I had this one guy, who enjoyed being a part time bully and part time neutral to me. To say the least he was annoying. He'd take the liberty to hide my backpack, borrow my books without consent, doodle scandalous stuff on my notebooks with a pen and yada yada. So one day, I was showing this cool trick I learned on an anatomy program on the TV to a couple of classmates who used to sit around me. The thing was that you can't flex your ring finger upwards if you put your middle finger under the palm (try that) We were all kids, and soon everyone in the class started staring at us weirdos looking laughing at out hands. The bully noticed it too, and came near to inquire about this hand stuff. I described the trick and he was impressed. And then, I saw our teacher walking up the corridor, just a couple paces behind the class door. So, I asked him (the bully) if he wanted to see another trick and to that he nodded a big yes. Cool, What I did was, that I grabbed his right arm by the thumb and put it on my throat right above the larynx. Then I quickly shifted my grip to his wrist. He without batting an eye, asked what I was doing, but then I started beating the desk with my other hand and made squeaking noises while pushing his hand against my throat harder with every turning head. And voila! Every one in the class (including the teacher) thought he was smothering me. After a few ifs and buts between him and the teacher, he was summoned at the principal's chambers, from where, later he was sent home, where presumably judging from the look on his face for the next few days, he was beat to crap by his folks. And after that, never was I ever bothered by anyone in the school.(^^) According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: How long did the bullying go on? Options: A. not enough information B. It's still going on C. A few days at school D. Longer than a few months
D

(Question)
In this confessional age, TV, radio and print rely for much of their content on the sad stories of those 'victims' of life. The story goes something like this: There is the future 'victim' getting on with their quotidian activities and whoosh, they are whisked into a life of gambling, drugs, sex or junk food addiction. After years of struggle, they finally find redemption and become good people again. As in any good tale of redemption, there has to be a 'reason' for why our 'victim' fell off the rails. Take your pick: they were molested, their parents ran away from home, they were denied desserts except on Sundays. Just thinking about it brings a tear to my stony face. How can you not be moved by tales such as these. What is the precipitating cause of the misery in my life? Well, my mother was French and my father was English. And to make things worse, I was brought up Catholic! Yes folks, in today's shorthand of grievance, I'm a half-breed straddling Canada's great language divide and a religious bigot. My hometown was a mixture of French and English-speaking people and the results of their miscenagation. You could never tell by someone's last name who spoke your language (For instance, my good friend P. Arsenault spoke the Queen's English and my cousin Sean Doyle wouldn't have recognized an Oxford Dictionary if you shoved up his nose). As children, we were segregated by language; all the French-speaking kids went to one side of the school where they spoke French all the time. I was fortunate enough to be sent to the English side of the school and got to speak my native tongue. My parents decided my brother and sister wouldn't be quite so lucky. In an effort to bridge the great language divide, they both spent six years learning everything in French and mingling with the French people (My parents did this because it was the firm belief of all forward-thinking families that whatever road you took would be much smoother if you could speak both of Canada's official languages. As it turns out for my siblings and... According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: after the end of the story Options: A. the author went to bed B. the author probably had a drink C. not enough information D. the author probably died of a heart attack
(Answer)
D

Ques: Overnight the clouds had rolled in and the summer was dead. I sat at my office window and drank coffee, looking out on a dirty brown Saturday that smelled like rain. Somebody knocked at the door and I swiveled around to see Pete McGreggor from down the hall. "Busy?" he asked. I shook my head and he came in, closing the door behind him. He poured a cup of coffee and sat down across from me. "Big shakeup last night," he said. "I just got a call to defend one of the Preacher's errand boys." "So they finally got to him," I said, remembering the furor that had raged in the newspapers a few months before. The law had never been able to break up the Preacher's drug operation, even though it was notorious as the biggest in Texas. "How'd they do it?" "It's very hush-hush," he said, steam from his coffee making his hair seem to ripple. "They squelched the story at the papers, hoping to pull in a couple more fish, I guess. But what I gather is that the thing was pulled off from the inside, from somebody high up in the organization. But nobody knows exactly who it was that sold out." "It'll all come clean at the trial, I suppose." He nodded. "Sooner than that, I expect. The DA told me confidentially that they'll have everything they need by five o'clock tonight. You'll see it all on the evening news." A sharp rapping came at the door and Pete stood up. "You've got business. I'll leave you to it." "It's probably bill collectors," I said. "I'll yell if they get rough." He opened the door and pushed past the two policemen that were waiting outside. They were both in uniform, but I only knew one of them. That was Brady, the tall, curly headed one that looked like an Irish middleweight. His partner was dark and nondescript, sporting a Police Academy moustache. According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: Why were the police at the door? Options: A. They were looking for newspapers. B. They wanted to ask questions about the Preacher's drug operation. C. They were looking for drugs. D. not enough information
Ans:
B