SAT Reading & Writing Practice Set – The Crucible (Adapted)
The jail cell smelled of straw and cold stone and the sourness of people who had been waiting too long.
John Proctor stood with his hands wrapped around the bars of the small window, feeling the faint
suggestion of dawn on his fingertips rather than seeing it. Somewhere outside, a rooster called once
and was silent, as if even the animals were uncertain what kind of day was coming.
They had sent Elizabeth to him because they thought she might soften his resolve. She entered slowly,
her skirts brushing the floor, her face thinner than he remembered, but her eyes as steady as they had
been when she closed the door on him months ago. The chains on his ankles clinked when he turned,
an awkward, shameful sound in front of a woman he had once wronged in private and now faced in
public disgrace.
“They would have you persuade me,” Proctor said, attempting a smile that did not quite form. “They tell
me life is God’s most precious gift, and that no principle is worth the dust on the feet of them that hang.”
He tried to make the words light, but they landed heavily in the cell. Elizabeth’s hands were folded
together as if she were holding something fragile between them. “I have come of my own,” she
answered. “They have no more power over me than I give them.”
He told her then, haltingly, that he had thought to confess. He spoke of the noose, of the way Rebecca
and Martha Corey had stood, quiet and unbending, and of how small his own courage felt beside theirs.
“I am no saint,” he said. “Nothing spoils so much as my name, already blackened by my own hand.” He
confessed that his desire to live was tangled with spite—that part of him wanted the magistrates to bear
the guilt of hanging a man they knew to be innocent.
Elizabeth listened without interruption. There had been a time when she would have reached for the
sharp edge in his words and turned it back on him, but that time seemed as far away as the fields they
had left untended. “Whatever you will do, it is a good man does it,” she said quietly. She told him she
had her own sins to count, that her coldness had driven him from her as much as his weakness had
driven him toward Abigail. It was not absolution, exactly, but it was something that loosened a knot in
his chest he had carried so long he had forgotten it was there.
When the judges came, Proctor stepped back from Elizabeth, as though drawing a line between the part
of himself that belonged to his household and the part that now stood before the law. Danforth asked
him, with an eagerness he barely tried to hide, whether he would confess himself to be in league with
the Devil. “I will have my life,” Proctor said, the words tasting bitter as he spoke them. Cheever hurried
forward with paper and ink, as if the confession already existed and only needed a name.
Proctor answered the magistrates’ questions in short, shamed sentences. Yes, he had seen the Devil.
Yes, the Devil had bid him do his work. The phrases lay between them, vague enough that in his heart
Proctor might be thinking of other sins—lust, pride, the cruelty of silence—rather than witchcraft. But
when they pressed him to name others, he stopped. “I speak my own sins,” he said. “I will not judge
another. I have no tongue for it.”
Danforth frowned, but he did not yet let go. “You must sign,” he said. “This will be set upon the church
door, for the village to see.” Proctor stared at the sheet waiting in Cheever’s hand. He thought of his
boys, of the land that bore his name, of the way a word once written could outlive the man who had
spoken it. “You have all witnessed it,” he said. “It is enough you and God know how black my soul be.”
But they insisted. The law, they said, required proof.
, His hand shook as he wrote JOHN PROCTOR on the page. The letters looked strange to him, as if
someone else had borrowed his name. When Danforth reached for the paper, Proctor did not let go.
“Because it is my name!” he cried. “Because I cannot have another in my life. Because I lie and sign
myself to lies.” The room held its breath. Proctor saw, in a rush, that he had already given so much
away—to Abigail, to his own cowardice—that to let them nail his name to the church door beside a
falsehood would leave him with nothing at all.
“I have given you my soul,” he said, his voice breaking. “Leave me my name.” And with that he tore the
confession in two, the sound of paper ripping louder in the stillness than any shout. The magistrates
recoiled as if struck. John Proctor stood with the fragments in his hands and, for the first time since the
trials began, felt something like steadiness beneath his feet. There would be a rope, and a crowd, and a
silence afterward that no one in Salem would know how to fill. But his name, at least, would not be
written in their script.
(Adapted from the novel The Crucible by Arthur Miller)
QUESTIONS 1–8: MAIN IDEA, BIG PICTURE
1. Which choice best states the main idea of the passage?
A. Elizabeth persuades John Proctor to confess and live so he can care for their children.
B. John Proctor agrees to a written confession, implicating others to save his life.
C. John Proctor, torn between survival and integrity, refuses to let his false confession stain his
name and chooses to die with his sense of self restored.
D. The judges in Salem abandon the witch trials after Proctor exposes their corruption.
2. Over the course of the passage, Proctor is portrayed primarily as someone who
A. moves from self-loathing and fear toward a hard-won sense of moral clarity.
B. has always been certain that dying for principle is better than living.
C. cares only about how others in Salem will judge him, not about the truth.
D. values Elizabeth’s opinion more than his own conscience.
3. The passage suggests that Elizabeth’s role in this scene is mainly to
A. convince Proctor that confession is the only honorable choice.
B. offer forgiveness and refuse to pressure him, helping him reach his own decision.
C. collaborate with the court to secure a confession at any cost.
D. accuse other townspeople in order to spare her husband.
4. Taken as a whole, the passage primarily explores which broader theme?
A. The danger of superstition in a religious community
B. The necessity of strict obedience to law
C. The tension between public reputation, private guilt, and true integrity
D. The importance of family loyalty over all other obligations
5. The insistence that Proctor sign a written confession to be posted on the church door mainly
underscores
A. the community’s desire to humiliate the accused and legitimize the trials.
B. the court’s concern that verbal confessions are too easily forgotten.
C. the ministers’ belief that God requires written proof of repentance.
D. Proctor’s inability to read or write.
The jail cell smelled of straw and cold stone and the sourness of people who had been waiting too long.
John Proctor stood with his hands wrapped around the bars of the small window, feeling the faint
suggestion of dawn on his fingertips rather than seeing it. Somewhere outside, a rooster called once
and was silent, as if even the animals were uncertain what kind of day was coming.
They had sent Elizabeth to him because they thought she might soften his resolve. She entered slowly,
her skirts brushing the floor, her face thinner than he remembered, but her eyes as steady as they had
been when she closed the door on him months ago. The chains on his ankles clinked when he turned,
an awkward, shameful sound in front of a woman he had once wronged in private and now faced in
public disgrace.
“They would have you persuade me,” Proctor said, attempting a smile that did not quite form. “They tell
me life is God’s most precious gift, and that no principle is worth the dust on the feet of them that hang.”
He tried to make the words light, but they landed heavily in the cell. Elizabeth’s hands were folded
together as if she were holding something fragile between them. “I have come of my own,” she
answered. “They have no more power over me than I give them.”
He told her then, haltingly, that he had thought to confess. He spoke of the noose, of the way Rebecca
and Martha Corey had stood, quiet and unbending, and of how small his own courage felt beside theirs.
“I am no saint,” he said. “Nothing spoils so much as my name, already blackened by my own hand.” He
confessed that his desire to live was tangled with spite—that part of him wanted the magistrates to bear
the guilt of hanging a man they knew to be innocent.
Elizabeth listened without interruption. There had been a time when she would have reached for the
sharp edge in his words and turned it back on him, but that time seemed as far away as the fields they
had left untended. “Whatever you will do, it is a good man does it,” she said quietly. She told him she
had her own sins to count, that her coldness had driven him from her as much as his weakness had
driven him toward Abigail. It was not absolution, exactly, but it was something that loosened a knot in
his chest he had carried so long he had forgotten it was there.
When the judges came, Proctor stepped back from Elizabeth, as though drawing a line between the part
of himself that belonged to his household and the part that now stood before the law. Danforth asked
him, with an eagerness he barely tried to hide, whether he would confess himself to be in league with
the Devil. “I will have my life,” Proctor said, the words tasting bitter as he spoke them. Cheever hurried
forward with paper and ink, as if the confession already existed and only needed a name.
Proctor answered the magistrates’ questions in short, shamed sentences. Yes, he had seen the Devil.
Yes, the Devil had bid him do his work. The phrases lay between them, vague enough that in his heart
Proctor might be thinking of other sins—lust, pride, the cruelty of silence—rather than witchcraft. But
when they pressed him to name others, he stopped. “I speak my own sins,” he said. “I will not judge
another. I have no tongue for it.”
Danforth frowned, but he did not yet let go. “You must sign,” he said. “This will be set upon the church
door, for the village to see.” Proctor stared at the sheet waiting in Cheever’s hand. He thought of his
boys, of the land that bore his name, of the way a word once written could outlive the man who had
spoken it. “You have all witnessed it,” he said. “It is enough you and God know how black my soul be.”
But they insisted. The law, they said, required proof.
, His hand shook as he wrote JOHN PROCTOR on the page. The letters looked strange to him, as if
someone else had borrowed his name. When Danforth reached for the paper, Proctor did not let go.
“Because it is my name!” he cried. “Because I cannot have another in my life. Because I lie and sign
myself to lies.” The room held its breath. Proctor saw, in a rush, that he had already given so much
away—to Abigail, to his own cowardice—that to let them nail his name to the church door beside a
falsehood would leave him with nothing at all.
“I have given you my soul,” he said, his voice breaking. “Leave me my name.” And with that he tore the
confession in two, the sound of paper ripping louder in the stillness than any shout. The magistrates
recoiled as if struck. John Proctor stood with the fragments in his hands and, for the first time since the
trials began, felt something like steadiness beneath his feet. There would be a rope, and a crowd, and a
silence afterward that no one in Salem would know how to fill. But his name, at least, would not be
written in their script.
(Adapted from the novel The Crucible by Arthur Miller)
QUESTIONS 1–8: MAIN IDEA, BIG PICTURE
1. Which choice best states the main idea of the passage?
A. Elizabeth persuades John Proctor to confess and live so he can care for their children.
B. John Proctor agrees to a written confession, implicating others to save his life.
C. John Proctor, torn between survival and integrity, refuses to let his false confession stain his
name and chooses to die with his sense of self restored.
D. The judges in Salem abandon the witch trials after Proctor exposes their corruption.
2. Over the course of the passage, Proctor is portrayed primarily as someone who
A. moves from self-loathing and fear toward a hard-won sense of moral clarity.
B. has always been certain that dying for principle is better than living.
C. cares only about how others in Salem will judge him, not about the truth.
D. values Elizabeth’s opinion more than his own conscience.
3. The passage suggests that Elizabeth’s role in this scene is mainly to
A. convince Proctor that confession is the only honorable choice.
B. offer forgiveness and refuse to pressure him, helping him reach his own decision.
C. collaborate with the court to secure a confession at any cost.
D. accuse other townspeople in order to spare her husband.
4. Taken as a whole, the passage primarily explores which broader theme?
A. The danger of superstition in a religious community
B. The necessity of strict obedience to law
C. The tension between public reputation, private guilt, and true integrity
D. The importance of family loyalty over all other obligations
5. The insistence that Proctor sign a written confession to be posted on the church door mainly
underscores
A. the community’s desire to humiliate the accused and legitimize the trials.
B. the court’s concern that verbal confessions are too easily forgotten.
C. the ministers’ belief that God requires written proof of repentance.
D. Proctor’s inability to read or write.
