I'm taking a test and have to guess the right answer to the question after the article. Article: Bit by bit, the sand dust that fills the sky is dying down. The blue sky and the burning sun once again hang over the desert. He is on the road, driving his beat-up yellow cab. The sides of the road are littered with damaged vehicles. Masses of smoke in the distance tell him that a war is being dragged on throughout his country. It's a fine day despite the choking heat. Not a breath of wind is blowing. A group of vehicles are traveling towards him, carrying many passengers. The scene reminds him of the market days in this country when crowds of trucks transport folks to the markets; the only difference is, this time, they are not trucks, but tanks, carrying foreigners, guns in hand. He stares at them. They stare back. So they pass by one another. "The damned war!" he whispers bitterly. Two days ago, a bomb fell on the market in front of his house, destroying nearly everything in sight. He survived by luck. He decided then and there that he would give up this cab business. This will be his final run. After this, he will leave this place together with his wife and children. "Shala and my children, we'll soon meet each other again, after I'm done here." He turns his head to take a glance at a photo of his wife and children. The glass on the frame is broken, but their smiles in the picture do not fail to provide him with the only comfort that he has. Shortly he arrives at a checkpoint. Tanks sit by the side of the road, the sight of which sends a marked coldness through his backbone. A bunch of soldiers armed to the teeth stand by. A foreign soldier signals him to stop. He calms himself down and pulls over. During the past few days, nearly no civilian vehicles come out of the capital city, his car being the only one on roads. A few foreign soldiers come up to him, one, two, three, four, five. The leader bends over to have a look at the old car, then at him. "Where do you come from and where are you going?" With a smile on his face, he answers with a broken speech in the tongue that the soldier can understand,... Question: What is this passage mainly about? Options: A: A cruel war going on in the country. B: A brave defender of the country. C: A cab driver's last business run. D: A moving talk between a civilian and a soldier.
B
(Question)
I'm taking a test and have to guess the right answer to the question after the article. Article: You're standing with your classmates. Everyone is talking--except you. Perhaps you're afraid they will laugh at what you say. Or maybe you just aren't brave enough to speak. I've been there, and so have many other people all over the world. Shyness is like a snake that crawls into our mouths and stops us speaking. But we shouldn't let it stay there. I am 29 years old. Even today, that snake still sometimes visits me. But when I was in high school, I was so shy that I wouldn't talk to anyone except my parents and best friends. If a stranger asked me the way to a local shop, it was as if I'd forgotten how to talk. One summer, I got a job in a restaurant and that helped a lot. It meant I had to talk to customers. I had to tell them how much their meal cost. I had to ask them if they wanted to drink Coke or Sprite. I had to tell the people in the kitchen if someone wanted pickle on their sandwich. This job taught me how to speak with people. You may not be old enough to find a part-time job. But you can look for other chances to speak with people. You can offer to help an old woman carry her heavy bag. Or you can go to get a newspaper for your family. If you do these things for a while, the "shyness" snake will soon begin to leave you alone. It'll look for another mouth to crawl into. Question: The author's duties in the restaurant included_. Options: A: cooking the meals for customers B: taking the customers' orders C: discussing the menu with the manager D: helping people in the kitchen
(Answer)
B
I'm taking a test and have to guess the right answer to the question after the article. Article: My grandfather died more than twenty-five years ago. I was fifteen. He was kind, strong, fair, and very funny. When I was a young musician, he was my biggest fan. I played my violin for him when he visited, and he loved everything, but each time he had one request. "Could you play 'Amazing Grace'?" he asked, full of hope and with a twinkle in his eye, because he knew my answer was always, "I don't know that one!" We went through this routine at every major holiday, and I always figured I'd have time to learn it for him later. About the time I entered high school and started guitar, Grandpa got cancer. The last time I saw him alive was Thanksgiving weekend in 1985. My mom warned us that Grandpa didn't look the same anymore and that we should prepare ourselves. For a moment I didn't recognize him. He looked so small among all the white sheets. We had all gathered in Ohio for the holiday, and I'm sure we all knew we were there to say good-bye. I can see now that Grandpa held on long enough to see us each one more time. I remember how we ate in the dining room and laughed and talked while Grandpa rested in his hospital bed. I wonder if it was sad for him to be alone with our voices and laughter. _ The next morning I found my moment alone with him. I pulled out my guitar, tuned to his appreciative gaze, and finally played for him "Amazing Grace." I had worked on it for weeks, knowing it never mattered whether I actually played it well and choosing not to believe as I played that it was my last concert for my biggest fan. The cancer had stolen his smile, but I saw joy in his eyes. He held my hand afterward, and I knew I had done something important. I argued with people all through college about my music major. I was told by strangers that music wouldn't make me any money and it wasn't useful like being a doctor. But I know firsthand that with music I was able to give my grandpa something at a point when no one else could. Question: What is the author's attitude toward her music major? Options: A: Disapproving. B: Positive. C: Doubtful. D: Regretful.
B