The sweet taste of cold and wood smoke hung in the air. Marlin rode low in the saddle, his shoulders curled against the hungry wind. His hat was pulled down tight and his eyes didn't move as he passed the crude shacks at the edge of town. He tied his horse in front of the saloon, unwinding his long body as if a sudden movement might snap it. He turned down the collar of his greatcoat and checked to make sure his big Army Colt was loose in its holster. The saloon door was a single chunk of white pine, still oozing sap, and he had to put his shoulder to it to force it open. The long room inside was quiet, and not much warmer than the street. Clusters of people sat nursing coffee and drinks, talking quietly if they talked at all. Marlin spotted a few farmers the railroad had brought in from Europe: rounded hats, nervous eyes, skin as red as blood. At the far end of the room a half-dozen cowboys turned over cards with patient boredom. Marlin walked up to the bar. "Whiskey," he said, and when the drink came he tossed it straight down and felt it pull his lips into a grimace. He nodded for a refill. When he turned to face the room they were all watching him. "I'm looking for a man named Kraamer," Marlin said. "Anybody here know of him?" One of the cowboys turned casually and rang the spittoon with a stream of tobacco juice. Marlin knew the long, thin face from somewhere, the blond hair that fell limply to his shoulders. He smiled at Marlin and showed his brown-stained teeth. Marlin felt the lines in his own face, the gray in his hair, the chill in his bones. He was too old for this. He set a half dollar on the bar and started for the door. "Don't get in a huff," the bartender said. Marlin looked back. "Kraamer lives about a mile west of town. Follow the railroad and take the first trail south." What did Marlin order at the bar? A. Coffee B. Beer C. not enough information D. Whiskey
D

(Question)
Dark meat in the can--brown, oily, and flecked with mucus--gave off a repellent, fishy smell, and the taste of it rose in his throat, putrid and bitter, like something from a dead man's stomach. George Jordan sat on the kitchen floor and vomited, then pushed himself away from the shining pool, which looked very much like what remained in the can. He thought, No, this won't do: I have wires in my head, and they make me eat cat food. The snake likes cat food He needed help but know there was little point in calling the Air Force. He'd tried them, and there was no way they were going to admit responsibility for the monster in his head. What George called the snake, the Air Force called Effective Human Interface Technology and didn't want to hear about any postdischarge problems with it. They had their own problems with congressional committees investigating "the conduct of the war in Thailand." He lay for a while with his cheek on the cold linoleum, got up and rinsed his mouth in the sink, then stuck his head under the faucet and ran cold water over it, thinking, Call the goddamned multicomp, then call SenTrax and say, "Is it true you can do something about this incubus that wants to take possession of my soul?" And if they ask you, "What's your problem?" you say "cat food," and maybe they'll say, "Hell, it just wants to take possession of your lunch" A chair covered in brown corduroy stood in the middle of the barren living room, a white telephone on the floor beside it, a television flat against the opposite waIl--that was the whole thing, what might have been home, if it weren't for the snake. He picked up the phone, called up the directory on its screen, and keyed TELECOM SENTRAX. Who had a monster in his head? A. not enough information B. Air Force C. George Jordan D. Telecom Sentrax
(Answer)
C

Question: NOT A PROBLEM: Person A: I was really surprised to learn that your mum used to live in Wales. Person B: My mum? No, she never did that. You must be thinking of someone else. Person A: No, I'm not. I told her how my parents are from Cardiff and she said she'd lived in Newport until she was 18. Person B: She did not. Person A: Yes, she did. Person B: Nope. She'd have told me. Person A: Well, where do you think she grew up, then? Person B: In Yorkshire, of course. Like the rest of us. Person A: You're wrong, you know. Person B: Bet I'm not. Person A: OK, well, I'm going to phone her and ask her. You'll see. PROBLEM: Person C: You still have my Kindle. Person D: I do not. I gave it back to you two weeks ago. Person C: No, you didn't. You said you were going to, but you never actually gave it to me. Person D: I did. I remember. It was when we were having lunch in Starbucks. Person C: No, that's when you said you'd left it in your car and would get it when we'd finished eating but then you forgot all about it. Person D: Look, I gave it back to you. I think you're just trying to get a new Kindle out of me, and let me tell you: it ain't gonna work. Person C: You're just trying to keep my Kindle for yourself. Well, I'm not going to let you get away with it. I'm going to tell your mum, so there. It really depends whether the parents are in a position to shed any light on the contentious issue or if involving them would just make an awkward situation worse. If parental input will be helpful, welcome the chance to confer with them; if it won't, let the other person do what they will and trust your parents to have more sense than to get involved in a purely private argument. Person D claims to have given the kindle back to person C when: A. They met at Starbucks B. After they met at Starbucks C. not enough information D. Before they met at Starbucks
Answer:
A