SAT-Critical-Reading 無料問題集「SAT Section One : Critical Reading」

He was a un-common small man, he really was. Certainly not so small as he was made out to be, but
where IS your Dwarf as is? He was a most uncommon small man, with a most uncommon large Ed; and
what he had inside that Ed, nobody ever knowed but himself: even supposin himself to have ever took
stock of it, which it would have been a stiff job for even him to do.
The kindest little man as never growed! Spirited, but not proud. When he travelled with the Spotted Baby
though he knowed himself to be a nat'ral Dwarf, and knowed the Baby's spots to be put upon him artificial,
he nursed that Baby like a mother. You never heerd him give a ill-name to a Giant. He DID allow himself
to break out into strong language respectin the Fat Lady from Norfolk; but that was an affair of the 'art; and
when a man's 'art has been trifled with by a lady, and the preference giv to a Indian, he ain't master of his
actions.
He was always in love, of course; every human nat'ral phenomenon is. And he was always in love with a
large woman; I never knowed the Dwarf as could be got to love a small one. Which helps to keep 'em the
Curiosities they are.
One sing'ler idea he had in that Ed of his, which must have meant something, or it wouldn't have been
there. It was always his opinion that he was entitled to property. He never would put his name to anything.
He had been taught to write, by the young man without arms, who got his living with his toes (quite a
writing master HE was, and taught scores in the line), but Chops would have starved to death, afore he'd
have gained a bit of bread by putting his hand to a paper. This is the more curious to bear in mind,
because HE had no property, nor hope of property, except his house and a sarser. When I say his house,
I mean the box, painted and got up outside like a reg'lar six-roomer, that he used to creep into, with a
diamond ring (or quite as good to look at) on his forefinger, and ring a little bell out of what the Public
believed to be the Drawing-room winder. And when I say a sarser, I mean a Chaney sarser in which he
made a collection for himself at the end of every Entertainment. His cue for that, he took from me: "Ladies
and gentlemen, the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain."
When he said anything important, in private life, he mostly wound it up with this form of words, and they
was generally the last thing he said to me at night afore he went to bed.
He had what I consider a fine mind--a poetic mind. His ideas respectin his property never come upon him
so strong as when he sat upon a barrel-organ and had the handle turned. Arter the wibration had run
through him a little time, he would screech out, "Toby, I feel my property coming--grind away! I'm counting
my guineas by thousands, Toby--grind away! Toby, I shall be a man of fortun! I feel the Mint a jingling in
me, Toby, and I'm swelling out into the Bank of England!" Such is the influence of music on a poetic mind.
Not that he was partial to any other music but a barrel-organ; on the contrary, hated it.
He had a kind of a everlasting grudge agin the Public: which is a thing you may notice in many
phenomenons that get their living out of it. What riled him most in the nater of his occupation was, that it
kep him out of Society. He was continiwally saying, "Toby, my ambition is, to go into Society. The curse of
my position towards the Public is, that it keeps me hout of Society. This don't signify to a low beast of a
Indian; he an't formed for Society. This don't signify to a Spotted Baby; HE an't formed for Society. I am."
Which selection best represents the device displayed in the overall excerpts but especially summated in
the last paragraph in last paragraph?

But the Dust-Bin was going down then, and your father took but little, excepting from a liquid point of view.
Your mother's object in those visits was of a house-keeping character, and you was set on to whistle your
father out. Sometimes he came out, but generally not. Come or not come, however, all that part of his
existence which was unconnected with open Waitering was kept a close secret, and was acknowledged
by your mother to be a close secret, and you and your mother flitted about the court, close secrets both of
you, and would scarcely have confessed under torture that you know your father, or that your father had
any name than Dick (which wasn't his name, though he was never known by any other), or that he had
kith or kin or chick or child.
Perhaps the attraction of this mystery, combined with your father's having a damp compartment, to
himself, behind a leaky cistern, at the Dust Bin, a sort of a cellar compartment, with a sink in it, and a smell,
and a plate-rack, and a bottle-rack, and three windows that didn't match each other or anything else, and
no daylight, caused your young mind to feel convinced that you must grow up to be a Waiter too; but you
did feel convinced of it, and so did all your brothers, down to your sister. Every one of you felt convinced
that you was born to the Waitering.
At this stage of your career, what was your feelings one day when your father came home to your mother
in open broad daylight, of itself an act of Madness on the part of a Waiter, and took to his bed (leastwise,
your mother and family's bed), with the statement that his eyes were devilled kidneys. Physicians being in
vain, your father expired, after repeating at intervals for a day and a night, when gleams of reason and old
business fitfully illuminated his being, "Two and two is five. And three is sixpence." Interred in the
parochial department of the neighbouring churchyard, and accompanied to the grave by as many Waiters
of long standing as could spare the morning time from their soiled glasses (namely, one), your bereaved
form was attired in a white neck ankecher [sic], and you was took on from motives of benevolence at The
George and Gridiron, theatrical and supper. Here, supporting nature on what you found in the
plates(which was as it happened, and but too often thoughtlessly, immersed in mustard), and on what you
found in the glasses (which rarely went beyond driblets and lemon), by night you dropped asleep standing,
till you was cuffed awake, and by day was set to polishing every individual article in the coffee-room. Your
couch being sawdust; your counterpane being ashes of cigars. Here, frequently hiding a heavy heart
under the smart tie of your white neck ankecher (or correctly speaking lower down and more to the left),
you picked up the rudiments of knowledge from an extra, by the name of Bishops, and by calling
plate-washer, and gradually elevating your mind with chalk on the back of the corner-box partition, until
such time as you used the inkstand when it was out of hand, attained to manhood, and to be the Waiter
that you find yourself.
I could wish here to offer a few respectful words on behalf of the calling so long the calling of myself and
family, and the public interest in which is but too often very limited. We are not generally understood. No,
we are not. Allowance enough is not made for us. For, say that we ever show a little drooping listlessness
of spirits, or what might be termed indifference or apathy. Put it to yourself what would your own state of
mind be, if you was one of an enormous family every member of which except you was always greedy,
and in a hurry. Put it to yourself that you was regularly replete with animal food at the slack hours of one in
the day and again at nine p.m., and that the repleter [sic] you was, the more voracious all your
fellow-creatures came in. Put it to yourself that it was your business, when your digestion was well on, to
take a personal interest and sympathy in a hundred gentlemen fresh and fresh (say, for the sake of
argument, only a hundred), whose imaginations was given up to grease and fat and gravy and melted
butter, and abandoned to questioning you about cuts of this, and dishes of that, each of 'em going on as if
him and you and the bill of fare was alone in the world.
What is being inferred by "your father took but little, excepting from a liquid point of view" At the starting of
1 st paragraph ?

In the year 1860, the reputation of Doctor Wybrow as a London physician reached its highest point. It was
re ported on good authority that he was in receipt of one of the largest incomes derived from the practice
of medicine in modern times.
One afternoon, towards the close of the London season, the doctor had just taken his luncheon after a
specially hard morning's work in his consulting-room, and with a formidable list of visits to patients at their
own houses to fill up the rest of his day--when the servant announced that a lady wished to speak to him.
"Who is she?" the Doctor asked. "A stranger?" "Yes, sir."
"I see no strangers out of consulting-hours. Tell her what the hours are, and send her away." "I have told
her, sir."
"Well?"
"And she won't go."
"Won't go?" The doctor smiled as he repeated the words. He was a humorist in his way; and there was an
absurd side to the situation which rather amused him. "Has this obstinate lady given you her name?" he
inquired.
"No, sir. She refused to give any name--she said she wouldn't keep you five minutes, and the matter was
too important to wait till to-morrow. There she is in the consulting-room; and how to get her out again is
more than I know."
Doctor Wybrow considered for a moment. His knowledge of women (professionally speaking) rested on
the ripe experience of more than thirty years; he had met with them in all their varieties--especially the
variety which knows nothing of the value of time, and never hesitates at sheltering itself behind the
privileges of its sex. A glance at his watch informed him that he must soon begin his rounds among the
patients who were waiting for him at their own houses. He decided forthwith on taking the only wise
course that was open under the circumstances. In other words, he decided on taking to flight.
"Is the carriage at the door?" he asked. "Yes, sir."
"Very well. Open the house-door for me without making any noise, and leave the lady in undisturbed
possession of the consulting-room. When she gets tired of waiting, you know what to tell her. If she asks
when I am expected to return, say that I dine at my club, and spend the evening at the theatre. Now then,
softly, Thomas! If your shoes creak, I am a lost man."
Why does the decision made by the physician strike the reader as unusual?

He was a un-common small man, he really was. Certainly not so small as he was made out to be, but
where IS your Dwarf as is? He was a most uncommon small man, with a most uncommon large Ed; and
what he had inside that Ed, nobody ever knowed but himself: even suppose in himself to have ever took
stock of it, which it would have been a stiff job for even him to do.
The kindest little man as never growed! Spirited, but not proud. When he travelled with the Spotted Baby
though he knowed himself to be a nat'ral Dwarf, and knowed the Baby's spots to be put upon him artificial,
he nursed that Baby like a mother. You never heerd him give a ill-name to a Giant. He DID allow himself
to break out into strong language respectin the Fat Lady from Norfolk; but that was an affair of the 'art; and
when a man's 'art has been trifled with by a lady, and the preference giv to a Indian, he ain't master of his
actions.
He was always in love, of course; every human nat'ral phenomenon is. And he was always in love with a
large woman; I never knowed the Dwarf as could be got to love a small one. Which helps to keep 'em the
Curiosities they are.
One sing'ler idea he had in that Ed of his, which must have meant something, or it wouldn't have been
there. It was always his opinion that he was entitled to property. He never would put his name to anything.
He had been taught to write, by the young man without arms, who got his living with his toes (quite a
writing master HE was, and taught scores in the line), but Chops would have starved to death, afore he'd
have gained a bit of bread by putting his hand to a paper. This is the more curious to bear in mind,
because HE had no property, nor hope of property, except his house and a sarser. When I say his house,
I mean the box, painted and got up outside like a reg'lar six-roomer, that he used to creep into, with a
diamond ring (or quite as good to look at) on his forefinger, and ring a little bell out of what the Public
believed to be the Drawing-room winder. And when I say a sarser, I mean a Chaney sarser in which he
made a collection for himself at the end of every Entertainment. His cue for that, he took from me: "Ladies
and gentlemen, the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain."
When he said anything important, in private life, he mostly wound it up with this form of words, and they
was generally the last thing he said to me at night afore he went to bed. He had what I consider a fine
mind--a poetic mind. His ideas respectin his property never come upon him so strong as when he sat
upon a barrel-organ and had the handle turned. Arter the wibration had run through him a little time, he
would screech out, "Toby, I feel my property coming--grind away! I'm counting my guineas by thousands,
Toby--grind away! Toby, I shall be a man of fortun! I feel the Mint a jingling in me, Toby, and I'm swelling
out into the Bank of England!" Such is the influence of music on a poetic mind. Not that he was partial to
any other music but a barrel-organ; on the contrary, hated it.
He had a kind of a everlasting grudge agin the Public: which is a thing you may notice in many
phenomenons that get their living out of it. What riled him most in the nater of his occupation was, that it
kep him out of Society. He was continiwally saying, "Toby, my ambition is, to go into Society. The curse of
my position towards the Public is, that it keeps me hout of Society. This don't signify to a low beast of a
Indian; he an't formed for Society. This don't signify to a Spotted Baby; HE an't formed for Society. I am."
The phrase "He had been taught to write, by the young man without arms" 4th paragraph" is an example
of

He was a un-common small man, he really was. Certainly not so small as he was made out to be, but
where IS your Dwarf as is? He was a most uncommon small man, with a most uncommon large Ed; and
what he had inside that Ed, nobody ever knowed but himself: even supposin himself to have ever took
stock of it, which it would have been a stiff job for even him to do.
The kindest little man as never growed! Spirited, but not proud. When he travelled with the Spotted Baby
though he knowed himself to be a nat'ral Dwarf, and knowed the Baby's spots to be put upon him artificial,
he nursed that Baby like a mother. You never heerd him give a ill-name to a Giant. He DID allow himself
to break out into strong language respectin the Fat Lady from Norfolk; but that was an affair of the 'art; and
when a man's 'art has been trifled with by a lady, and the preference giv to a Indian, he ain't master of his
actions.
He was always in love, of course; every human nat'ral phenomenon is. And he was always in love with a
large woman; I never knowed the Dwarf as could be got to love a small one. Which helps to keep 'em the
Curiosities they are.
One sing'ler idea he had in that Ed of his, which must have meant something, or it wouldn't have been
there. It was always his opinion that he was entitled to property. He never would put his name to anything.
He had been taught to write, by the young man without arms, who got his living with his toes (quite a
writing master HE was, and taught scores in the line), but Chops would have starved to death, afore he'd
have gained a bit of bread by putting his hand to a paper. This is the more curious to bear in mind,
because HE had no property, nor hope of property, except his house and a sarser. When I say his house,
I mean the box, painted and got up outside like a reg'lar six-roomer, that he used to creep into, with a
diamond ring (or quite as good to look at) on his forefinger, and ring a little bell out of what the Public
believed to be the Drawing-room winder. And when I say a sarser, I mean a Chaney sarser in which he
made a collection for himself at the end of every Entertainment. His cue for that, he took from me: "Ladies
and gentlemen, the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain."
When he said anything important, in private life, he mostly wound it up with this form of words, and they
was generally the last thing he said to me at night afore he went to bed.
He had what I consider a fine mind--a poetic mind. His ideas respectin his property never come upon him
so strong as when he sat upon a barrel-organ and had the handle turned. Arter the wibration had run
through him a little time, he would screech out, "Toby, I feel my property coming--grind away! I'm counting
my guineas by thousands, Toby--grind away! Toby, I shall be a man of fortun! I feel the Mint a jingling in
me, Toby, and I'm swelling out into the Bank of England!" Such is the influence of music on a poetic mind.
Not that he was partial to any other music but a barrel-organ; on the contrary, hated it.
He had a kind of a everlasting grudge agin the Public: which is a thing you may notice in many
phenomenons that get their living out of it. What riled him most in the nater of his occupation was, that it
kep him out of Society. He was continiwally saying, "Toby, my ambition is, to go into Society. The curse of
my position towards the Public is, that it keeps me hout of Society. This don't signify to a low beast of a
Indian; he an't formed for Society. This don't signify to a Spotted Baby; HE an't formed for Society. I am."
For what purpose does the narrator most likely describe the Dwarf's character in 2nd and 3rd paragraph?

But the Dust-Bin was going down then, and your father took but little, excepting from a liquid point of view.
Your mother's object in those visits was of a house-keeping character, and you was set on to whistle your
father out. Sometimes he came out, but generally not. Come or not come, however, all that part of his
existence which was unconnected with open Waitering was kept a close secret, and was acknowledged
by your mother to be a close secret, and you and your mother flitted about the court, close secrets both of
you, and would scarcely have confessed under torture that you know your father, or that your father had
any name than Dick (which wasn't his name, though he was never known by any other), or that he had
kith or kin or chick or child. Perhaps the attraction of this mystery, combined with your father's having a
damp compartment, to himself, behind a leaky cistern, at the Dust Bin, a sort of a cellar compartment, with
a sink in it, and a smell, and a plate-rack, and a bottle-rack, and three windows that didn't match each
other or anything else, and no daylight, caused your young mind to feel convinced that you must grow up
to be a Waiter too; but you did feel convinced of it, and so did all your brothers, down to your sister. Every
one of you felt convinced that you was born to the Waitering.
At this stage of your career, what was your feelings one day when your father came home to your mother
in open broad daylight, of itself an act of Madness on the part of a Waiter, and took to his bed (leastwise,
your mother and family's bed), with the statement that his eyes were devilled kidneys. Physicians being in
vain, your father expired, after repeating at intervals for a day and a night, when gleams of reason and old
business fitfully illuminated his being, "Two and two is five. And three is sixpence." Interred in the
parochial department of the neighbouring churchyard, and accompanied to the grave by as many Waiters
of long standing as could spare the morning time from their soiled glasses (namely, one), your bereaved
form was attired in a white neckankecher [sic], and you was took on from motives of benevolence at The
George and Gridiron, theatrical and supper. Here, supporting nature on what you found in the
plates(which was as it happened, and but too often thoughtlessly, immersed in mustard), and on what you
found in the glasses (which rarely went beyond driblets and lemon), by night you dropped asleep standing,
till you was cuffed awake, and by day was set to polishing every individual article in the coffee-room. Your
couch being sawdust; your counterpane being ashes of cigars. Here, frequently hiding a heavy heart
under the smart tie of your white neck ankecher (or correctly speaking lower down and more to the left),
you picked up the rudiments of knowledge from an extra, by the name of Bishops, and by calling
plate-washer, and gradually elevating your mind with chalk on the back of the corner-box partition, until
such time as you used the inkstand when it was out of hand, attained to manhood, and to be the Waiter
that you find yourself.
I could wish here to offer a few respectful words on behalf of the calling so long the calling of myself and
family, and the public interest in which is but too often very limited. We are not generally understood. No,
we are not. Allowance enough is not made for us. For, say that we ever show a little drooping listlessness
of spirits, or what might be termed indifference or apathy. Put it to yourself what would your own state of
mind be, if you was one of an enormous family every member of which except you was always greedy,
and in a hurry. Put it to yourself that you was regularly replete with animal food at the slack hours of one in
the day and again at nine p.m., and that the repleter [sic] you was, the more voracious all your
fellow-creatures came in. Put it to yourself that it was your business, when your digestion was well on, to
take a personal interest and sympathy in a hundred gentlemen fresh and fresh (say, for the sake of
argument, only a hundred), whose imaginations was given up to grease and fat and gravy and melted
butter, and abandoned to questioning you about cuts of this, and dishes of that, each of 'em going on as if
him and you and the bill of fare was alone in the world.
What purpose was served by the detailed description of the compartment (2nd paragraph)?

Sir Giles's irritating reserve, not even excused by a word of apology, reached the limits of his endurance.
He respectfully protested. "I regret to find, sir," he said, "that I have lost my place in my employer's
estimation. The man to whom you confide the superintendence of your clerks and the transaction of your
business has, I venture to think, some claim (under the present circumstances) to be trusted." The banker
was now offended on his side.
"I readily admit your claim," he answered, "when you are sitting at your desk in my office. But, even in
these days of strikes, co-operations, and bank holidays, an employer has one privilege left--he has not
ceased to be a Man, and he has not forfeited a man's right to keep his own secrets. I fail to see anything in
my conduct which has given you just reason to complain." Dennis, rebuked, made his bow in silence, and
withdrew.
Did these acts of humility mean that he submitted? They meant exactly the contrary. He had made up his
mind that Sir Giles Mountjoy's motives should, sooner or later, cease to be mysteries to Sir Giles
Mountjoy's clerk.
Which selection identifies the device exemplified with "Did these acts of humility mean that he
submitted?" last paragraph?

This passage discusses the work of Abe Kobo, a Japanese novelist of the twentieth century.
Abe Kobo is one of the great writers of postwar Japan. His literature is richer, less predictable, and wider-
ranging than that of his famed contemporaries, Mishima Yukio and Nobel laureate Oe Kenzaburo. It is
infused with the passion and strangeness of his experiences in Manchuria, which was a Japanese colony
on mainland China before World War II.
Abe spent his childhood and much of his youth in Manchuria, and, as a result, the orbit of his work would
be far less controlled by the oppressive gravitational pull of the themes of furusato (hometown) and the
emperor than his contemporaries'.
Abe, like most of the sons of Japanese families living in Manchuria, did return to Japan for schooling. He
entered medical school in Tokyo in 1944--just in time to forge himself a medical certificate claiming ill
health; this allowed him to avoid fighting in the war that Japan was already losing and return to Manchuria.
When Japan lost the war, however, it also lost its Manchurian colony. The Japanese living there were
attacked by the Soviet Army and various guerrilla bands. They suddenly found themselves refugees,
desperate for food. Many unfit men were abandoned in the Manchurian desert. At this apocalyptic time,
Abe lost his father to cholera.
He returned to mainland Japan once more, where the young were turning to Marxism as a rejection of the
militarism of the war. After a brief, unsuccessful stint at medical school, he became part of a Marxist group
of avant-garde artists. His work at this time was passionate and outspoken on political matters, adopting
black humor as its mode of critique. During this time, Abe worked in the genres of theater, music, and
photography. Eventually, he mimeographed fifty copies of his first "published" literary work, entitled
Anonymous Poems, in 1947. It was a politically charged set of poems dedicated to the memory of his
father and friends who had died in Manchuria. Shortly thereafter, he published his first novel, For a
Signpost at the End of a Road, which imagined another life for his best friend who had died in the
Manchurian desert. Abe was also active in the Communist Party, organizing literary groups for
workingmen.
Unfortunately, most of this radical early work is unknown outside Japan and underappreciated even in
Japan. In early 1962, Abe was dismissed from the Japanese Liberalist Party. Four months later, he
published the work that would blind us to his earlier oeuvre, Woman in the Dunes. It was director
Teshigahara Hiroshi's film adaptation of Woman in the Dunes that brought Abe's work to the international
stage. The movie's fame has wrongly led readers to view the novel as Abe's masterpiece. It would be
more accurate to say that the novel simply marked a turning point in his career, when Abe turned away
from the experimental and heavily political work of his earlier career. Fortunately, he did not then turn to
furusato and the emperor after all, but rather began a somewhat more realistic exploration of his
continuing obsession with homelessness and alienation. Not completely a stranger to his earlier
commitment to Marxism, Abe turned his attention, beginning in the sixties, to the effects on the individual
of Japan's rapidly urbanizing, growth driven, increasingly corporate society.
The word "avant-garde" in this passage could best be replaced by

The performer was exceedingly ______; she could juggle three apples at once.

Pauline Johnson (18611913) was the daughter of Mohawk leader George Henry Martin; her mother was
English. Johnson was known in her time as a poet and performer. For years she toured throughout
Canada giving dramatic readings. Late in her life she turned to writing short stories. This excerpt is from
"A Red Girl's Reasoning," first published in 1893.
How interesting--do tell us some more of your old home, Mrs. McDonald; you so seldom speak of your life
at the post, and we fellows so often wish to hear of it all," said Logan eagerly.
"Why do you not ask me of it, then?" "Well--er, I'm sure I don't know; I'm fully interested in the Ind --in your
people--your mother's people, I mean, but it always seems so personal, I suppose; and --a --a--" "Perhaps
you are, like all other white people, afraid to mention my nationality to me."
The captain winced, and Mrs. Stuart laughed uneasily. Joe McDonald was not far off, and he was listening,
and chuckling, and saying to himself, "That's you, Christie, lay `em out; it won't hurt `em to know how they
appear once in a while." "Well, Captain Logan," she was saying, "what is it you would like to hear--of my
people, or my parents, or myself?" "All, all, my dear," cried Mrs. Stuart clamorously. "I'll speak for him--tell
us of yourself and your mother--your father is delightful, I am sure--but then he is only an ordinary
Englishman, not half so interesting as a foreigner, or--or perhaps I should say, a native."
Christie laughed. "Yes," she said, "my father often teases my mother now about how very native she was
when he married her; then, how could she have been otherwise? She did not know a word of English, and
there was not another English-speaking person besides my father and his two companions within sixty
miles." "Two companions, eh? One a Catholic priest and the other a wine merchant, I suppose, and with
your father in the Hudson Bay, they were good representatives of the pioneers in the New World,"
remarked Logan waggishly.
"Oh, no, they were all Hudson Bay men. There were no rumsellers and no missionaries in that part of the
country then." Mrs. Stuart looked puzzled. "No missionaries?" she repeated with an odd intonation.
Christie's insight was quick. There was a peculiar expression of interrogation in the eyes of her listeners,
and the girl's blood leapt angrily up into her temples as she said hurriedly, "I know what you mean; I know
what you are thinking. You are wondering how my parents were married --"
"Well--er, my dear, it seems peculiar if there was no priest, and no magistrate, why--a--" Mrs. Stuart
paused awkwardly.
"The marriage was performed by Indian rites," said Christie. "Oh, do tell about it; is the ceremony very
interesting and quaint--are your chieftains anything like Buddhist priests?" It was Logan who spoke.
"Why, no," said the girl in amazement at that gentleman's ignorance. "There is no ceremony at all, save a
feast. The two people just agree to live only with and for each other, and the man takes his wife to his
home, just as you do. There is no ritual to bind them; they need none; an Indian's word was his law in
those days, you know."
Mrs. Stuart stepped backwards. "Ah!" was all she said. Logan removed his eyeglass and stared blankly at
Christie. "And did McDonald marry you in this singular fashion?" he questioned. "Oh, no, we were married
by Father O'Leary. Why do you ask?"
"Because if he had, I'd have blown his brains out tomorrow." Mrs. Stuart's partner, who had heretofore
been silent, coughed and began to twirl his cuff stud nervously, but nobody took notice of him. Christie
had risen, slowly, ominously--risen, with the dignity and pride of an empress.
"Captain Logan," she said, "what do you dare to say to me? What do you dare to mean? Do you presume
to think it would not have been lawful for Joe to marry me according to my people's rites? Do you for one
instant dare to question that my parents were not as legally--"
"Don't, dear, don't," interrupted Mrs. Stuart hurriedly, "it is bad enough now, goodness knows; don't
make--" Then she broke off blindly.
The word post probably means

The ______ dress of the performers was considered ______ by the censors.

For the last hour I have been watching President Lincoln and General McClellan as they sat together in
earnest conversation on the deck of a steamer closer to us. I am thankful, I am happy, that the President
has come--has sprung across the dreadful intervening Washington, and come to see and hear and judge
for his own wise and noble self. While we were at dinner someone said, "Why, there's the President!" and
he proved to be just arriving on the Ariel, at the end of the wharf. I stationed myself at once to watch for
the coming of McClellan. The President stood on deck with a glass, with which, after a time, he inspected
our boat, waving his handkerchief to us. My eyes and soul were in the direction of the general
headquarters, over which the great balloon was slowly descending.
The "great balloon slowly descending" is apparently

The following two passages deal with the political movements working for the woman's vote in America.
The first organized assertion of woman's rights in the United States was made at the Seneca Falls
convention in 1848. The convention, though, had little immediate impact because of the national issues
that would soon embroil the country. The contentious debates involving slavery and state's rights that
preceded the Civil War soon took center stage in national debates.
Thus woman's rights issues would have to wait until the war and its antecedent problems had been
addressed before they would be addressed. In 1869, two organizations were formed that would play
important roles in securing the woman's right to vote. The first was the American Woman's Suffrage
Association (AWSA). Leaving federal and constitutional issues aside, the AWSA focused their attention
on state-level politics. They also restricted their ambitions to securing the woman's vote and downplayed
discussion of women's full equality. Taking a different track, the National Woman's Suffrage Association
(NWSA), led by Elizabeth Stanton and Susan B. Anthony, believed that the only way to assure the long-
term security of the woman's vote was to ground it in the constitution. The NWSA challenged the
exclusion of woman from the Fifteenth Amendment, the amendment that extended the vote to
African-American men. Furthermore, the NWSA linked the fight for suffrage with other inequalities faced
by woman, such as marriage laws, which greatly disadvantaged women.
By the late 1880s the differences that separated the two organizations had receded in importance as the
women's movement had become a substantial and broad-based political force in the country. In 1890, the
two organizations joined forces under the title of the National American Woman's Suffrage Association
(NAWSA). The NAWSA would go on to play a vital role in the further fight to achieve the woman's vote.
In 1920, when Tennessee became the thirty-eighth state to approve the constitutional amendment
securing the woman's right to vote, woman's suffrage became enshrined in the constitution. But woman's
suffrage did not happen in one fell swoop. The success of the woman's suffrage movement was the story
of a number of partial victories that led to the explicit endorsement of the woman's right to vote in the
constitution.
As early as the 1870s and 1880s, women had begun to win the right to vote in local affairs such as
municipal elections, school board elections, or prohibition measures. These "partial suffrages"
demonstrated that women could in fact responsibly and reasonably participate in a representative
democracy (at least as voters). Once such successes were achieved and maintained over a period of
time, restricting the full voting rights of woman became more and more suspect. If women were helping
decide who was on the local school board, why should they not also have a voice in deciding who was
president of the country? Such questions became more difficult for non-suffragists to answer, and thus the
logic of restricting the woman's vote began to crumble locates the ultimate victory of the woman's suffrage
movement with which of the following events?

In the year 1860, the reputation of Doctor Wybrow as a London physician reached its highest point. It was
re ported on good authority that he was in receipt of one of the largest incomes derived from the practice
of medicine in modern times.
One afternoon, towards the close of the London season, the doctor had just taken his luncheon after a
specially hard morning's work in his consulting-room, and with a formidable list of visits to patients at their
own houses to fill up the rest of his day--when the servant announced that a lady wished to speak to him.
"Who is she?" the Doctor asked. "A stranger?" "Yes, sir."
"I see no strangers out of consulting-hours. Tell her what the hours are, and send her away." "I have told
her, sir."
"Well?"
"And she won't go."
"Won't go?" The doctor smiled as he repeated the words. He was a humorist in his way; and there was an
absurd side to the situation which rather amused him. "Has this obstinate lady given you her name?" he
inquired.
"No, sir. She refused to give any name--she said she wouldn't keep you five minutes, and the matter was
too important to wait till to-morrow. There she is in the consulting-room; and how to get her out again is
more than I know."
Doctor Wybrow considered for a moment. His knowledge of women (professionally speaking) rested on
the ripe experience of more than thirty years; he had met with them in all their varieties--especially the
variety which knows nothing of the value of time, and never hesitates at sheltering itself behind the
privileges of its sex. A glance at his watch informed him that he must soon begin his rounds among the
patients who were waiting for him at their own houses. He decided forthwith on taking the only wise
course that was open under the circumstances. In other words, he decided on taking to flight.
"Is the carriage at the door?" he asked. "Yes, sir."
"Very well. Open the house-door for me without making any noise, and leave the lady in undisturbed
possession of the consulting-room. When she gets tired of waiting, you know what to tell her. If she asks
when I am expected to return, say that I dine at my club, and spend the evening at the theatre. Now then,
softly, Thomas! If your shoes creak, I am a lost man."
What device is being employed in "If your shoes creak, I am a lost man" sentence?