Jon's back ached. Frost had come early this year and the ground broke like stone. Jon had spent eight seasons breaking this ground to plant spring's crops and every year it got harder. Sweat beaded on his brow and he felt his cotton shirt stick to his skin under his coat. Jon took off his soft-brimmed hat and wiped his forehead. He examined the hat as he let his breath return. The hat had kept the burning sun and beating rain off his head for as long as Jon owned the farm. He wore it every day. It had been a gift given to him on the day he married Alasandra but he could not remember who gave it to him. Jon put it back on his head and pushed the tiller deep into the stubborn earth. Daven ran over the hill and down the cart path leading to their small cobblestone house. The boy had only left a short while ago and he held no sack with the bread and cheese his mother had told him to buy. Jon furrowed his brow. The boy continued to run and soon the wind carried his cry to his father's ears. "Papa! A carriage is coming! Two horses!" Jon's furrowed brow remained. Surely the boy meant a cart from a neighboring farm. No carriage made it out this far. "It's from the city! A soldier drives it!" Jon felt ice water flow over him. He turned to the house. "Sandra! Get the musket out of the pantry!" Jon saw his wife's face appear at one foggy window. Jon gestured wildly at her. "Get it!" They were too late. As Daven reached Jon, the black carriage already approached. A single figure sat on the bench, guiding the two brown horses down Jon's path. According to the above context, answer the following question. Where is the carriage from?
OPTIONS:
- The farm
- The pantry
- not enough information
- The city

Answer: The city

Question: Six weeks after arriving in the United States, Hassan Abduraheem takes a seat in the back pew of Tar Wallet Baptist Church. Tucked into the woods along a country road in rural Virginia, the church holds about 50 worshippers. On this cold November Sunday, Abduraheem and his family of eight noticeably increase the congregation's size. They do their best to follow the unfamiliar English of the old Baptist hymns, which are very familiar to their new neighbors. And they share the hymns from their former home Sudan. Standing in a single line in front of the altar, the family fills the church with Arabic song. "Unbelievable," Abduraheem says repeatedly, as he describes his journey from a crowded prison cell in Sudan to a fixed-up house on the farm of his new pastor. "Unbelievable" seems like the only word that could describe the turn his life took, thanks to a Facebook post and a U.S. congressman. Abduraheem's work as a former pastor is not outlawed in his native Sudan, but Christians are a minority in a diverse country that has suffered through multiple civil wars. According to the United States Commission on International Religious Freedom, there has been "an escalation in the Sudanese government's persecution of Christians," since the 2011 secession of South Sudan. Abduraheem says his work was spreading the gospel; the Sudanese government accused him of espionage, and he was detained along with two other pastors in December 2015. "The first day when they took us to the prison, they beat us," he says softly. Abduraheem was shifted from prison to prison. For five months, he wore the same clothes he was wearing when he was arrested. His eyes became damaged from the harsh prison light. Yet, despite constant interrogations, just two meals of beans a day and a tiny cell with barely enough room to sleep, he says the worst part of prison was not knowing. According to the above context, answer the following question. What would the refugees likely do next?
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- find jobs
- work in Congress
- go fight in Sudan
Answer: find jobs

Question: Rain, the young man is thinking. Of course it would be raining. Not a heavy, cleansing rain that leaves the streets steaming and the neatly sculptured yards lush and fragrant. This is a gray drizzling rain. A rain that makes him think of places like England and Scotland as they appear in those disturbing late night films on cable, the ones in black and white that weren't particularly memorable when they were made and are even less so now. Still, it rains and the air is cool. All he has to shelter him is a think nylon jacket. The jacket is soaked. It feels both chilly and coarse against his skin. His hair hangs in flat and sodden wings, falling into his eyes. It's long in the back, almost to his shoulders, and he thinks that the cars that pass him on the street, the occupants of those cars, might look at him and see only that he is wet and not that he is dirty as well. Can they tell that his hair has been unwashed for days? That his clothes are the same ones he's worn for more than a week? It doesn't matter. He's invisible to them as soon as they pass, taking any assumptions they might make with them. They might just mistake him for one of those hoity-toity college kids, one of those clean limbed and beaming have's who has happened to find himself caught out without his umbrella. He makes a desultory attempt to straighten his shoulders, to lift his eyes from the buckled sidewalk. To look like he might have a purpose or a destination. It doesn't help. He has become the day. He has internalized the environment. He did that years ago, in fact. That's all I can do. Not his words, of course, but he understands them. He is intimately acquainted with his limitations. According to the above context, answer the following question. The narrator is probably thinking about England for?
OPTIONS:
- 4 hours
- not enough information
- few minutes
- all day
Answer:
few minutes