It was a long, grieving sound, like a sigh--almost like a sob. It attracted Mr. Lorry's eyes to Carton's face, which was turned to the fire. A light, or a shade (the old gentleman could not have said which), passed from it as swiftly as a change will sweep over a hill-side on a wild bright day, and he lifted his foot to put back one of the little flaming logs, which was tumbling forward. He wore the white riding-coat and top-boots, then in vogue, and the light of the fire touching their light surfaces made him look very pale, with his long brown hair, all untrimmed, hanging loose about him. His indifference to fire was sufficiently remarkable to elicit a word of remonstrance from Mr. Lorry; his boot was still upon the hot embers of the flaming log, when it had broken under the weight of Ms foot.

from The Somnambulistby George MacDonaldOne night I was sitting in my room, devouring an old romance which I had brought from the library. It was late. The fire blazed bright; but the candles were nearly burnt out, and I grew sleepy.Suddenly I found myself on my feet, listening with agony. Whether I had heard anything I could not tell; but I felt as if I had. Yes; I was sure of it. Far away, I heard a faint cry. Driven by some secret impulse, I flew, without a moment’s reflection, to the door, and stood in the great echoing hall, amid the touches, light and ghostly, of the cobwebs set afloat in the eddies occasioned by my sudden entrance.A faded moonbeam fell on the floor, and filled the place with an ancient dream-light, which wrought strangely on my brain, and filled it, as if it, too, were but a deserted, sleepy house, haunted by old dreams and memories. Recollecting myself, I went back for a light; but the candles were both flickering in the sockets, and I was compelled to trust to the moon. I ascended the staircase. Old as it was, not a board creaked, not a banister shook—the whole felt solid as rock. Finding, at length, no more stair to ascend, I groped my way on; for here there was no direct light from the moon—only the light of the moonlit air. I was in some trepidation, I confess; for how should I find my way back? At length, after wandering into several rooms and out again, my hand fell on a latched door. I opened it, and entered a long corridor, with many windows on one side. Broad strips of moonlight lay slantingly across the narrow floor, divided by regular intervals of shade.I started, and my heart swelled; for I saw a movement somewhere—I could neither tell where, nor of what: I was only aware of motion. I stood in the first shadow, and gazed, but saw nothing. I sped across the light to the next shadow, and stood again, looking with fearful fixedness of gaze towards the far end of the corridor. Suddenly a white form glimmered and vanished. I crossed to the next shadow. Again a glimmer and vanishing, but nearer. Nerving myself to the utmost, I ceased the stealthiness of my movements, and went forward, slowly and steadily. A tall form, apparently of a woman, dressed in a long white robe, appeared in one of the streams of light, threw its arms over its head, gave a wild cry—which, notwithstanding its wildness and force, had a muffled sound, as if many folds, either of matter or of space, intervened—and fell at full length along the moonlight. Amidst the thrill of agony which shook me at the cry, I rushed forward, and, kneeling beside the prostrate figure, discovered that, unearthly as was the scream which had preceded her fall, it was the Lady Alice. I saw the fact in a moment: the Lady Alice was a somnambulist.* . . .*a sleep-walker5Select ALL the correct answers.In which two ways does the author best create suspense in the story? by setting the scene late at night in a large, dark house without lights through the descriptive elements of moonlight, shadow, movement, and form through the interplay of thoughts, dreams, and memories of the narrator by suggesting the unfamiliarity of the narrator with his surroundings by focusing on the rooms of the house through which the story progresses

One night in autumn a few men were gathered about a fire on a hill. They belonged to a small detachment of Confederate forces. Their gray uniforms were worn beyond the point of shabbiness. One of the men was heating something in a tin cup over the embers. Two were lying at full length a little distance away, while a fourth was trying to decipher a letter and had drawn close to the light. He had unfastened his collar and a good bit of his flannel shirt front."What's that you got around your neck, Ned?" asked one of the men.Ned—or Edmond—mechanically fastened another button of his shirt and did not reply. He went on reading his letter."Is it your sweetheart's picture?""Taint no gal's picture," offered the man at the fire. "That's a charm. Hey, French! Ain't I right?" Edmond looked up absently from his letter."What is it?" he asked."Ain't that a charm you got round your neck?""It must be, Nick," returned Edmond with a smile. "I don't know how I could have gone through this year and a half without it."The letter had made Edmond heartsick and homesick. He stretched himself on his back and looked straight up at the blinking stars. But he was not thinking of them nor of anything but a certain spring day when a girl was saying goodbye to him. He could see her as she unclasped from her neck the locket which she fastened about his own. It was an old fashioned golden locket bearing miniatures of her father and mother. It was her most precious earthly possession. Edmond could feel again the folds of the girl's soft white gown and see the droop of the angel-sleeves as she circled her fair arms about his neck. Her sweet face, tormented by the pain of parting, appeared before him as vividly as life. He turned over, burying his face in his arm and there he lay, still and motionless. . . .Octavie wore a plain black dress, severe in its simplicity. A narrow belt held it at the waist and the sleeves were gathered into close fitting wristbands. She had discarded her hoopskirt and appeared not unlike a nun. Beneath the folds of her bodice nestled the old locket. She never displayed it now. It had returned to her sanctified in her eyes; made precious as material things sometimes are by being forever identified with a significant moment of one's existence. . . .Octavie felt as if she had passed into a stage of existence which was like a dream, more poignant and real than life. There was the old gray house with its sloping eaves. Amid the blur of green, and dimly, she saw familiar faces and heard voices as if they came from far across the fields, and Edmond was holding her. It was as if the spirit of life and the awakening spring had given back the soul to her youth and bade her rejoice.1Select the correct answer from the drop-down menu.Read the excerpt. Then choose the correct way to complete the paragraph.One theme in the excerpt is that people hold on to love despite the passage of time. The author develops this theme by describing how the .

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,And towards our distant rest began to trudge.Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hootsOf gas-shells dropping softly behind.Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumblingFitting the clumsy helmets just in time,But someone still was yelling out and stumblingAnd flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.In all my dreams before my helpless sight,He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.If in some smothering dreams, you too could paceBehind the wagon that we flung him in,And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;If you could hear, at every jolt, the bloodCome gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cudOf vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—My friend, you would not tell with such high zestTo children ardent for some desperate glory,The old Lie: Dulce et decorum estPro patria mori.*Translation of Latin: It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country4Select the correct answer.What is the mood of the poem? A. restless B. bitter C. bewildered D. remorseful

Read these lines from "Sonnet 73" by William Shakespeare:In me thou see'st the glowing of such fireThat on the ashes of his youth doth lie,As the deathbed whereon it must expireConsumed with that which it was nourished by.Which theme does this excerpt best support?A.Fire is hot and will burn you.B.Flames turn everything to ash.C.All people will grow old and die.D.In old age, people are often angry.

Upon the Burning of Our HouseAnne BradstreetIn silent night when rest I took,For sorrow near I did not look,I waken'd was with thund’ring noiseAnd Piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.That fearful sound of fire and fire,5Let no man know is my Desire.I, starting up, the light did spy,And to my God my heart did cryTo strengthen me in my DistressAnd not to leave me succourless. 10Then coming out beheld a space,The flame consume my dwelling place.And, when I could no longer look,I blest his Name that gave and took,That laid my goods now in the dust: 15Yea so it was, and so 'twas just.It was his own: it was not mine;Far be it that I should repine.He might of All justly bereft,But yet sufficient for us left. 20When by the Ruines oft I past,My sorrowing eyes aside did cast,And here and there the places spyWhere oft I sate, and long did lye.Here stood that Trunk, and there that chest; 25There lay that store I counted best:My pleasant things in ashes lye,And them behold no more shall I.Under thy roof no guest shall sit,Nor at thy Table eat a bitt.30No pleasant tale shall 'ere be told,Nor things recounted done of old.No Candle 'ere shall shine in Thee,Nor bridegroom's voice ere heard shall bee.In silence ever shalt thou lye; 35Adieu, Adeiu; All's vanity.Then straight I gin my heart to chide,And didst thy wealth on earth abide?Didst fix thy hope on mould'ring dust,The arm of flesh didst make thy trust? 40Raise up thy thoughts above the skyThat dunghill mists away may fly.Thou hast an house on high erectFram'd by that mighty Architect,With glory richly furnished, 45Stands permanent tho' this bee fled.It's purchased, and paid for tooBy him who hath enough to doe.A Price so vast as is unknown,Yet, by his Gift, is made thine own. 50There's wealth enough, I need no more;Farewell my Pelf, farewell my Store.The world no longer let me Love,My hope and Treasure lyes Above.QuestionHow is the organization of the poem significant to its meaning?ResponsesA Each stanza depicts another issue the speaker must cope with.Each stanza depicts another issue the speaker must cope with.B Each stanza essentially repeats the previous stanza's thought.Each stanza essentially repeats the previous stanza's thought.C Each stanza recounts the night of the fire from a different perspective.Each stanza recounts the night of the fire from a different perspective.D Each stanza describes another possession the speaker has lost in the fire.Each stanza describes another possession the speaker has lost in the fire.E Each stanza represents another phase in the speaker's reaction to the fire.Each stanza represents another phase in the speaker's reaction to the fire.