user: I don't reckon the sun's ever come up quite the same since the day it happened. I've been watching it for years now and to me it still don't look right somehow. Maybe it's just me thinking it, sending myself doolally after what I've done. But I swear every morning it creeps up and it's looking at me, all knowing like. And when you reckon the sun's acting like that over you there isn't a right lot you can do about it, beyond burying yourself away like a mole in the soil. That's what I've been doing more or less in the score or so years that have gone by since. But however tight I shut them curtains to stop that damn sun lighting me up, it still don't stop the inside of my head from pounding out the truth. No way it's ever going to stop harassing me neither, not unless the deaf and dumb lass was to happen right back on my doorstep and give me the chance to tell her that it wasn't never meant to work out this way. The deaf and dumb lass went by the name of Mitzi Barker. Her being deaf and dumb, she was the kind of lass you went up the lane with if you didn't want no-one shouting their gob off about it after. Funny but it's the small things I recall best about her, like the way her hair reeked of bonfires and how that little old checkered dress of hers rode right up her thigh with no help from me. After we'd finished our business we'd head over the trout farm and I'd hunker down and poach us up a couple of rainbows for our tea. That Mitzi Barker, she was thin as an ear of barley and I always figured a good nosh-up was the least I could do for her troubles. Question: who did the author date? Options:  A. no one  B. not enough information  C. his cousin  D. Mitzi barker  === The correct answer is
D

(Question)
When I was writing the manuscript for Florentine, I enlisted the help of an army of recipe testers — about 80 people from all over the world — to test every recipe thoroughly. Only one came back to me consistently with problems. From Minnesota to Melbourne, three testers wrote to me that their very first attempt at making Tuscan gnudi (ricotta and spinach balls that, rather than be encased in pasta like for ravioli, are simply dusted in flour) resulted in a pot of simmering water with “dissolved” gnudi. It reminded me of Pellegrino Artusi’s potato gnocchi recipe in his famous cookbook from 1891, where he interrupts the recipe instructions to mention a signora who, upon attempting to stir the gnocchi cooking in the pot, finds they have disappeared – O dove’erano andati? “Where did they go?” In the case of the gnocchi, there was too little flour used, according to Artusi. But in the case of the gnudi, I already had a hunch. I grilled all three testers on a number of various factors — was the water just simmering, not on a rolling boil (which can destroy delicate gnudi), did they drain the spinach very well, and equally the ricotta (one said she even drained it overnight)? Did they use “proper” ricotta? Aha. “Proper” ricotta. The kind that was only made a day or so earlier, the leftovers of the cheese-making process, the real deal. The kind that you can see in a deli counter, standing on its own, that gets cut into a big wedge and weighed when you order it. Not the kind you buy at the supermarket, in a tub, that so often is grainy, more like the consistency of yogurt, has no structure, and is full of unnecessary gums or additives. All my recipe testers had used the second kind — to be fair, some were new to the idea of buying ricotta and in their neighbourhood only had access to this. In that case, it would have probably been better to make your own, or choose another recipe. Question: Why did the gnudi dissolve into the water? Options:  A. too little flour  B. failure to drain the spinach  C. not enough information  D. using "improper" ricotta  === The correct answer is
(Answer)
D

I had something that might have been a little supernatural. So I was trying to sleep one time, and I sleep under the blankets 99% of the time. I sleep downstairs, so hearing noise is pretty normal. Also, my door doesn’t lock, or even latch the door handle, so you can just push it open. So I was laying down, maybe at 60% in terms of how close I was to falling asleep, so I just had to lay down for like 5 more minutes. But there are a lot of noises, and they freak me out even though I just sorta pretend that they’re definitely a cat or my dog or something. So, I’m already slightly spooked, but I’m ignoring it and going to sleep anyway. But then, I hear my door open. That isn’t too weird, I do have cats, so even though by this point my fear is intense, I just sorta blow it off and keep trying to sleep. And then, something that’s never happened in a situation like this, I feel something moving towards me on my bed. It feels like a cats movements, with light feet making slight reverberations on the bed. So my fear goes away entirely, and I’m like “Oh okay, it’s just the cat, that’s good.” And I lift my blankets off my head to let my cat under with me, and because the fear seemed to make the atmosphere under there very hot and tense, and then I look at my bed and there’s nothing. So I just pretend nothing happened and go to sleep, but that still sticks with me and even though it’s kinda underwhelming I still think it was very strange since I wasn’t at the “edge of consciousness” stage of going to sleep, so I feel like the chances I imagined it aren’t too high. Question: The narrator lifted up their bed sheets: Options:  A. After hearing something move towards the bed.  B. not enough information  C. Before hearing a door open.  D. After falling asleep.  === The correct answer is


assistant: A