Yes I had. In a domestic violence case (in which I was the accused, but by God I was innocent) with my ex girlfriend, the lawyer whom I hired and paid his dues, openly played a wheeling and dealing game for two and a half years with the prosecutor and had mercilessly thrown me in front of the prosecutor. My ex girlfriend was sexually abused by her own uncles at the age of 5 to 9, had a lot of illusions and psychological problems, along with Bi-Polar Disorder, however, dispite my requests, she never had ever visited a psychologist or psychiatrist in her then 24 years of lifetime, fearing she would be forced to unveil the uncles' child sexual abuse act and this would cause her dismissal from her immediate family. Although I mentioned this to my "so called" lawyer, he refused to mention her unstable psychological condition in the court. I believe by doing so, he also committed a crime by preventing a child sexual abuse case go unveiled. After all these and after having me pushed into loosing my otherwise strong case, I was sentenced with restriction order to my own home, loosing all I had paid for it, loosing my stuff inside home, aforced probation and a forced domestic violence course for no good reason, my so called bloody lawyer also sent to the court a paper indicating that I owed to him and never had paid his dues. Disgusting wheeling and dealing quite often happen between such disgusting lawyers and greedy, heartless prosecutors; unfortunately! My psychologist friend at the time said, "If you are in Illinois, in Champaign County and you have a penis, you are already accepted as guilty by birth to start with dude". They say "Sharks wouldn't attack and eat Lawyers after a ship sunk". Why? It's professional courtesy! who sexually abused the girl? A. her dad B. her uncles C. not enough information D. her friends
B

(Question)
Light dappled through the trees in the family courtyard, painting shadows on the paving stones. Li Reiko knelt by her son to look at his scraped knee. "I just scratched it." Nawi squirmed under her hands. Her daughter, Aya, leaned over her shoulder studying the healing. "Maybe Mama will show you her armor after she heals you." Nawi stopped wiggling. "Really?" Reiko shot Aya a warning look, but her little boy's dark eyes shone with excitement. Reiko smiled. "Really." What did tradition matter? "Now let me heal your knee." She laid her hand on the shallow wound. "Ow." "Shush." Reiko closed her eyes and rose in the dark space within her mind. In her mind's eye, Reiko took her time with the ritual, knowing it took less time than it appeared. In a heartbeat, green fire flared out to the walls of her mind. She dissolved into it as she focused on healing her son. When the wound closed beneath her hand, she sank to the surface of her mind. "There." She tousled Nawi's hair. "That wasn't bad, was it?" "It tickled." He wrinkled his nose. "Will you show me your armor now?" She sighed. She should not encourage his interest in the martial arts. His work would be with the histories that men kept, and yet... "Watch." Pulling the smooth black surface out of the ether, she manifested her armor. It sheathed her like silence in the night. Aya watched with obvious anticipation for the day when she earned her own armor. Nawi's face, full of sharp yearning for something he would never have, cut Reiko's heart like a new blade. "Can I see your sword?" She let her armor vanish back into thought. "No." Reiko brushed his hair from his eyes. "It's my turn to hide, right?" Why can't Nawi never get his armor? A. He is physically ill B. not enough information C. He is banned because of something he did D. Men are not allowed to have armor
(Answer)
B

Ques:"That's Glenn Miller," my father said. "But it can't be." He had the back of the hospital bed cranked upright, the lower lid of his left eye creeping up in a warning signal I'd learned to recognize as a child. My older sister Ann had settled deep in the recliner, and she glared at me too, blaming me for winding him up. The jam box sat on the rolling tray table and my father was working the remote as he talked, backing up my newly burned CD and letting it spin forward to play a few seconds of low fidelity trombone solo. "You know the tune, of course," he said. "'King Porter Stomp.'" Those childhood years of listening to him play Glenn Miller on the console phonograph were finally paying off. "He muffed the notes the same way on the Victor version." "So why can't it be Miller?" I asked. "He wouldn't have played with a rabble like that." The backup musicians teetered on the edge of chaos, playing with an abandon somewhere between Dixieland and bebop. "They sound drunk." My father had a major emotional investment in Miller. He and my mother had danced to the Miller band at Glen Island Casino on Long Island Sound in the summer of 1942, when they were both sixteen. That signature sound of clarinet and four saxes was forever tied up for him with first love and the early, idealistic months of the war. But there was a better reason why it couldn't have been Miller playing that solo. If the date on the original recording was correct, he was supposed to have died three days earlier. The date was in India ink on a piece of surgical tape, stuck to the top of a spool of recording wire. The handwritten numerals had the hooks and day-first order of Europe: 18/12/44. I'd won it on eBay the week before as part of a lot that included a wire recorder and a stack of 78s by French pop stars like Charles Trenent and Edith Piaf. What did the son buy off Ebay? A. a clarinet B. Old records C. surgical tape D. not enough information

Ans:
B