English I · Quiz 2 · Sep 2025

**Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions:** My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood. People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest. From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages. The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass,Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain. Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

What, according to the narrator, turns figuratively into bacterial sponges in the season of rain?

**Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions:** My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood. People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest. From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages. The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass,Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain. Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

Who, according to the passage, did terrible things to Ireland for eight hundred long years?

**Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions:** My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood. People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest. From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages. The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass,Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain. Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

Cacophony means ___________________

**Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions:** My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood. People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest. From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages. The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass,Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain. Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

State true or false on the basis of your reading of the passage. The narrator believes that Limerick is a truly pious place.

**Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions:** My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood. People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest. From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages. The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass,Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain. Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

Loquacious refers to _____

**Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions:** My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood. People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest. From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages. The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass,Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain. Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

Where was the narrator born?

**Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions:** My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood. People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest. From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages. The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass,Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain. Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

This passage conveys a tone of _____.

**Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions:** My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood. People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest. From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages. The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass,Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain. Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

On the basis of your reading of the passage, match the adjective to the noun befitting it.

Choose the most appropriate option for [1] Woolen

**Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions:** My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood. People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest. From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages. The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass,Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain. Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

On the basis of your reading of the passage, match the adjective to the noun befitting it.

Choose the most appropriate option for [2] Stale

**Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions:** My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood. People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest. From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages. The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass,Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain. Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

On the basis of your reading of the passage, match the adjective to the noun befitting it.

Choose the most appropriate option for [3] Bronchial

Read the excerpt given below and fill in the blanks with those forms of the verbs which best fit the passage from the options provided. Your chosen answer should maintain the tense consistency of the excerpt. The boys [i] _____ basketball around a telephone pole with a backboard bolted to it. The scrape and snap of Keds on loose alley pebbles seems to catapult their voices high into the moist March air blue above the wires. Rabbit Angstrom, coming up the alley in a business suit, stops and watches, though he’s twenty-six and six three. So tall, he [ii] _____ an unlikely rabbit, but the breadth of his white face, the pallor of his blue irises,and a nervous flutter under his brief nose as he stabs a cigarette into his mouth partially explain the nickname, which was given to him when he too was a boy. He [iii] _____there thinking: The kids keep coming; they keep crowding you up. His standing there [iv]_____ the real boys feel strange. They [v] _____ this for their own pleasure, not as a demonstration for some adult walking around town in a double-breasted cocoa suit. Excerpted from: Updike, John. Rabbit, Run. Crest Books, 1962, p. 1. Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Find the appropriate verb form to fill in blank [i].

Read the excerpt given below and fill in the blanks with those forms of the verbs which best fit the passage from the options provided. Your chosen answer should maintain the tense consistency of the excerpt. The boys [i] _____ basketball around a telephone pole with a backboard bolted to it. The scrape and snap of Keds on loose alley pebbles seems to catapult their voices high into the moist March air blue above the wires. Rabbit Angstrom, coming up the alley in a business suit, stops and watches, though he’s twenty-six and six three. So tall, he [ii] _____ an unlikely rabbit, but the breadth of his white face, the pallor of his blue irises,and a nervous flutter under his brief nose as he stabs a cigarette into his mouth partially explain the nickname, which was given to him when he too was a boy. He [iii] _____there thinking: The kids keep coming; they keep crowding you up. His standing there [iv]_____ the real boys feel strange. They [v] _____ this for their own pleasure, not as a demonstration for some adult walking around town in a double-breasted cocoa suit. Excerpted from: Updike, John. Rabbit, Run. Crest Books, 1962, p. 1. Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Find the appropriate verb form to fill in blank [ii].

Read the excerpt given below and fill in the blanks with those forms of the verbs which best fit the passage from the options provided. Your chosen answer should maintain the tense consistency of the excerpt. The boys [i] _____ basketball around a telephone pole with a backboard bolted to it. The scrape and snap of Keds on loose alley pebbles seems to catapult their voices high into the moist March air blue above the wires. Rabbit Angstrom, coming up the alley in a business suit, stops and watches, though he’s twenty-six and six three. So tall, he [ii] _____ an unlikely rabbit, but the breadth of his white face, the pallor of his blue irises,and a nervous flutter under his brief nose as he stabs a cigarette into his mouth partially explain the nickname, which was given to him when he too was a boy. He [iii] _____there thinking: The kids keep coming; they keep crowding you up. His standing there [iv]_____ the real boys feel strange. They [v] _____ this for their own pleasure, not as a demonstration for some adult walking around town in a double-breasted cocoa suit. Excerpted from: Updike, John. Rabbit, Run. Crest Books, 1962, p. 1. Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Find the appropriate verb form to fill in blank [iii].

Read the excerpt given below and fill in the blanks with those forms of the verbs which best fit the passage from the options provided. Your chosen answer should maintain the tense consistency of the excerpt. The boys [i] _____ basketball around a telephone pole with a backboard bolted to it. The scrape and snap of Keds on loose alley pebbles seems to catapult their voices high into the moist March air blue above the wires. Rabbit Angstrom, coming up the alley in a business suit, stops and watches, though he’s twenty-six and six three. So tall, he [ii] _____ an unlikely rabbit, but the breadth of his white face, the pallor of his blue irises,and a nervous flutter under his brief nose as he stabs a cigarette into his mouth partially explain the nickname, which was given to him when he too was a boy. He [iii] _____there thinking: The kids keep coming; they keep crowding you up. His standing there [iv]_____ the real boys feel strange. They [v] _____ this for their own pleasure, not as a demonstration for some adult walking around town in a double-breasted cocoa suit. Excerpted from: Updike, John. Rabbit, Run. Crest Books, 1962, p. 1. Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Find the appropriate verb form to fill in blank [iv].

Read the excerpt given below and fill in the blanks with those forms of the verbs which best fit the passage from the options provided. Your chosen answer should maintain the tense consistency of the excerpt. The boys [i] _____ basketball around a telephone pole with a backboard bolted to it. The scrape and snap of Keds on loose alley pebbles seems to catapult their voices high into the moist March air blue above the wires. Rabbit Angstrom, coming up the alley in a business suit, stops and watches, though he’s twenty-six and six three. So tall, he [ii] _____ an unlikely rabbit, but the breadth of his white face, the pallor of his blue irises,and a nervous flutter under his brief nose as he stabs a cigarette into his mouth partially explain the nickname, which was given to him when he too was a boy. He [iii] _____there thinking: The kids keep coming; they keep crowding you up. His standing there [iv]_____ the real boys feel strange. They [v] _____ this for their own pleasure, not as a demonstration for some adult walking around town in a double-breasted cocoa suit. Excerpted from: Updike, John. Rabbit, Run. Crest Books, 1962, p. 1. Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Find the appropriate verb form to fill in blank [v].

If only Nila ___________ here, you wouldn’t have done this to me.

Sixty percent of the assets ___________ vanished.

Fill in the blank with future perfect progressive tense form. I expect Nisha will be tired when she arrives. She ________ for over 18 hours.

Choose the future perfect continuous tense sentence from the following

Fill in the blank with the correct option. All of the harddrives, even the uncased one, ___________ in this box.

How many syllables are there in the word Construction?

How many syllables are there in the word delimit?

The word telegraphy is stressed as ______.

The word zoology is stressed as ______.

‘The company projects the estimated spending for this year at $75,000.’ Choose the appropriate stress for the usage of the word ‘projects’ in the sentence.

In the plural noun cliffs, the plural marker sounds as ________

In the plural noun managers, the plural marker sounds as ________

In the plural noun dishes, the plural marker sounds as ________

‘The site of the protest looked bloody and chaotic.’ Choose the appropriate stress for the usage of the word ‘protest’ in the sentence.

The plural markers for the words ‘meetings’, ‘discussions’, and ‘presentations’ are

Which of the following has an aspirated stop?

Which of the following has an aspirated stop ?

Identify whether the sound /t/ (in bold) in the following words are aspirated or not. **T**able

The consonant cluster in the word sprout is an instance of _________

The word logistics is stressed as ___________ (stress is indicated in bold)

Fill in the blanks in List A with the most appropriate options in List B.There is only one fitting answer for each blank.

Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Choose the most appropriate option for [a]

Fill in the blanks in List A with the most appropriate options in List B.There is only one fitting answer for each blank.

Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Choose the most appropriate option for [b]

Fill in the blanks in List A with the most appropriate options in List B.There is only one fitting answer for each blank.

Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Choose the most appropriate option for [c]

Fill in the blanks in List A with the most appropriate options in List B.There is only one fitting answer for each blank.

Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Choose the most appropriate option for [d]

Fill in the blanks in List A with the most appropriate options in List B.There is only one fitting answer for each blank.

Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Choose the most appropriate option for [e]