Michael Morzeny put his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and hugged the fabric tighter around his body. The winter wind hurried down Columbus Avenue and the hem of his coat flapped around his knees letting little pockets of cold waft up to invade the warmth his body had spent so much time preparing and storing around his torso. With a bitter squeeze of his hands, his knuckles now getting cold, Morzeny bowed his square shoulders to the wind and continued walking. At sixty-seven years old the New York winters bothered Morzeny more than he cared to admit. And, although no doctor would admit it to him, he was positive that the first faint hints of arthritis tweaking through his hands were made worse by the cold. At every cross street the setting sun flashed through to the avenue in shades of crisp pink and red. Morzeny didn't want to be working right now. But these outings were the price he paid for having a hybrid job, owning buildings and brokering as many of his own leases as possible. When he had first come to the city he had been told that he needed a job, not for income, his providers took care of that, but for his own sanity. Something to keep him going. He had asked for something in real estate and had never bothered to wonder what other paths he might have taken. He had always been able to focus to the point of blindness. It helped him in every aspect of his work. He arrived at the brownstone building housing the apartment he was to show tonight. His building was tucked into a short row of buildings that squatted over the street, their steps reaching towards the curb like stunted growths. More to prove to himself that he could do it than anything else, Morzeny took the front steps two at a time. Question: Morzeny believed that the cold: === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- Made him sell more apartments
- Made him insane
- Made his beginning stage arthritis worse
- not enough information

Answer: Made his beginning stage arthritis worse

Question: There was a boy named Chan who loved his parents, though they did not love him back; he was not even given a first name. He had been born in the wrong month, during the wrong phase of the moon, his parents told him, and had brought them nothing but bad luck. The promotion at the factory promised to his father was taken away at the last moment. The garden his mother worked in nearly every day never produced anything more than the most meager of weeds since Chan's birth. It was often sunny in the little Chinese village, but there was an almost constant gloom over their house, as if a rogue cloud were blocking the sun only over their property. And his parents, of course, blamed Chan for everything. He was small for his age, and usually quiet. He liked to listen to people instead of talking, filling himself with stories. He was a good boy and always did as he was told, and could see the good in his parents, even if others couldn't. Every so often, his mother would allow him a sweet, or his father would bring home an origami folding kit. They didn't like to show it to others, but his parents could be kind. Chan was patient and knew they would love him eventually. He was digging one day between the fence and the west side of the house for grubs to feed to his pet chameleon, Rainbow. It was a warm July day not long after his tenth birthday. He often went there because it was cool and damp from the shade of the trees, and the worms seemed to like it there. He never took more than he needed, then he thanked the grubs for sacrificing their lives so that Rainbow could remain living and being his pet. Chan was very kind-hearted when it came to grubs. Question: How did Chan feel about grubs? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- kind-hearted
- not enough information
- disgusted
- cold-hearted
Answer: kind-hearted

Question: I first experienced a loss of sexual desire several years ago, just after I turned 40. For a long time, I thought it was me. I thought maybe it was my age. After reading every book and article I could find on sex, relationships, and marriage, I started to wonder if maybe it wasn't me. Maybe it was my marriage, maybe it was my husband. I never wanted to be "that woman". The one that screwed around on her husband. But, I had an affair about six or seven years ago. It didn't last long. But, that's when I knew my marriage was over. It wasn't a lack of sexual desire, it was a lack of desire for my husband. I didn't want him or the marriage. There was nothing wrong with my sex drive. I told my husband that I'd had an affair. He changed for about a month or so. He was very loving and attentive. But it didn't last. He loves differently than I need to be loved and it's just not in him to love me that way. A few months after I ended the affair, I got involved with someone else. I know. I shouldn't have. I've experienced things with this other man that I never thought possible. Felt things I thought were only possible in movies. He's a romantic. Not flowers or candy or jewellery, but he talks and listens. He hears me. He tries to understand me and give me what I need. Deep, intimate conversations. Looking into one another's eyes. Soft caresses. Words of adoration. These things he gives me almost daily. I never knew I needed romance because I'd never had it. This is how I need to be loved. After having felt this way, I can't stay in my marriage. It's not fair to either of us. I'm not sure what happened. Did we grow apart? Did one or both of us change? Do people's needs change as they get older? Question: Why does the author feel she can't stay in the marriage? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- her husband isn't able to be romantic in the way she wants
- not enough information
- she doesn't want to be with her husband anymore
- she wants to be with the man she is having an affair with instead
Answer:
not enough information