Eight years before he had seen his friend off at the.North Wall and wished him godspeed. Gallaher had.got on. You could tell that at once by his travelled air,.his well-cut tweed suit, and fearless accent. Few.fellows had talents like his and fewer still could.remain unspoiled by such success. Gallaher’s heart.was in the right place and he had deserved to win. It.was something to have a friend like that..Little Chandler’s thoughts ever since lunch-time.had been of his meeting with Gallaher, of Gallaher’s.invitation and of the great city of London where.Gallaher lived. He was called Little Chandler because,.though he was but slightly under the average stature,.he gave one the idea of being a little man. His hands.were white and small, his frame was fragile, his voice.was quiet and his manners were refined. He took the.greatest care of his fair silken hair and moustache and.used perfume discreetly on his handkerchief. The.half-moons of his nails were perfect and when he.smiled you caught a glimpse of a row of childish.white teeth..As he sat at his desk in the King’s Inns he thought.what changes those eight years had brought. The.friend whom he had known under a shabby and.necessitous guise had become a brilliant figure on the.London Press. He turned often from his tiresome.writing to gaze out of the office window. The glow of.a late autumn sunset covered the grass plots and.walks. It cast a shower of kindly golden dust on the.untidy nurses and decrepit old men who drowsed on.the benches; it flickered upon all the moving figures.—on the children who ran screaming along the gravel.paths and on everyone who passed through the.gardens. He watched the scene and thought of life;.and (as always happened when he thought of life) he.became sad. A gentle melancholy took possession of.him. He felt how useless it was to struggle against.fortune, this being the burden of wisdom which the.ages had bequeathed to him..He remembered the books of poetry upon his.shelves at home. He had bought them in his bachelor.days and many an evening, as he sat in the little room.off the hall, he had been tempted to take one down.from the bookshelf and read out something to his.wife. But shyness had always held him back; and so.the books had remained on their shelves. At times he.repeated lines to himself and this consoled him..When his hour had struck he stood up and took.leave of his desk and of his fellow-clerks.punctiliously. He emerged from under the feudal.arch of the King’s Inns, a neat modest figure, and.walked swiftly down Henrietta Street. The golden.sunset was waning and the air had grown sharp. A.horde of grimy children populated the street. They.stood or ran in the roadway or crawled up the steps.before the gaping doors or squatted like mice upon.the thresholds. Little Chandler gave them no thought..He picked his way deftly through all that minute life.and under the shadow of the gaunt spectral mansions.in which the old nobility of Dublin had roystered..No memory of the past touched him, for his mind.was full of a present joy..He had never been in Corless’s but he knew the.value of the name. He knew that people went there.after the theatre to eat oysters; and he had heard that.the waiters there spoke French and German..Walking swiftly by at night he had seen cabs drawn.up before the door and richly dressed ladies, escorted.by cavaliers, alight and enter quickly. They wore.noisy dresses and many wraps. Their faces were.powdered and they caught up their dresses, when.they touched earth. He had always passed without.turning his head to look. It was his habit to walk.swiftly in the street even by day and whenever he.found himself in the city late at night he hurried on.his way apprehensively and excitedly. Sometimes,.however, he courted the causes of his fear. He chose.the darkest and narrowest streets and, as he walked.boldly forward, the silence that was spread about his.footsteps troubled him, the wandering, silent figures.troubled him; and at times a sound of low fugitive.laughter made him tremble like a leaf..He turned to the right towards Capel Street..Ignatius Gallaher on the London Press! Who would.have thought it possible eight years before? Still, now.that he reviewed the past, Little Chandler could.remember many signs of future greatness in his.friend.Q: Based on the passage, which choice best identifies a contradictory impulse in Little Chandler’s character? Answer Choices: (A)He fixates on a social world that he ultimately believes to be a hollow spectacle. (B)He immerses himself in sights and sounds that strike him as ultimately frivolous. (C)He scorns a historical era that he concedes is preferable in some ways to the present. (D)He derives excitement from placing himself in settings he finds menacing.
A: Among A through D, the answer is
(A)He fixates on a social world that he ultimately believes to be a hollow spectacle.
(B)He immerses himself in sights and sounds that strike him as ultimately frivolous.
(C)He scorns a historical era that he concedes is preferable in some ways to the present.
(D)He derives excitement from placing himself in settings he finds menacing.
Answer: 3