WIN CLAT 13
Section : English Language
DIRECTIONS for the question: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Question No. : 1
I was sitting in a taxi, wondered if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting
through a Dumpster. It was just after dark. Mom stood fifteen feet away. She had tied rags around her shoulders to keep out
the spring chill and was picking through the trash while her dog, a black-and-white terrier mix, played at her feet. Mom’s
gestures were all familiar – the way she tilted her head and thrust out her lower lip when studying items of potential value that
she’d hoisted out of the Dumpster, the way her eyes widened with the childish glee when she found something she liked. Her
cheekbones were still high and strong, but the skin was parched and ruddy from all those winters and summers exposed to the
elements. To the people walking by, she probably looked like any of the thousands of destitutes in New York City.
It had been months since I laid eyes on Mom, and when she looked up, I was overcome with panic that she’d see me and call
out my name, and that someone on the way to the same party would spot us together. I slid down in the seat and asked the
driver to turn around and take me home to Park Avenue. The taxi pulled up in front of my building, the doorman held the door
for me, and the elevator man took me up to my floor.
My husband was working late, as he did most nights, and the apartment was silent except for the click of my heels on the
polished wood floor. I was still rattled from seeing Mom the sight of her rooting happily through the Dumpster. I put some
Vivaldi on, hoping the music would settle me down.
I looked around the room. There were the turn-of-the-century bronze-and-silver vases and the old books with worn leather
spines that I’d collected at flea markets. There were the Georgian maps I’d had framed, the Persian rugs, and the overstuffed
leather armchair I liked to sink into at the end of the day. I’d tried to make a home for myself here, tried to turn the apartment
into the sort of place where the person I wanted to be would live. But I could never enjoy the room without worrying about
Mom and Dad huddled on a sidewalk grate somewhere. What could I do? I’d tried to help them countless times, but Dad would
insist they didn’t need anything, and Mom would ask for something silly, like a perfume atomizer or a membership in a health
club. They said that they were living the way they wanted to.
After ducking down in the taxi so Mom wouldn't see me, I hated myself. So, we agreed to meet for lunch at her favorite Chinese
restaurant. "I'm worried about you," I said. "Tell me what I can do to help." Her smile faded. "What makes you think I need your
help?" "Mom, I saw you picking through trash in the East Village a few days ago." "Well, people in this country are too wasteful.
It's my way of recycling." She took a bite of her Seafood Delight. "Why didn't you say hello?" "I was too ashamed, Mom. I hid."
Mom pointed her chopsticks at me. "You see?" she said. "Right there. You're way too easily embarrassed. Your father and I are
who we are. Accept it." "And what am I supposed to tell people about my parents?" "Just tell the truth," Mom said. "That's
simple enough."
[Extracted with edits and revision from The Glass Castle: A Memoir by Jeannette Walls | Excerpt]
Which of the following would be the best description of the girl?
A) Greedy and ruthless B) Immature and discourteous C) Snobbish and compassionate D) Obnoxious and innocent
DIRECTIONS for the question: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Question No. : 2
I was sitting in a taxi, wondered if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting
through a Dumpster. It was just after dark. Mom stood fifteen feet away. She had tied rags around her shoulders to keep out
the spring chill and was picking through the trash while her dog, a black-and-white terrier mix, played at her feet. Mom’s
gestures were all familiar – the way she tilted her head and thrust out her lower lip when studying items of potential value that
she’d hoisted out of the Dumpster, the way her eyes widened with the childish glee when she found something she liked. Her
cheekbones were still high and strong, but the skin was parched and ruddy from all those winters and summers exposed to the
elements. To the people walking by, she probably looked like any of the thousands of destitutes in New York City.
It had been months since I laid eyes on Mom, and when she looked up, I was overcome with panic that she’d see me and call
, WIN CLAT 13
out my name, and that someone on the way to the same party would spot us together. I slid down in the seat and asked the
driver to turn around and take me home to Park Avenue. The taxi pulled up in front of my building, the doorman held the door
for me, and the elevator man took me up to my floor.
My husband was working late, as he did most nights, and the apartment was silent except for the click of my heels on the
polished wood floor. I was still rattled from seeing Mom the sight of her rooting happily through the Dumpster. I put some
Vivaldi on, hoping the music would settle me down.
I looked around the room. There were the turn-of-the-century bronze-and-silver vases and the old books with worn leather
spines that I’d collected at flea markets. There were the Georgian maps I’d had framed, the Persian rugs, and the overstuffed
leather armchair I liked to sink into at the end of the day. I’d tried to make a home for myself here, tried to turn the apartment
into the sort of place where the person I wanted to be would live. But I could never enjoy the room without worrying about
Mom and Dad huddled on a sidewalk grate somewhere. What could I do? I’d tried to help them countless times, but Dad would
insist they didn’t need anything, and Mom would ask for something silly, like a perfume atomizer or a membership in a health
club. They said that they were living the way they wanted to.
After ducking down in the taxi so Mom wouldn't see me, I hated myself. So, we agreed to meet for lunch at her favorite Chinese
restaurant. "I'm worried about you," I said. "Tell me what I can do to help." Her smile faded. "What makes you think I need your
help?" "Mom, I saw you picking through trash in the East Village a few days ago." "Well, people in this country are too wasteful.
It's my way of recycling." She took a bite of her Seafood Delight. "Why didn't you say hello?" "I was too ashamed, Mom. I hid."
Mom pointed her chopsticks at me. "You see?" she said. "Right there. You're way too easily embarrassed. Your father and I are
who we are. Accept it." "And what am I supposed to tell people about my parents?" "Just tell the truth," Mom said. "That's
simple enough."
[Extracted with edits and revision from The Glass Castle: A Memoir by Jeannette Walls | Excerpt]
What inference can be drawn about the mother from her appearance and attitude?
A) She was arrogant about her humble background
B) She was always in high spirits and least embarrassed about the incongruity between her and her daughter’s standing
C) She was impish like a child and sometimes defiant when challenged.
D) She always seemed contended and availing every occasion to upscale her social state
DIRECTIONS for the question: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Question No. : 3
I was sitting in a taxi, wondered if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting
through a Dumpster. It was just after dark. Mom stood fifteen feet away. She had tied rags around her shoulders to keep out
the spring chill and was picking through the trash while her dog, a black-and-white terrier mix, played at her feet. Mom’s
gestures were all familiar – the way she tilted her head and thrust out her lower lip when studying items of potential value that
she’d hoisted out of the Dumpster, the way her eyes widened with the childish glee when she found something she liked. Her
cheekbones were still high and strong, but the skin was parched and ruddy from all those winters and summers exposed to the
elements. To the people walking by, she probably looked like any of the thousands of destitutes in New York City.
It had been months since I laid eyes on Mom, and when she looked up, I was overcome with panic that she’d see me and call
out my name, and that someone on the way to the same party would spot us together. I slid down in the seat and asked the
driver to turn around and take me home to Park Avenue. The taxi pulled up in front of my building, the doorman held the door
for me, and the elevator man took me up to my floor.
My husband was working late, as he did most nights, and the apartment was silent except for the click of my heels on the
polished wood floor. I was still rattled from seeing Mom the sight of her rooting happily through the Dumpster. I put some
Vivaldi on, hoping the music would settle me down.
I looked around the room. There were the turn-of-the-century bronze-and-silver vases and the old books with worn leather
spines that I’d collected at flea markets. There were the Georgian maps I’d had framed, the Persian rugs, and the overstuffed
leather armchair I liked to sink into at the end of the day. I’d tried to make a home for myself here, tried to turn the apartment
into the sort of place where the person I wanted to be would live. But I could never enjoy the room without worrying about
Mom and Dad huddled on a sidewalk grate somewhere. What could I do? I’d tried to help them countless times, but Dad would
insist they didn’t need anything, and Mom would ask for something silly, like a perfume atomizer or a membership in a health
, WIN CLAT 13
club. They said that they were living the way they wanted to.
After ducking down in the taxi so Mom wouldn't see me, I hated myself. So, we agreed to meet for lunch at her favorite Chinese
restaurant. "I'm worried about you," I said. "Tell me what I can do to help." Her smile faded. "What makes you think I need your
help?" "Mom, I saw you picking through trash in the East Village a few days ago." "Well, people in this country are too wasteful.
It's my way of recycling." She took a bite of her Seafood Delight. "Why didn't you say hello?" "I was too ashamed, Mom. I hid."
Mom pointed her chopsticks at me. "You see?" she said. "Right there. You're way too easily embarrassed. Your father and I are
who we are. Accept it." "And what am I supposed to tell people about my parents?" "Just tell the truth," Mom said. "That's
simple enough."
[Extracted with edits and revision from The Glass Castle: A Memoir by Jeannette Walls | Excerpt]
What does the word ‘destitute’ as used in the passage mean?
A) Homeless B) Lonely C) Free-bird D) Disoriented
DIRECTIONS for the question: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Question No. : 4
I was sitting in a taxi, wondered if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting
through a Dumpster. It was just after dark. Mom stood fifteen feet away. She had tied rags around her shoulders to keep out
the spring chill and was picking through the trash while her dog, a black-and-white terrier mix, played at her feet. Mom’s
gestures were all familiar – the way she tilted her head and thrust out her lower lip when studying items of potential value that
she’d hoisted out of the Dumpster, the way her eyes widened with the childish glee when she found something she liked. Her
cheekbones were still high and strong, but the skin was parched and ruddy from all those winters and summers exposed to the
elements. To the people walking by, she probably looked like any of the thousands of destitutes in New York City.
It had been months since I laid eyes on Mom, and when she looked up, I was overcome with panic that she’d see me and call
out my name, and that someone on the way to the same party would spot us together. I slid down in the seat and asked the
driver to turn around and take me home to Park Avenue. The taxi pulled up in front of my building, the doorman held the door
for me, and the elevator man took me up to my floor.
My husband was working late, as he did most nights, and the apartment was silent except for the click of my heels on the
polished wood floor. I was still rattled from seeing Mom the sight of her rooting happily through the Dumpster. I put some
Vivaldi on, hoping the music would settle me down.
I looked around the room. There were the turn-of-the-century bronze-and-silver vases and the old books with worn leather
spines that I’d collected at flea markets. There were the Georgian maps I’d had framed, the Persian rugs, and the overstuffed
leather armchair I liked to sink into at the end of the day. I’d tried to make a home for myself here, tried to turn the apartment
into the sort of place where the person I wanted to be would live. But I could never enjoy the room without worrying about
Mom and Dad huddled on a sidewalk grate somewhere. What could I do? I’d tried to help them countless times, but Dad would
insist they didn’t need anything, and Mom would ask for something silly, like a perfume atomizer or a membership in a health
club. They said that they were living the way they wanted to.
After ducking down in the taxi so Mom wouldn't see me, I hated myself. So, we agreed to meet for lunch at her favorite Chinese
restaurant. "I'm worried about you," I said. "Tell me what I can do to help." Her smile faded. "What makes you think I need your
help?" "Mom, I saw you picking through trash in the East Village a few days ago." "Well, people in this country are too wasteful.
It's my way of recycling." She took a bite of her Seafood Delight. "Why didn't you say hello?" "I was too ashamed, Mom. I hid."
Mom pointed her chopsticks at me. "You see?" she said. "Right there. You're way too easily embarrassed. Your father and I are
who we are. Accept it." "And what am I supposed to tell people about my parents?" "Just tell the truth," Mom said. "That's
simple enough."
[Extracted with edits and revision from The Glass Castle: A Memoir by Jeannette Walls | Excerpt]
Why did the girl want the music to soothe her?
A) Because she was filled with rage at the sight of her mother.
B) Because she was shaken by the unexpectedness of seeing her mother.
C) Because she loved to listen to something soothing when she felt flustered
, WIN CLAT 13
D) Because that was the only way to pacify the resentment she felt at the thought of her secret being let out by her mother.
DIRECTIONS for the question: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Question No. : 5
I was sitting in a taxi, wondered if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting
through a Dumpster. It was just after dark. Mom stood fifteen feet away. She had tied rags around her shoulders to keep out
the spring chill and was picking through the trash while her dog, a black-and-white terrier mix, played at her feet. Mom’s
gestures were all familiar – the way she tilted her head and thrust out her lower lip when studying items of potential value that
she’d hoisted out of the Dumpster, the way her eyes widened with the childish glee when she found something she liked. Her
cheekbones were still high and strong, but the skin was parched and ruddy from all those winters and summers exposed to the
elements. To the people walking by, she probably looked like any of the thousands of destitutes in New York City.
It had been months since I laid eyes on Mom, and when she looked up, I was overcome with panic that she’d see me and call
out my name, and that someone on the way to the same party would spot us together. I slid down in the seat and asked the
driver to turn around and take me home to Park Avenue. The taxi pulled up in front of my building, the doorman held the door
for me, and the elevator man took me up to my floor.
My husband was working late, as he did most nights, and the apartment was silent except for the click of my heels on the
polished wood floor. I was still rattled from seeing Mom the sight of her rooting happily through the Dumpster. I put some
Vivaldi on, hoping the music would settle me down.
I looked around the room. There were the turn-of-the-century bronze-and-silver vases and the old books with worn leather
spines that I’d collected at flea markets. There were the Georgian maps I’d had framed, the Persian rugs, and the overstuffed
leather armchair I liked to sink into at the end of the day. I’d tried to make a home for myself here, tried to turn the apartment
into the sort of place where the person I wanted to be would live. But I could never enjoy the room without worrying about
Mom and Dad huddled on a sidewalk grate somewhere. What could I do? I’d tried to help them countless times, but Dad would
insist they didn’t need anything, and Mom would ask for something silly, like a perfume atomizer or a membership in a health
club. They said that they were living the way they wanted to.
After ducking down in the taxi so Mom wouldn't see me, I hated myself. So, we agreed to meet for lunch at her favorite Chinese
restaurant. "I'm worried about you," I said. "Tell me what I can do to help." Her smile faded. "What makes you think I need your
help?" "Mom, I saw you picking through trash in the East Village a few days ago." "Well, people in this country are too wasteful.
It's my way of recycling." She took a bite of her Seafood Delight. "Why didn't you say hello?" "I was too ashamed, Mom. I hid."
Mom pointed her chopsticks at me. "You see?" she said. "Right there. You're way too easily embarrassed. Your father and I are
who we are. Accept it." "And what am I supposed to tell people about my parents?" "Just tell the truth," Mom said. "That's
simple enough."
Which change in the underlined sentence in the passage above will make it grammatically correct?
A) removing 'the' before window B) replacing 'had overdressed' with am overdressed'
C) replacing ‘wondered’ with ‘wondering’ D) all of the above
DIRECTIONS for the question: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Question No. : 6
On 20 July 1969, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin landed on the surface of the moon. In the months leading up to their
expedition, the Apollo 11 astronauts trained in a remote moon-like desert in the western United States. The area is home to
several Native American communities, and there is a story – or legend – describing an encounter between the astronauts and
one of the locals.
One day as they were training, the astronauts came across an old Native American. The man asked them what they were doing
there. They replied that they were part of a research expedition that would shortly travel to explore the moon. When the old
man heard that, he fell silent for a few moments, and then asked the astronauts if they could do him a favour.
‘What do you want?’ they asked.
‘Well,’ said the old man, ‘the people of my tribe believe that holy spirits live on the moon. I was wondering if you could pass an
important message to them from my people.’
Section : English Language
DIRECTIONS for the question: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Question No. : 1
I was sitting in a taxi, wondered if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting
through a Dumpster. It was just after dark. Mom stood fifteen feet away. She had tied rags around her shoulders to keep out
the spring chill and was picking through the trash while her dog, a black-and-white terrier mix, played at her feet. Mom’s
gestures were all familiar – the way she tilted her head and thrust out her lower lip when studying items of potential value that
she’d hoisted out of the Dumpster, the way her eyes widened with the childish glee when she found something she liked. Her
cheekbones were still high and strong, but the skin was parched and ruddy from all those winters and summers exposed to the
elements. To the people walking by, she probably looked like any of the thousands of destitutes in New York City.
It had been months since I laid eyes on Mom, and when she looked up, I was overcome with panic that she’d see me and call
out my name, and that someone on the way to the same party would spot us together. I slid down in the seat and asked the
driver to turn around and take me home to Park Avenue. The taxi pulled up in front of my building, the doorman held the door
for me, and the elevator man took me up to my floor.
My husband was working late, as he did most nights, and the apartment was silent except for the click of my heels on the
polished wood floor. I was still rattled from seeing Mom the sight of her rooting happily through the Dumpster. I put some
Vivaldi on, hoping the music would settle me down.
I looked around the room. There were the turn-of-the-century bronze-and-silver vases and the old books with worn leather
spines that I’d collected at flea markets. There were the Georgian maps I’d had framed, the Persian rugs, and the overstuffed
leather armchair I liked to sink into at the end of the day. I’d tried to make a home for myself here, tried to turn the apartment
into the sort of place where the person I wanted to be would live. But I could never enjoy the room without worrying about
Mom and Dad huddled on a sidewalk grate somewhere. What could I do? I’d tried to help them countless times, but Dad would
insist they didn’t need anything, and Mom would ask for something silly, like a perfume atomizer or a membership in a health
club. They said that they were living the way they wanted to.
After ducking down in the taxi so Mom wouldn't see me, I hated myself. So, we agreed to meet for lunch at her favorite Chinese
restaurant. "I'm worried about you," I said. "Tell me what I can do to help." Her smile faded. "What makes you think I need your
help?" "Mom, I saw you picking through trash in the East Village a few days ago." "Well, people in this country are too wasteful.
It's my way of recycling." She took a bite of her Seafood Delight. "Why didn't you say hello?" "I was too ashamed, Mom. I hid."
Mom pointed her chopsticks at me. "You see?" she said. "Right there. You're way too easily embarrassed. Your father and I are
who we are. Accept it." "And what am I supposed to tell people about my parents?" "Just tell the truth," Mom said. "That's
simple enough."
[Extracted with edits and revision from The Glass Castle: A Memoir by Jeannette Walls | Excerpt]
Which of the following would be the best description of the girl?
A) Greedy and ruthless B) Immature and discourteous C) Snobbish and compassionate D) Obnoxious and innocent
DIRECTIONS for the question: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Question No. : 2
I was sitting in a taxi, wondered if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting
through a Dumpster. It was just after dark. Mom stood fifteen feet away. She had tied rags around her shoulders to keep out
the spring chill and was picking through the trash while her dog, a black-and-white terrier mix, played at her feet. Mom’s
gestures were all familiar – the way she tilted her head and thrust out her lower lip when studying items of potential value that
she’d hoisted out of the Dumpster, the way her eyes widened with the childish glee when she found something she liked. Her
cheekbones were still high and strong, but the skin was parched and ruddy from all those winters and summers exposed to the
elements. To the people walking by, she probably looked like any of the thousands of destitutes in New York City.
It had been months since I laid eyes on Mom, and when she looked up, I was overcome with panic that she’d see me and call
, WIN CLAT 13
out my name, and that someone on the way to the same party would spot us together. I slid down in the seat and asked the
driver to turn around and take me home to Park Avenue. The taxi pulled up in front of my building, the doorman held the door
for me, and the elevator man took me up to my floor.
My husband was working late, as he did most nights, and the apartment was silent except for the click of my heels on the
polished wood floor. I was still rattled from seeing Mom the sight of her rooting happily through the Dumpster. I put some
Vivaldi on, hoping the music would settle me down.
I looked around the room. There were the turn-of-the-century bronze-and-silver vases and the old books with worn leather
spines that I’d collected at flea markets. There were the Georgian maps I’d had framed, the Persian rugs, and the overstuffed
leather armchair I liked to sink into at the end of the day. I’d tried to make a home for myself here, tried to turn the apartment
into the sort of place where the person I wanted to be would live. But I could never enjoy the room without worrying about
Mom and Dad huddled on a sidewalk grate somewhere. What could I do? I’d tried to help them countless times, but Dad would
insist they didn’t need anything, and Mom would ask for something silly, like a perfume atomizer or a membership in a health
club. They said that they were living the way they wanted to.
After ducking down in the taxi so Mom wouldn't see me, I hated myself. So, we agreed to meet for lunch at her favorite Chinese
restaurant. "I'm worried about you," I said. "Tell me what I can do to help." Her smile faded. "What makes you think I need your
help?" "Mom, I saw you picking through trash in the East Village a few days ago." "Well, people in this country are too wasteful.
It's my way of recycling." She took a bite of her Seafood Delight. "Why didn't you say hello?" "I was too ashamed, Mom. I hid."
Mom pointed her chopsticks at me. "You see?" she said. "Right there. You're way too easily embarrassed. Your father and I are
who we are. Accept it." "And what am I supposed to tell people about my parents?" "Just tell the truth," Mom said. "That's
simple enough."
[Extracted with edits and revision from The Glass Castle: A Memoir by Jeannette Walls | Excerpt]
What inference can be drawn about the mother from her appearance and attitude?
A) She was arrogant about her humble background
B) She was always in high spirits and least embarrassed about the incongruity between her and her daughter’s standing
C) She was impish like a child and sometimes defiant when challenged.
D) She always seemed contended and availing every occasion to upscale her social state
DIRECTIONS for the question: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Question No. : 3
I was sitting in a taxi, wondered if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting
through a Dumpster. It was just after dark. Mom stood fifteen feet away. She had tied rags around her shoulders to keep out
the spring chill and was picking through the trash while her dog, a black-and-white terrier mix, played at her feet. Mom’s
gestures were all familiar – the way she tilted her head and thrust out her lower lip when studying items of potential value that
she’d hoisted out of the Dumpster, the way her eyes widened with the childish glee when she found something she liked. Her
cheekbones were still high and strong, but the skin was parched and ruddy from all those winters and summers exposed to the
elements. To the people walking by, she probably looked like any of the thousands of destitutes in New York City.
It had been months since I laid eyes on Mom, and when she looked up, I was overcome with panic that she’d see me and call
out my name, and that someone on the way to the same party would spot us together. I slid down in the seat and asked the
driver to turn around and take me home to Park Avenue. The taxi pulled up in front of my building, the doorman held the door
for me, and the elevator man took me up to my floor.
My husband was working late, as he did most nights, and the apartment was silent except for the click of my heels on the
polished wood floor. I was still rattled from seeing Mom the sight of her rooting happily through the Dumpster. I put some
Vivaldi on, hoping the music would settle me down.
I looked around the room. There were the turn-of-the-century bronze-and-silver vases and the old books with worn leather
spines that I’d collected at flea markets. There were the Georgian maps I’d had framed, the Persian rugs, and the overstuffed
leather armchair I liked to sink into at the end of the day. I’d tried to make a home for myself here, tried to turn the apartment
into the sort of place where the person I wanted to be would live. But I could never enjoy the room without worrying about
Mom and Dad huddled on a sidewalk grate somewhere. What could I do? I’d tried to help them countless times, but Dad would
insist they didn’t need anything, and Mom would ask for something silly, like a perfume atomizer or a membership in a health
, WIN CLAT 13
club. They said that they were living the way they wanted to.
After ducking down in the taxi so Mom wouldn't see me, I hated myself. So, we agreed to meet for lunch at her favorite Chinese
restaurant. "I'm worried about you," I said. "Tell me what I can do to help." Her smile faded. "What makes you think I need your
help?" "Mom, I saw you picking through trash in the East Village a few days ago." "Well, people in this country are too wasteful.
It's my way of recycling." She took a bite of her Seafood Delight. "Why didn't you say hello?" "I was too ashamed, Mom. I hid."
Mom pointed her chopsticks at me. "You see?" she said. "Right there. You're way too easily embarrassed. Your father and I are
who we are. Accept it." "And what am I supposed to tell people about my parents?" "Just tell the truth," Mom said. "That's
simple enough."
[Extracted with edits and revision from The Glass Castle: A Memoir by Jeannette Walls | Excerpt]
What does the word ‘destitute’ as used in the passage mean?
A) Homeless B) Lonely C) Free-bird D) Disoriented
DIRECTIONS for the question: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Question No. : 4
I was sitting in a taxi, wondered if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting
through a Dumpster. It was just after dark. Mom stood fifteen feet away. She had tied rags around her shoulders to keep out
the spring chill and was picking through the trash while her dog, a black-and-white terrier mix, played at her feet. Mom’s
gestures were all familiar – the way she tilted her head and thrust out her lower lip when studying items of potential value that
she’d hoisted out of the Dumpster, the way her eyes widened with the childish glee when she found something she liked. Her
cheekbones were still high and strong, but the skin was parched and ruddy from all those winters and summers exposed to the
elements. To the people walking by, she probably looked like any of the thousands of destitutes in New York City.
It had been months since I laid eyes on Mom, and when she looked up, I was overcome with panic that she’d see me and call
out my name, and that someone on the way to the same party would spot us together. I slid down in the seat and asked the
driver to turn around and take me home to Park Avenue. The taxi pulled up in front of my building, the doorman held the door
for me, and the elevator man took me up to my floor.
My husband was working late, as he did most nights, and the apartment was silent except for the click of my heels on the
polished wood floor. I was still rattled from seeing Mom the sight of her rooting happily through the Dumpster. I put some
Vivaldi on, hoping the music would settle me down.
I looked around the room. There were the turn-of-the-century bronze-and-silver vases and the old books with worn leather
spines that I’d collected at flea markets. There were the Georgian maps I’d had framed, the Persian rugs, and the overstuffed
leather armchair I liked to sink into at the end of the day. I’d tried to make a home for myself here, tried to turn the apartment
into the sort of place where the person I wanted to be would live. But I could never enjoy the room without worrying about
Mom and Dad huddled on a sidewalk grate somewhere. What could I do? I’d tried to help them countless times, but Dad would
insist they didn’t need anything, and Mom would ask for something silly, like a perfume atomizer or a membership in a health
club. They said that they were living the way they wanted to.
After ducking down in the taxi so Mom wouldn't see me, I hated myself. So, we agreed to meet for lunch at her favorite Chinese
restaurant. "I'm worried about you," I said. "Tell me what I can do to help." Her smile faded. "What makes you think I need your
help?" "Mom, I saw you picking through trash in the East Village a few days ago." "Well, people in this country are too wasteful.
It's my way of recycling." She took a bite of her Seafood Delight. "Why didn't you say hello?" "I was too ashamed, Mom. I hid."
Mom pointed her chopsticks at me. "You see?" she said. "Right there. You're way too easily embarrassed. Your father and I are
who we are. Accept it." "And what am I supposed to tell people about my parents?" "Just tell the truth," Mom said. "That's
simple enough."
[Extracted with edits and revision from The Glass Castle: A Memoir by Jeannette Walls | Excerpt]
Why did the girl want the music to soothe her?
A) Because she was filled with rage at the sight of her mother.
B) Because she was shaken by the unexpectedness of seeing her mother.
C) Because she loved to listen to something soothing when she felt flustered
, WIN CLAT 13
D) Because that was the only way to pacify the resentment she felt at the thought of her secret being let out by her mother.
DIRECTIONS for the question: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Question No. : 5
I was sitting in a taxi, wondered if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting
through a Dumpster. It was just after dark. Mom stood fifteen feet away. She had tied rags around her shoulders to keep out
the spring chill and was picking through the trash while her dog, a black-and-white terrier mix, played at her feet. Mom’s
gestures were all familiar – the way she tilted her head and thrust out her lower lip when studying items of potential value that
she’d hoisted out of the Dumpster, the way her eyes widened with the childish glee when she found something she liked. Her
cheekbones were still high and strong, but the skin was parched and ruddy from all those winters and summers exposed to the
elements. To the people walking by, she probably looked like any of the thousands of destitutes in New York City.
It had been months since I laid eyes on Mom, and when she looked up, I was overcome with panic that she’d see me and call
out my name, and that someone on the way to the same party would spot us together. I slid down in the seat and asked the
driver to turn around and take me home to Park Avenue. The taxi pulled up in front of my building, the doorman held the door
for me, and the elevator man took me up to my floor.
My husband was working late, as he did most nights, and the apartment was silent except for the click of my heels on the
polished wood floor. I was still rattled from seeing Mom the sight of her rooting happily through the Dumpster. I put some
Vivaldi on, hoping the music would settle me down.
I looked around the room. There were the turn-of-the-century bronze-and-silver vases and the old books with worn leather
spines that I’d collected at flea markets. There were the Georgian maps I’d had framed, the Persian rugs, and the overstuffed
leather armchair I liked to sink into at the end of the day. I’d tried to make a home for myself here, tried to turn the apartment
into the sort of place where the person I wanted to be would live. But I could never enjoy the room without worrying about
Mom and Dad huddled on a sidewalk grate somewhere. What could I do? I’d tried to help them countless times, but Dad would
insist they didn’t need anything, and Mom would ask for something silly, like a perfume atomizer or a membership in a health
club. They said that they were living the way they wanted to.
After ducking down in the taxi so Mom wouldn't see me, I hated myself. So, we agreed to meet for lunch at her favorite Chinese
restaurant. "I'm worried about you," I said. "Tell me what I can do to help." Her smile faded. "What makes you think I need your
help?" "Mom, I saw you picking through trash in the East Village a few days ago." "Well, people in this country are too wasteful.
It's my way of recycling." She took a bite of her Seafood Delight. "Why didn't you say hello?" "I was too ashamed, Mom. I hid."
Mom pointed her chopsticks at me. "You see?" she said. "Right there. You're way too easily embarrassed. Your father and I are
who we are. Accept it." "And what am I supposed to tell people about my parents?" "Just tell the truth," Mom said. "That's
simple enough."
Which change in the underlined sentence in the passage above will make it grammatically correct?
A) removing 'the' before window B) replacing 'had overdressed' with am overdressed'
C) replacing ‘wondered’ with ‘wondering’ D) all of the above
DIRECTIONS for the question: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Question No. : 6
On 20 July 1969, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin landed on the surface of the moon. In the months leading up to their
expedition, the Apollo 11 astronauts trained in a remote moon-like desert in the western United States. The area is home to
several Native American communities, and there is a story – or legend – describing an encounter between the astronauts and
one of the locals.
One day as they were training, the astronauts came across an old Native American. The man asked them what they were doing
there. They replied that they were part of a research expedition that would shortly travel to explore the moon. When the old
man heard that, he fell silent for a few moments, and then asked the astronauts if they could do him a favour.
‘What do you want?’ they asked.
‘Well,’ said the old man, ‘the people of my tribe believe that holy spirits live on the moon. I was wondering if you could pass an
important message to them from my people.’
