(Q).
Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: That day, my mother picked me up from school, wearing the yellow sundress and shawl I remembered from our trip with Father the year before. She looked just like she did most days back then--a glamour queen, a movie star ("Just like Lena Horne," my friend Chloe had once said, "only darker--oh, sorry, Leah!"), but today her beauty somehow had a harder, more defiant edge to it. I could smell the expensive Dior perfume as soon as I opened the door, which surprised me, because my mom was usually fastidious about not getting perfume on her clothes. She was wearing her bug glasses--huge dark things with lenses that bulged out like fly eyes and reflected my face like a fun-house mirror. She had tied a yellow silk scarf around her hair and was taking deep pulls on a cigarette held between two immaculately manicured fingers. Only I knew about the nicotine stains she carefully covered with her special order "forest sable" cream each morning. Tiffany, a stupid but vicious senator's daughter who I had the misfortune of sharing a classroom with, suddenly dashed from inside the school, her face flushed. "Hello, Mrs. Wilson," she called. Before my mother could respond, she giggled and ran back to three of her friends waiting beyond the door. I could hear them laughing, but I was glad I couldn't understand their words. They were all fascinated with my mother--the black housekeeper who dressed like Katharine Hepburn and drove a Cadillac, whose daughter's "light toffee" skin indicated that she might just like her coffee with a lot of cream. Sometimes I hated those girls. "Get in the car, Leah," my mother said. Her already husky voice was pitched low, as though she'd been crying. That made me nervous. Why was she here? "Ma, Chloe was going to show me her dad's new camera. Can't I go home on the bus?" My mom pulled on the cigarette until it burned the filter, and then ground it into the car ashtray--already filled with forty or so butts. She always emptied out the ashtray each evening. Question: After putting out her cigarette, Mrs. Wilson is probably: Options: - Not going to let Leah go home on the bus - Clean her bug glasses - Going to cover her nicotine stains with 'forest sable' cream - not enough information
(A).
Not going to let Leah go home on the bus

(Q).
Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: "You either change of life or you change of man" When I was married, my wife had a very complicated life to handle outside. She was always stressed from her studies, pressure and job, so she would go out, most oftenly with me, to places and times we shouldn't have been. She would just decide, in the middle of the night, even as early as 2 in the morning that we should just race the city, see places She always had those cravings to do stuff at strange times, getting to sport events with me at the other bit of the country This crazy kind of life got us in a big lot of troubles. People trying rape her, attack us and much many more. it was happening too often and I often had to be quite violent to these people so she stays in one piece. I had to fix a lot of crap in order for her to live fully her fantasy. But I was more worried for her than me and I wanted us settle down, calm and have children we could raise peacefully. There was that one night where, we both came back very late from a sport competition, we had to travel dangerous roads very late at night sometimes by bus, foot and other times subway. At one point that night, two drug addicts tried to rape her, so I did what I had to do, but still I didn't kill them. Then I shoved her and I really mean shove, inside a taxi, got in there too and asked it back home. When I arrived, she was denying the danger, denying anything wrong with her way to behave. So I really snapped, I just pulled my ring and chains away, threw them on the table in front of her and I told her the sentence I mentionned up there. I was harsh on her that night in my words and symbol but I just couldn't take that way anymore Question: The rape attempt lasted? Options: - an hour - not enough information - 10 minutes - 30 minutes
(A).
10 minutes

(Q).
Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: "Please remember me to myself!" When sliding toward mania in 2016, I begged this of my therapist. He cocked his head. "What do you mean?" I had no ideaon a conscious levelwhat I was asking for, just that I felt in a desperate sense that the self I knew was slipping away. An inability to recognize myself either in my writing or in reflecting upon my own actions was taking over. And then? I didn't care. I wanted to kiss girls. Which is finejust not something I ordinarily do. I wanted to drink, smoke. Again, finebut not something I ordinarily do. "Do I seemokay?" I asked a colleague at work. A woman I barely knew. Insanely, I thought that since she worked with disabled students, many of whom struggled with mental illness, she would know mania when she saw it. This was a rather foolish assumptionespecially since she's an educator, not a psychiatrist, especially with how skilled I am at wearing the mask of calm, the face of sanity. "You seem great, Julie. Cheery. Professional as always." I let her reassurance placate me. Wanted to be placated. Yet, within months I lost my job. And not only that, but a chance at a scholarship, two really important long term friendshipsrelationships I'd enjoyed since high school. I was hospitalized three times between September and February. I lost my ability to trust myself, lost my mind. It is now a little over two years since I first felt that sliding. Twenty-six months since I knew that somewhere in the deepest parts of who I am, I was slipping. Nine seasons since I begged Dr. Poe, "Remember me to myself!" I'm still recuperating. Yes. I have felt like I wasn't me. Question: How did Julie come across to other people? Options: - She seems nice. - She seems normal. - not enough information - She seems professional.
(A).
She seems normal.