Q: "Sometimes," he said, squatting down by the fire and holding his hands to the open flame, "I think that I hear voices from the other side." "Voices, Sartas?" someone laughed. "And what do these voices say to you, lad?" "Were they women's voices?" asked another, his leering face looming up out of the darkness and into the sallow glow of the firelight. "Perhaps some fair-haired temptress willing to relieve you of the weighty burden of your virginity." More laughter, lecherous in tone, and quickly joined by a chorus of rough and lustful glee, which in the closeness of the dark seemed almost feral and far less than mere jest and honest teasing. "I can't speak as to whether they were male or female," said Sartas, trying hard to keep the tremor of embarrassment from his voice. "But it did sound at times like laughter. Of the sort that good men share about a fire and over a meal." He assayed a grin as he cast his gaze over his colleagues. "No doubt a fiction of the sun," offered Tavarius in a commiserating tone. He sat across from the young guard, idly poking at food on the beaten metal plate that was set at his feet. He skewered a square of meat with the tip of his long knife and lifted it to his lips, holding it poised before his mouth a moment before finally clamping square, yellowed teeth about it and pulling it free with a jerk. "It wasn't the sun," Sartas retorted petulantly. Tavarius shrugged, then wiped a trail of juice from his chin with the back of one hand and said, "Be careful, lad." He waggled the blade of his knife back and forth in the young man's direction, frowning with intense sagacity. "You'd be wise to consider spending less time out there in the heat of day, tramping back and forth as though you were guarding the King's own jewels. All that sweating and panting. And for what?" He snorted and shook his head. "Such devotion may well be admirable in some quarters, boy, but you'll curry no favor here with that sort of attitude." Question: What was Sartas guarding? Options:  A. The King's Jewels  B. The fire  C. not enough information  D. The metal plate  === The correct answer is
A: C


Q: Kurt Vonnegut, writer and famous speech giver at US university graduation ceremonies, made this point to one group of soon-to-be-non-students: If this isn't nice, I don't know what is. It is the end of a story about his grandpa who, on a summer's afternoon, would find the shade of a tree under which he could rest with a glass of homemade lemonade. The family didn't have a lot of cash, the grandpa worked hard every day of his life, but no matter how relentless the day-to-day was, he would always repeat this phrase as a reminder to those around him that, at the end of the day, this is all still amazing to be part of. This kind of optimism, as you might call it, can often disappear in a flash in the busy-ness of business or school. Things become impossible, hardgoing, relentless(ly difficult). And the reasons we give for that busyness nearly always involve someone or something else - the system, the job, the weather... For many years, people would ask the salutary "how are you?" and my answer was a stock one: "I'm tired." It was my wife who pointed it out to me, presumably because everyone else was too polite to express their boredom with my reply. The fact is, most people feel tired most of the time, until they make a switch in their life. That switch is deciding that the only person who can turn that frown upside down, who can make crazy stuff happen (or attempt to, and enjoy the process), is you. And in Vonnegut's case, that switch came from saying out loud the one phrase that brings us back to the good elements in what we or our team or our family is doing at any given moment: If this isn't nice, I don't know what is. Question: Who is the famous writer at speech giver at US university graduations? Options:  A. Kurt Vonnegut  B. Kurt's grandpa  C. not enough information  D. the author's wife  === The correct answer is
A: A


Q: Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?" I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?" Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No." Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three." Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?" I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!" The dogs barked in response, but no person answered. Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us." Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right." Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime." "I'm in charge," I said. Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it." Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back." Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed." I said, "I can go by myself." Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego." They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone. Ethorne said, "What is it?" Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first." I stood and went to the door. "G'night." Question: How long it will probably take to find Digger? Options:  A. A few months.  B. A few minutes.  C. A few hours  D. not enough information  === The correct answer is

A: C