breath, if possible, till the wave went back.Now, as the waves were not so high as at first, being nearer land, I held my hold till the wave abated, and then fetched another run, which brought me so near the shore that the next wave, though it went over me, did not so swallow me up as to carry me away. The next run I took, I got to the mainland, where, to my great comfort, I clambered up the cliffs of the shore and sat me down upon the grass, free from danger and quite out of the reach of the water.

Select the correct answer.What statement best summarizes the passage? A. The narrator and her husband argue about how the summer should be spent as he wants to have guests and she wants to be alone. B. The narrator contemplates having time to grow her soul by refusing to see anyone besides her husband or read any books for the summer. C. The narrator describes how she wants to explore nature and then compares herself to a bird that is both cheerful and quarrelsome. D. The narrator longs to spend the summer in solitude out in nature, and her husband thinks that she will be bored.

EXERCISE 3Identify the metaphors and similes in the extract of a poem below.Write down the piece of the poem. State what figure of speech it is. Write down what is beingcompared and why.The angry voice of the windDropped to a whimperAnd fell silentLike a scolded child.The tortured waves, freed from their tormentor,Slept.With its white wings spread,The yacht sat like a seagull,Patiently contemplating its reflectionIn the polished mirrorOf the sea.

Select the correct text in the passage.Which detail builds on the themes that a person's environment can shape his or her view of life and that people can bear difficult circumstances for a long time?adapted from Life in the Iron Millsby Rebecca Harding Davis     A cloudy day—do you know what that is in a town of iron works? The sky sank down before dawn—muddy, flat, and immovable; the air is thick—clammy with the breath of crowded human beings, and it stifles me. I open the front window and can scarcely see through the rain the grocer's shop opposite, and I can detect the scent through all the foul smells ranging loose in the air.     The idiosyncrasy of this town is smoke as it rolls sullenly in slow folds from the great chimneys of the iron foundries and settles down in black, slimy pools on the muddy streets. Smoke on the wharves, smoke on the dingy boats, on the yellow river clinging in a coating of greasy soot to the house, the two faded poplars, the faces of the passerby—smoke everywhere! A dirty canary chirps desolately in a cage beside me; its dream of green fields and sunshine is a very old dream—almost worn out, I think.     From the back window, I can see a narrow brickyard sloping down to the riverside, where the river—dull and tawny-colored—drags itself sluggishly along, tired of the heavy weight of boats and barges. When I was a child, I used to fancy a look of weary, dumb appeal upon the face of the river, bearing its burden day after day. Something of the same idle notion comes to me today, when I look on the slow stream of human life creeping past, night and morning, to the great mills. Masses of men with dull, besotted faces bent to the ground, sharpened here and there by pain or cunning; skin and muscle and flesh begrimed with smoke and ashes; stooping all night over boiling cauldrons of metal; breathing from infancy to death an air saturated with grease and soot—vileness for soul and body. What do you make of a case like that, amateur psychologist? You call it an altogether serious thing to be alive: to these men it is a jest, a joke—horrible to angels perhaps, but to them commonplace enough.