Question: A long time ago, when humans still lived in cities, on a cold morning near the end of a long, cruel winter, in magnificent Central Park in the middle of magnificent New York City, a young squirrel named Patch was awakened very early by the growls of his empty stomach. A squirrel's home is called a drey. Patch's drey was very comfortable. He lived high up an old oak tree, in a hollowed-out stump of a big branch that had long ago been cut off by humans. The entrance was only just big enough for Patch to squeeze in and out, but the drey itself was spacious, for a squirrel. Patch had lined his drey with dry leaves, grasses and bits of newspaper. It was warm and dry, and on that cold morning he would have liked nothing better than to stay home all day and sleep. But he was so hungry. Hunger filled him like water fills a glass. The cherry and maple trees had not yet started to bud; flowers had not yet begun to grow; the juicy grubs and bugs of spring had not yet emerged; and it had been two days since Patch had found a nut. Imagine how hungry you would feel if you went two whole days without eating, and you may have some idea how Patch felt that morning. Patch poked his head out of the drey into the cold air and shivered as he looked around. Clumps of white, crumbly ice still clung to the ground. Gusts of cold wind shook and rustled the trees' bare branches. The pale and distant sun seemed drained of heat. Patch took a moment to satisfy himself that there were no dangers nearby, no hawk circling above or unleashed dog below. Then he emerged from his drey and began to look for acorns. But what marvels, what miracles, what mysteries are hidden inside those simple words! According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: What is probably true about Patch? Options: - he is not a squirrel - he is reckless - he is careful - not enough information
Answer: he is careful

Question: When we got married we thought it was going to be all bliss and happiness for life. By about week two we both had an awakening. Something about being exact opposites and together 24/7. We clashed about something so important I can’t even remember what it was. We hadn’t really ever had that happen while engaged. Suddenly we realized that the bliss and excitement was growing into, well, everyday life. And all that passionate romance that had driven our relationship was growing, well, less passionate. We both realized our marriage had entered a new phase, one of many, through the years. And we needed to be much more purposeful about making sure it worked. Purposeful because the blinding emotional love some days seemed to be asleep. Yet, we both had committed to our marriage. For better or worse. So we decided we had the potential for either. We needed to make it better or it would become worse. We learned to really talk. Even when it was difficult. We learned to argue without hurting each other. We purposefully expressed love even in those times we didn’t especially feel it. We built romance into our relationship even when we didn’t feel romantic. And through the years our relationship has grown. Sometimes through difficult times. Heck, sometimes through difficult eras. Yet, we both never gave up the dream of making our marriage great. We never gave up the ideal of living together in love for a lifetime. And because of that, through all the trials and triumphs. Through all the frustration and bliss. Through all the sameness and romance. We still everyday enjoy our love and each other. And can’t imagine life without the other. Well actually, there have been probably a couple of those days for my wife. She’s just too nice to say it. A great marriage isn’t built because it’s perfect. Only because you keep trying to make it perfect. According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: Who is too nice to say something? Options: - the minister - the husband - not enough information - the wife
Answer: the wife

Question: My Pa disappeared somewhere in the wilds of 1975, when I was just fourteen years old. He was the Ambassador to 1975, but back home in 1898, in New Jerusalem, Utah, they all thought he was Ambassador to France. When he disappeared, Mama and I came back through the triple-bolted door that led from our apt in 1975 to our horsebarn in 1898. We returned to the dusty streets of New Jerusalem, and I had to keep on reminding myself that I was supposed to have been in France, and 'polly-voo' for my chums, and tell whoppers about the Eiffel Tower and the fancy bread and the snails and frogs we'd eaten. I was born in New Jerusalem, and raised there till I was ten. Then, one summer's day, my Pa sat me on his knee and told me we'd be going away for a while, that he had a new job. 'But what about the store?' I said, scandalised. My Pa's wonderful store, the only General Store in town not run by the Saints, was my second home. I'd spent my whole life crawling and then walking on the dusty wooden floors, checking stock and unpacking crates with waybills from exotic places like Salt Lake City and even San Francisco. Pa looked uncomfortable. 'Mr Johnstone is buying it.' My mouth dropped. James H Johnstone was as dandified a city-slicker as you'd ever hope to meet. He'd blown into town on the weekly Zephyr Speedball, and skinny Tommy Benson had hauled his three huge steamer trunks to the cowboy hotel. He'd tipped Tommy two dollars, in Wells-Fargo notes, and later, in the empty lot behind the smithy, all the kids in New Jerusalem had gathered 'round Tommy to goggle at the small fortune in queer, never-seen bills. 'Pa, no!' I said, without thinking. I knew that if my chums ordered their fathers around like that, they'd get a whipping, but my Pa almost never whipped me. According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: where was I born? Options: - France - not enough information - China - New jerusalem
Answer:
New jerusalem