Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: When a friend tells you she has wild roses blooming everywhere, it's not hard to imagine where the conversation headed to next to turning them into rose petal jam, of course. My friend Simona Quirini and her family run the beautiful Canto del Maggio, a B&B, restaurant and garden, about one hour's drive from Florence. We arrived to catch Simona with a wooden crate in her hands, already half full of blush pink flower heads, small and as fragrant as honey. It wasn't just roses that were bursting out of their bushes with colour and fragrance. In fact, every time I go to Canto del Maggio, I notice how lush the property is with fruit, flowers and plants, and every season there are bounties to be collected. The first time I was there I noticed the myrtle bushes and heirloom fruit trees little tiny, red pears and apples. The garden was full of summer produce and I stole green-skinned figs harbouring raspberry-red flesh off the trees. The next time I went, we picked ripe olives off the trees around the pool and took them down to the local frantoio, olive oil mill, to press the bright green oil out of them. I also came home with buckets of corbezzoli, or Irish strawberries, to make jam. This spring, I noticed the hedge rows of flowering wild strawberries and this last visit we picked the berries off them for an afternoon snack. With the help of my daughter (who was slightly more interested in playing with Simona's new puppy), we filled a crateful of roses and picked the petals delicately off and into bowls. We were using the rose petal jam recipe and the technique I learned between two wonderful sources Pellegrino Artusi's 1891 cookbook (this pastry recipe below is also inspired by it) and the Armenian monks on Venice's Isola di San Lazzaro Island where I worked for two autumns. The secret, other than having beautiful, small and fragrant roses to begin with, is in massaging the petals with a bit of the sugar and the lemon juice until almost a pulp to release the essential oils. Question: What did the narrator make? Options: A. not enough information B. Something sour C. Something fresh smelling D. Something stale
C

Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: I was a student nurse at the time. I was assisting in the delivery of an infant. My specific task was to work with the rather over-excited father-to-be. He was an absolute delight to work withvery solicitous of his wife all throughout, very cooperative with the staff, and very appreciative of the help we were giving the mother-to-be. The background was that after 7 years of marriage, and 2 tragic miscarriages, THIS pregnancy had come to full term, and the childdeliberately they did NOT want to know the genderwas healthy, and both "mom" and "dad" were excited about the upcoming birth. The child finally emerged, the MD held up the child, and "dad" blurted out "It's a girl!! You wanted a girl!!! Oh my God, she's beautiful!!" Then he buried his face on his wife's shoulder and was sobbing for pure joy. The MD quickly put him to workhe was to cut the umbilical cord. "I'm not going to hurt her, am I??" MD assured him no, he wouldn't. He made the cut, and came immediately over to the wife"Honeyare you all right?? I didn't hurt you??"" While the his daughter was being bathed and checked out by the APGAR nurse, he excited called out the various observationsshe as healthy..she was pinking upshe was so beautiful "I can't believe it." When the nurse returned the little girl to "mom", the three of them cuddled together, tears just pouring from his eyesand we in the birthing suite were all getting teary-eyed ourselves. That was 30 years ago, and I still get tears just thinking about what I consider the most beautiful moment of my life, one that I was lucky to share with these two wonderful people. Question: Who sobbed for pure joy? Options: A. The author B. The dad C. The mom D. not enough information
B

Q: Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: A long time ago, when humans still lived in cities, on a cold morning near the end of a long, cruel winter, in magnificent Central Park in the middle of magnificent New York City, a young squirrel named Patch was awakened very early by the growls of his empty stomach. A squirrel's home is called a drey. Patch's drey was very comfortable. He lived high up an old oak tree, in a hollowed-out stump of a big branch that had long ago been cut off by humans. The entrance was only just big enough for Patch to squeeze in and out, but the drey itself was spacious, for a squirrel. Patch had lined his drey with dry leaves, grasses and bits of newspaper. It was warm and dry, and on that cold morning he would have liked nothing better than to stay home all day and sleep. But he was so hungry. Hunger filled him like water fills a glass. The cherry and maple trees had not yet started to bud; flowers had not yet begun to grow; the juicy grubs and bugs of spring had not yet emerged; and it had been two days since Patch had found a nut. Imagine how hungry you would feel if you went two whole days without eating, and you may have some idea how Patch felt that morning. Patch poked his head out of the drey into the cold air and shivered as he looked around. Clumps of white, crumbly ice still clung to the ground. Gusts of cold wind shook and rustled the trees' bare branches. The pale and distant sun seemed drained of heat. Patch took a moment to satisfy himself that there were no dangers nearby, no hawk circling above or unleashed dog below. Then he emerged from his drey and began to look for acorns. But what marvels, what miracles, what mysteries are hidden inside those simple words! Question: How does Patch get to his drey? Options: A. he scurries up the tree B. his owner carries him C. not enough information D. he swings from branch to branch
A: C