Unit Test — Unit test Answers

Question is locked

Read the passage from Amy Tan's "Rules of the Game."One day, after we left a shop I said under my breath, "I wish you wouldn’t do that, telling everybody I’m your daughter.” My mother stopped walking. Crowds of people with heavy bags pushed past us on the sidewalk, bumping into first one shoulder, then another."Aiii-ya. So shame be with mother?” She grasped my hand even tighter as she glared at me.I looked down. "It’s not that, it’s just so obvious. It’s just so embarrassing.”"Embarrass you be my daughter?” Her voice was cracking with anger."That’s not what I meant. That’s not what I said.”"What you say?”I knew it was a mistake to say anything more, but I heard my voice speaking, "Why do you have to use me to show off? If you want to show off, then why don’t you learn to play chess?”My mother’s eyes turned into dangerous black slits. She had no words for me, just sharp silence.I felt the wind rushing around my hot ears. I jerked my hand out of my mother’s tight grasp and spun around, knocking into an old woman. Her bag of groceries spilled to the ground."Aii-ya! Stupid girl!” my mother and the woman cried. Oranges and tin cans careened down the sidewalk. As my mother stooped to help the old woman pick up the escaping food, I took off.

Read the passage from "By the Waters of Babylon.”Surely, that was enough to do, and live. Surely it was enough to spend the night upon the cliff. The Forest People themselves do not come near. Yet, all through the night, I knew that I should have to cross the river and walk in the places of the gods, although the gods ate me up. My magic did not help me at all and yet there was a fire in my bowels, a fire in my mind. When the sun rose, I thought, "My journey has been clean. Now I will go home from my journey." But, even as I thought so, I knew I could not. If I went to the Place of the Gods, I would surely die, but, if I did not go, I could never be at peace with my spirit again. It is better to lose one's life than one's spirit, if one is a priest and the son of a priest.

Read Shakespeare's "Sonnet 19.”Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,And burn the long-liv'd phoenix, in her blood;Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,5And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,To the wide world and all her fading sweets;But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:O! carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;10Him in thy course untainted do allowFor beauty's pattern to succeeding men.Yet, do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong,My love shall in my verse ever live young.

Question is locked

Question is locked

Read the passage from Amy Tan's "Rules of the Game.”My parents made many concessions to allow me to practice. One time I complained that the bedroom I shared was so noisy that I couldn’t think. Thereafter, my brothers slept in a bed in the living room facing the street. I said I couldn’t finish my rice; my head didn’t work right when my stomach was too full. I left the table with half-finished bowls and nobody complained. But there was one duty I couldn’t avoid. I had to accompany my mother on Saturday market days when I had no tournament to play. My mother would proudly walk with me, visiting many shops, buying very little. "This my daughter Wave-ly Jong,” she said to whoever looked her way.One day after we left a shop I said under my breath, "I wish you wouldn’t do that, telling everybody I’m your daughter.” My mother stopped walking. Crowds of people with heavy bags pushed past us on the sidewalk, bumping into first one shoulder, then another.

Read the passage from "By the Waters of Babylon.”I went north—I did not try to hide myself. When a god or a demon saw me, then I would die, but meanwhile I was no longer afraid. My hunger for knowledge burned in me—there was so much that I could not understand.

Read the lines from Robert Hayden’s poem "Monet’s ‘Waterlilies,’” and then look at the painting Water Lilies by Claude Monet.Today as the news from Selma and Saigonpoisons the air like fallout,I come again to seethe serene, great picture that I love.

Read the passage from "Marriage Is a Private Affair" by Chinua Achebe."What did Our Lord say?” asked another gentleman. "Sons shall rise against their fathers; it is there in the Holy Book.”"It is the beginning of the end,” said another.The discussion thus tending to become theological, Madubogwu, a highly practical man, brought it down once more to the ordinary level."Have you thought of consulting a native doctor about your son?” he asked Nnaemeka’s father."He isn’t sick,” was the reply."What is he then? The boy’s mind is diseased and only a good herbalist can bring him back to his right senses. The medicine he requires is Amalile, the same that women apply with success to recapture their husbands’ straying affection.”"Madubogwu is right,” said another gentleman. "This thing calls for medicine.”"I shall not call in a native doctor.” Nnaemeka’s father was known to be obstinately ahead of his more superstitious neighbours in these matters. "I will not be another Mrs. Ochuba. If my son wants to kill himself let him do it with his own hands. It is not for me to help him.”

Read the claim and reason.Beginning in high school, students should earn their own money by finding after-school employment. An after-school job serves not only as income, but as valuable experience for when students leave school for the workforce.Read the counterclaim and reason.While having a source of income can certainly be a learning experience for high school students, they should maintain their focus on academics and extracurricular activities. Working after school, many experts agree, ca

Read these lines from Shakespeare's "Sonnet 100.”Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so longTo speak of that which gives thee all thy might?Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeemIn gentle numbers time so idly spent;Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteemAnd gives thy pen both skill and argument.Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,If Time have any wrinkle graven there;If any, be a satire to decay,And make Time's spoils despised every where.Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

Read the stanza from "Sonnet in Primary Colors” by Rita Dove.This is for the woman with one black wingperched over her eyes: lovely Frida, erectamong parrots, in the stern petticoats of the peasant,who painted herself a present—wildflowers entwining the plaster corsether spine resides in, that flaming pillar—this priestess in the romance of mirrors.