Q: Article: One day, Jack threw some papers on my desk. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Next time you want to change anything, ask me first," he said, and left. I had made just one small change. But it's not that I hadn't been warned. My colleagues had said he was responsible for the resignations of the two previous secretaries. As the weeks went by, I came to look down on Jack. After another of his episodes had left me in tears I stormed into his office. "what?" he said suddenly. "Jack, the way you've been treating me is wrong. I've never had anyone speak to me that way. As a professional, it's wrong for me to allow it to continue," I said. Jack smiled nervously, "Susan, I make you a promise that I will be a friend. I will treat you as you deserve to be treated, with respect and kindness." Jack avoided me the rest of the week, and never questioned my work again. I brought cookies to the office one day and left some on his desk. Another day I left a note: "Hope your day is going great. " Over the next few weeks, there were no more Jack episodes. One year later I discovered I had breast cancer, and was scared. The statistics were not great for my long-term survival. One day, however, Jack visited me in the hospital and silently handed me a bundle with several bulbs inside. "Tulips ," he said. I smiled, not understanding. "If you plant them when you get home, they'll come up next spring. I think you will be there to see them when they come up. Next spring you will see the colours I picked out for you." Tears clouded my eyes and he left. I have seen those red and white striped tulips push through the soil every spring for over ten years now. This past September the doctor declared me cured. At a moment when I was praying for just the right word, a man with very few words said all the right things. After all, that's what friends do. Question: We can infer from the passage that _ . Yes or no, is the answer "a few words can be as meaningful as many"?
A: No

Q: Article: When it comes to friends, I desire those who will share my happiness, who possess wings of their own and who will fly with me. I seek friends whose qualities illuminate me and train me up for love. It is for these people that I reserve the glowing hours, too good not to share. When I was in the eighth grade, I had a friend. We were shy and "too serious" about our studies when it was becoming fashionable with our classmates to learn acceptable social behaviors. We said little at school, but she would come to my house and we would sit down with pencils and paper, and one of us would say: "Let's start with a train whistle today." We would sit quietly together and write separate poems or stories that grew out of a train whistle. Then we would read them aloud. At the end of that school year, we, too, were changing into social creatures and the stories and poems stopped. When I lived for a time in London, I had a friend. He was in despair and I was in despair. But our friendship was based on the idea in each of us that we would be sorry later if we did not explore this great city because we had felt bad at the time. We met every Sunday for five weeks and found many excellent things. We walked until our despairs disappeared and then we parted. _ . For almost four years I have had a remarkable friend whose imagination illuminates mine. We write long letters in which we often discover our strangest selves. Each of us appears, sometimes in a funny way, in the other's dreams. She and I agree that, at certain times, we seem to be parts of the same mind. In my most interesting moments, I often think: "Yes, I must tell..." We have never met. It is such comforting companions I wish to keep. One bright hour with their kind is worth more to me than the lifetime services of a psychologist, who will only fill up the healing silence necessary to those darkest moments in which I would rather be my own best friend. Question: In the eighth grade, what the author did before developing proper social behavior was to _ . Yes or no, is the answer "share poems and stories with her friend"?
A: No

Q: Article: Tears ran down from my eyes as I saw the essay my high school English teacher had just handed back. A big F was written on top. I was hopeless. I was stupid!My face burned with shame when my classmates called me stupid. "I'm the only one who doesn't know my ABCs!"I sobbed to mum. "I'll help,"she promised. Every day I sat with her,but to me,cat looked like cta and red was reb. Frustrated,I would return to my bedroom and draw,filling the paper with houses,restaurants and offices. "When I grow up,I want my own store,"I told mum,pointing to my drawings. "That's great!"she said,"but first you have to learn to read." Later,I was diagnosed with dyslexia .So mum took me to a learning centre,where I was given reading exercises. But I still struggled. Finally,I graduated,but I was afraid of my reading skills. "I'll never get a job!"I cried to mum later again. "Don't focus on what you can't do,"she comforted."Concentrate on what you can." But what can I do?I wondered. Suddenly,I thought of the drawings I'd made as a child and my dream of having my own store. I enjoyed sales so much that over the next few years,I tried my hand at other businesses. Today,I watch over seven branches. We have 187 employees and $15 million in sales. While I'll never be what my teachers might have wanted,I am a success-on my own terms. The other day a student sent me a card,reading:You gave me so much confidence. I hope to be like you when I am big. Tears of joy filled my eyes. This was my A,I smiled. Question: Which of the following best describes the author's feeling to his mother? Yes or no, is the answer "Grateful."?
A: Yes