It was hot. The smell of blood already hung heavy in the air. The white sands, imported from the far west mountains of limestone, sucked up the fire of the huge red sun. It was always hot in the south desert. Even in the deep of night the stones of Gazu Kadem kept the city warm. Now, at mid-day, it was at its hottest. A quarter of a million people at the arena didn't make it any cooler. The merchants, nobles, and the slaves lucky enough to attend had waited outside Dan Trex's arena for days. They knew the value of entertainment in such a dark world. They wore cowls to protect themselves from the sun as they waited. Entire businesses thrived on the forced mercantile of the captive audience. Food went for thrice its cost to those waiting near the entrance. Water went for five times as much. The arena was as old as the city, built in the days of the old empire for a king now long forgotten. The octagonal arena was a machine, an engine that built warriors out of the raw material of flesh, blood, and steel. Now, thousands of years later, it still served that purpose. The machine had built Dan Trex's army, half a million of the most ruthless and well trained soldiers to ever walk the planet. While one hundred and fifty thousand civilians and slaves got drunk, gambled, shat, fucked, and slept on the stone steps; one hundred thousand of his men sat in silence wearing black and bronze and watching him as Trex walked out into the arena alone and unhelmed. His soldiers watched the games in silence. They made not a sound when twelve of the most beautiful girls to walk on small bare feet were raped and flayed apart by dark priests in a ritual to Gazu Kadem's god-king, Danken Ovelde. They studied the three-horned desert bull as it gored five slaves. They watched the spear technique of four slave armies as they warred in a single great battle. They watched blades of silver spray fans of red blood into the air. They watched vital organs spill onto the white sands. They heard men and women scream as life left them. They... Question: Author believes that Options: A. civilians and slaves were greedy B. civilians and slaves made correct decision C. civilians and slaves were good D. not enough information === The correct answer is
A

Pirate gold. Coins, rings, ingots. Necklaces of emeralds and opals and sapphires. Chalices, bracelets, daggers inlaid with diamonds and lapis and ivory. Malone rolled over in the soft hotel bed. Not just gold but the things it would buy. A two-story house of brick and wrought iron. Greek columns in front and coaches parked in the drive. Built high on the center of Galveston Island, away from the deadly storms of the Gulf, away from the noise and stink of the port. White servants and negro slaves. Fair-haired women to sit at the piano in his parlor. Dark-skinned women to open their legs to him in the secrecy of the night... He sat up in a sweat. I will think no evil thoughts, he told himself. Outside, the sun rose over New Orleans. Horse-drawn carts creaked and rattled through the streets, and chickens complained about the light. The smell of the Mississippi, damp and sexual, floated through the open window. Malone got up and put a robe on over his nightshirt, despite the heat. He turned up the gas lamp over the desk, took out pen, ink and paper, and began to write. 'My dearest Becky...' * He smelled the French Market before he saw it, a mixture of decayed fruit, coffee, and leather. He crossed Decatur Street to avoid a side of beef hung over the sidewalk, swarming with flies. Voices shouted in a dozen different languages. All manner of decrepit wooden carts stood on the street, their contents passed from hand to hand until they disappeared under the yellow canvas awnings of the market. Beyond the levee Malone could see the tops of the masts of the tall ships that moved toward the Governor Nicholl's Street Wharf. Question: Who smelled the French Market? Options: A. A white servant B. not enough information C. a chicken D. Malone === The correct answer is
D

Well we're not married (yet), but one time my boyfriend playfully spanked me. Hard. I know he didn't mean to hurt me, but I was mad about it all. Day. Long. I just couldn't get over the fact that he technically hit me! I started to consider things like, "Is he really sorry?" "Will he do it again?" "Should I leave him?" And gave myself reasons like "He didn't mean to!" "He's been apologizing all day!" "He was just playing!" "He meant to have fun, He's sorry!" Yet countered it with one simple statement, "Yeah that's what all abused women say." In the end, I felt the question that should determine whether or not I should leave is: "If I stop talking to him tomorrow and can never see him or speak to him again, will I be okay with that?" and the answer was "No", so obviously I shouldn't leave him. He is very well aware that I was considering leaving him, (I have a very strict 0 tolerance policy of abuse in my relationships, as I was abused terribly growing up,) and he still apologizes to this day, but he has certainly made it a point to never do that again. I definitely trust him, and he actually was being playful, but otherwise that has been the only "real" hitch we have come across. I mean, we argue, but that's only when either of us are mad, and it's usually over small stupid stuff. Like, really stupid stuff. We argued over traffic signs before, LOL. It always leads to me saying the argument is completely retarded and we drop it and just cuddle or something. Really not worth getting worked up about. Edit: Fixed some typos. I'm on my phone so my thumbs can't quite reach LOL. Question: The woman probably believes that: Options: A. not enough information B. She will be okay leaving her boyfriend C. Her man is a nice person D. Her man likes abusing her === The correct answer is
C