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. How many cigarettes were in the ashtray? Pick the correct answer from the following options: A. not enough information B. 40 C. 42 D. 39
A

When I first started out in the field, I was working at a private hospital in the locked psychiatric unit, and there was a call from one of the med floors requiring someone from our unit to assist with a problem of a young man who had bitten through his cotton restraints on his wrists. They were requesting he be restrained with leather ones. I had not done any restraining and was asked to assist a woman counselor to show me the ropes (no pun intended). When we arrived in the patients room, I was shocked to see a man in his early 20's flailing around spasmodically on the bed with his gums bleeding in between his teeth. The nurse informed us that the patient was dying of a liver disease and his body and brain had become toxic, causing delirium. The counselor instructed me to hold down his arms and she placed him in leather restraints which were fastened to the side of the bed. The most upsetting thing which to this day I can not remove from memory was this man literally snapping his jaws at me like a mad animal with traumatized bloody gums from biting so hard on the cloth restraints. There was nothing I, or anyone could do, except keep him restrained from hurting himself or others. It is the kind of witness to suffering I had never experienced before, and I felt almost relieved when the nurse quietly said, " He will die before morning. " I suppose what is so traumatic about witnessing such situations is the utter sense of helplessness. I was a trained therapist, and in this situation, I was unable to do anything, and was rendered powerless. I recall being plagued by this young man's face for some time when I tried to go to sleep at night. Bruce Kugler what is probably true about Bruce? Pick the correct answer from the following options: A. not enough information B. he is sensitive C. he is thick skinned D. he will find a new profession
B

Though hooded and cloaked, Nicolette trembled. The chill of the January afternoon pierced her through, but it was fear, more than the cold, that made her limbs shake. Having just crossed over to the Left Bank, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw the towers and spires of the royal palace across the Seine. She felt as if hidden eyes there were watching her. Could anyone on the palace wall have seen her walk over the Petit-Pont? Not Amalric. He was still in the south, the King having just appointed him seneschal for Beziers and the surrounding country. But he had so many agents in Paris and allies at court. Except for Agnes, all the servants in the Gobignon town house were loyal to him. His aunt, Queen Blanche, was forever praising him to all who would listen. If Nicolette were involved in scandal, the White Queen would be furious, and would see to it that word reached Amalric. And if indeed he found out about her meeting the troubadour? Just a message, a song, let alone a meeting like this one, could mean death for her and Orlando. I should turn around right now, cross this bridge, and run back to the palace. The streets of the Latin Quarter were crawling with ruffians and criminals - it was insane for her to be walking here alone after sunset. The sight of the small knife she carried under her cloak might deter an attacker, but then she would be discovered. If I screamed for help, the whole palace would find out. Blanche would demand to know why I was here. No, she thought, her blood turning to ice, she would know why. But those eyes of his? to look into them again, was that not worth any risk? She stood, vacillating, in the shadows by a wooden house that overhung the Rue Saint-Jacques. I must see Orlando, she thought. Over a year now, and I have not been able to forget him. She longed just to be alone with him and have him take her in his arms. When did Nicolette go on her walk? Pick the correct answer from the following options: A. After sunrise B. not enough information C. After sunset D. In the afternoon
C