"It's about to come on. Hurry." "I'm coming." Nurse Judy delivered Martha's tray just in time. It was a frozen dinner, but Judy always transferred it to a fancy plate and prepared a small salad and a bowl of applesauce to go alongside it. "Looks great, Judy. Now sit down and let's eat." Nurse Judy sat down in the recliner next to Martha's bed. The meal she made for herself was similar to Martha's. "Didn't we just see this one a few days ago?" "I don't remember. But you know it doesn't matter. I love Jessica Fletcher." It was the only good thing about her failing memory. She could watch reruns of Murder She Wrote over and over again. They were all new to her. The doorbell rang. "Whoever it is, just get rid of them. It couldn't be friends or family. They know better than to interrupt my show." Nurse Judy walked down the hallway to the front door. It was a nurse. "May I help you?" "The agency sent me." "No, there must be some mistake. I've been caring for Mrs. Mason for a couple of months now." "Oh, great. Why do they keep doing this to me? Mind if I come in and use the phone?" "Don't you have a cell phone?" "Yeah, but it's dead. I forgot to charge it last night." "I hate when I do that. Sure, come on in. What's your name?" "Carnie." "Good to meet you, Carnie. I'm Judy. You can use the house phone." Judy led her to the phone. Carnie picked up the receiver and began to dial. But as Judy turned to walk away, Carnie slammed the phone across the back of her head. Nurse Judy collapsed to the floor, unconscious. Martha's blaring TV masked the noise. According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: Who made Martha dinner? Options: A. not enough information B. Nurse Judy C. Martha's daughter D. Carnie
B

(Question)
In this confessional age, TV, radio and print rely for much of their content on the sad stories of those 'victims' of life. The story goes something like this: There is the future 'victim' getting on with their quotidian activities and whoosh, they are whisked into a life of gambling, drugs, sex or junk food addiction. After years of struggle, they finally find redemption and become good people again. As in any good tale of redemption, there has to be a 'reason' for why our 'victim' fell off the rails. Take your pick: they were molested, their parents ran away from home, they were denied desserts except on Sundays. Just thinking about it brings a tear to my stony face. How can you not be moved by tales such as these. What is the precipitating cause of the misery in my life? Well, my mother was French and my father was English. And to make things worse, I was brought up Catholic! Yes folks, in today's shorthand of grievance, I'm a half-breed straddling Canada's great language divide and a religious bigot. My hometown was a mixture of French and English-speaking people and the results of their miscenagation. You could never tell by someone's last name who spoke your language (For instance, my good friend P. Arsenault spoke the Queen's English and my cousin Sean Doyle wouldn't have recognized an Oxford Dictionary if you shoved up his nose). As children, we were segregated by language; all the French-speaking kids went to one side of the school where they spoke French all the time. I was fortunate enough to be sent to the English side of the school and got to speak my native tongue. My parents decided my brother and sister wouldn't be quite so lucky. In an effort to bridge the great language divide, they both spent six years learning everything in French and mingling with the French people (My parents did this because it was the firm belief of all forward-thinking families that whatever road you took would be much smoother if you could speak both of Canada's official languages. As it turns out for my siblings and... According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: who both spent six years learning everything in French Options: A. brother and sister B. father C. mother D. not enough information
(Answer)
A

Ques: It was a dream, then a place, then a memory. My father built it near the Suwannee River. I like to think it was in the heart of Florida, because it was, and is, in my heart. Its name was Dogland. Some people say you can know others if you know the central incidents that shaped their lives. But an incident is an island in time, and to know the effect of the island on those who land there, you must know something about the river they have traveled. And I must warn you before we begin, I don't know that river well. I visit that time and place like a ghost with poor vision and little memory. I look up the river and see fog rolling in. I look down the river, and the brightness of the approaching day blinds me. I see shapes moving behind me and beyond me, but who they are and what they do, I cannot say. I will tell what I know is true, and I will invent what I believe is true, and that, I think, is all you can ask any storyteller to do. I learned the Nix family history from the stories Pa told. Even at the age of four, I suspected that Pa's stories might not be perfectly true. When Pa said we Nixes came to North America as indentured servants working our way out of debtor's prison, Grandma Bette would make a face and say he couldn't know that. When he said we Nixes had Lakota and Ojibwe blood in our veins, Grandma Bette would say she wasn't prejudiced, but it simply wasn't so: she and Pa and his brothers and sisters were dark because her people were Black Dutch, from a part of Holland where everyone had black hair and black eyes. And then Grandma Bette wouldn't say a word for half an hour or more, a very long time for Grandma Bette to be quiet. According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: What prompted Grandma Bette to discuss the Black Dutch? Options: A. When Pa said the Nixes had Lakota and Ojibwe blood. B. not enough information C. When Pa said that the family was indentured servants D. When Dogland was mentioned.
Ans:
A