ne Eyre (#3)Charlotte Bronte1 I resisted all the way: a new thing for me, and a circumstance which greatly strengthened the bad opinion Bessie and Miss Abbot were disposed to entertain of me. The fact is, I was a trifle beside myself; or rather OUT of myself, as the French would say: I was conscious that a moment's mutiny had already rendered me liable to strange penalties, and, like any other rebel, I felt resolved, in my desperation, to go all lengths.2 "Hold her arms, Miss Abbot: she's like a mad cat."3 "For shame! for shame!" cried the lady's-maid. "What shocking conduct, Miss Eyre, to strike a young gentleman, your benefactress's son! Your young master.”4 "Master! How is he my master? Am I a servant?"5 "No; you are less than a servant, for you do nothing for your keep. There, sit down, and think over your wickedness."6 They had got me by this time into the apartment indicated by Mrs. Reed, and had thrust me upon a stool: my impulse was to rise from it like a spring; their two pair of hands arrested me instantly.7 "If you don't sit still, you must be tied down," said Bessie. "Miss Abbot, lend me your garters; she would break mine directly."8 Miss Abbot turned to divest a stout leg of the necessary ligature. This preparation for bonds, and the additional ignominy it inferred, took a little of the excitement out of me.9 "Don't take them off," I cried; "I will not stir."10 In guarantee whereof, I attached myself to my seat by my hands.11 "Mind you don't," said Bessie; and when she had ascertained that I was really subsiding, she loosened her hold of me; then she and Miss Abbot stood with folded arms, looking darkly and doubtfully on my face, as incredulous of my sanity.12 "She never did so before," at last said Bessie, turning to the Abigail.13 "But it was always in her," was the reply. "I've told Missis often my opinion about the child, and Missis agreed with me. She's an underhand little thing: I never saw a girl of her age with so much cover."14 Bessie answered not; but ere long, addressing me, she said -- "You ought to be aware, Miss, that you are under obligations to Mrs. Reed: she keeps you: if she were to turn you off, you would have to go to the poorhouse."15 I had nothing to say to these words: they were not new to me: my very first recollections of existence included hints of the same kind. This reproach of my dependence had become a vague sing-song in my ear: very painful and crushing, but only half intelligible. Miss Abbot joined in –16 "And you ought not to think yourself on an equality with the Misses Reed and Master Reed, because Missis kindly allows you to be brought up with them. They will have a great deal of money, and you will have none: it is your place to be humble, and to try to make yourself agreeable to them."17 "What we tell you is for your good," added Bessie, in no harsh voice, "you should try to be useful and pleasant, then, perhaps, you would have a home here; but if you become passionate and rude, Missis will send you away, I am sure."18 "Besides," said Miss Abbot, "God will punish her: He might strike her dead in the midst of her tantrums, and then where would she go? Come, Bessie, we will leave her: I wouldn't have her heart for anything. Say your prayers, Miss Eyre, when you are by yourself; for if you don't repent, something bad might be permitted to come down the chimney and fetch you away."QuestionWhich best describes how the point of view of this passage relates to its theme?ResponsesA The narrator believes that her own foolishness is the cause of her richly-deserved punishment.The narrator believes that her own foolishness is the cause of her richly-deserved punishment.B The narrator condemns herself for being so disrespectful in her behavior to these two godly women.The narrator condemns herself for being so disrespectful in her behavior to these two godly women.C The narrator feels greatly wronged by her abuse at the hands of these two cruel and judgmental women.The narrator feels greatly wronged by her abuse at the hands of these two cruel and judgmental women.D The narrator believes that the treatment she is receiving at the hands of these two women is entirely justified.

ne Eyre (#3)Charlotte Bronte1 I resisted all the way: a new thing for me, and a circumstance which greatly strengthened the bad opinion Bessie and Miss Abbot were disposed to entertain of me. The fact is, I was a trifle beside myself; or rather OUT of myself, as the French would say: I was conscious that a moment's mutiny had already rendered me liable to strange penalties, and, like any other rebel, I felt resolved, in my desperation, to go all lengths.2 "Hold her arms, Miss Abbot: she's like a mad cat."3 "For shame! for shame!" cried the lady's-maid. "What shocking conduct, Miss Eyre, to strike a young gentleman, your benefactress's son! Your young master.”4 "Master! How is he my master? Am I a servant?"5 "No; you are less than a servant, for you do nothing for your keep. There, sit down, and think over your wickedness."6 They had got me by this time into the apartment indicated by Mrs. Reed, and had thrust me upon a stool: my impulse was to rise from it like a spring; their two pair of hands arrested me instantly.7 "If you don't sit still, you must be tied down," said Bessie. "Miss Abbot, lend me your garters; she would break mine directly."8 Miss Abbot turned to divest a stout leg of the necessary ligature. This preparation for bonds, and the additional ignominy it inferred, took a little of the excitement out of me.9 "Don't take them off," I cried; "I will not stir."10 In guarantee whereof, I attached myself to my seat by my hands.11 "Mind you don't," said Bessie; and when she had ascertained that I was really subsiding, she loosened her hold of me; then she and Miss Abbot stood with folded arms, looking darkly and doubtfully on my face, as incredulous of my sanity.12 "She never did so before," at last said Bessie, turning to the Abigail.13 "But it was always in her," was the reply. "I've told Missis often my opinion about the child, and Missis agreed with me. She's an underhand little thing: I never saw a girl of her age with so much cover."14 Bessie answered not; but ere long, addressing me, she said -- "You ought to be aware, Miss, that you are under obligations to Mrs. Reed: she keeps you: if she were to turn you off, you would have to go to the poorhouse."15 I had nothing to say to these words: they were not new to me: my very first recollections of existence included hints of the same kind. This reproach of my dependence had become a vague sing-song in my ear: very painful and crushing, but only half intelligible. Miss Abbot joined in –16 "And you ought not to think yourself on an equality with the Misses Reed and Master Reed, because Missis kindly allows you to be brought up with them. They will have a great deal of money, and you will have none: it is your place to be humble, and to try to make yourself agreeable to them."17 "What we tell you is for your good," added Bessie, in no harsh voice, "you should try to be useful and pleasant, then, perhaps, you would have a home here; but if you become passionate and rude, Missis will send you away, I am sure."18 "Besides," said Miss Abbot, "God will punish her: He might strike her dead in the midst of her tantrums, and then where would she go? Come, Bessie, we will leave her: I wouldn't have her heart for anything. Say your prayers, Miss Eyre, when you are by yourself; for if you don't repent, something bad might be permitted to come down the chimney and fetch you away."QuestionWhich best describes how the point of view of this passage relates to its theme?ResponsesA The narrator believes that her own foolishness is the cause of her richly-deserved punishment.The narrator believes that her own foolishness is the cause of her richly-deserved punishment.B The narrator condemns herself for being so disrespectful in her behavior to these two godly women.The narrator condemns herself for being so disrespectful in her behavior to these two godly women.C The narrator feels greatly wronged by her abuse at the hands of these two cruel and judgmental women.The narrator feels greatly wronged by her abuse at the hands of these two cruel and judgmental women.D The narrator believes that the treatment she is receiving at the hands of these two women is entirely justified.

Jane EyreCharlotte BronteChapter 11 There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question.2 I was glad of it: I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, and humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed.3 The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round their mama in the drawing-room: she lay reclined on a sofa by the fireside, and with her darlings about her (for the time neither quarrelling nor crying) looked perfectly happy. Me, she had dispensed from joining the group; saying, "She regretted to be under the necessity of keeping me at a distance; but that until she heard from Bessie, and could discover by her own observation, that I was endeavouring in good earnest to acquire a more sociable and childlike disposition, a more attractive and sprightly manner-- something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were--she really must exclude me from privileges intended only for contented, happy, little children."4 "What does Bessie say I have done?" I asked.5 "Jane, I don't like cavillers or questioners; besides, there is something truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that manner. Be seated somewhere; and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent."6 A breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room, I slipped in there. It contained a bookcase: I soon possessed myself of a volume, taking care that it should be one stored with pictures. I mounted into the window-seat: gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk; and, having drawn the red moreen curtain nearly close, I was shrined in double retirement.7 Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November day. At intervals, while turning over the leaves of my book, I studied the aspect of that winter afternoon. Afar, it offered a pale blank of mist and cloud; near a scene of wet lawn and storm-beat shrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a long and lamentable blast.8 I returned to my book--Bewick's History of British Birds: the letterpress thereof I cared little for, generally speaking; and yet there were certain introductory pages that, child as I was, I could not pass quite as a blank. They were those which treat of the haunts of sea-fowl; of "the solitary rocks and promontories" by them only inhabited; of the coast of Norway, studded with isles from its southern extremity, the Lindeness, or Naze, to the North Cape.9 "Where the Northern Ocean, in vast whirls, Boils round the naked, melancholy isles Of farthest Thule; and the Atlantic surge Pours in among the stormy Hebrides."10 Nor could I pass unnoticed the suggestion of the bleak shores of Lapland, Siberia, Spitzbergen, Nova Zembla, Iceland, Greenland, with "the vast sweep of the Arctic Zone, and those forlorn regions of dreary space,--that reservoir of frost and snow, where firm fields of ice, the accumulation of centuries of winters, glazed in Alpine heights above heights, surround the pole, and concentre the multiplied rigours of extreme cold." Of these death-white realms I formed an idea of my own: shadowy, like all the half-comprehended notions that float dim through children's brains, but strangely impressive. The words in these introductory pages connected themselves with the succeeding vignettes, and gave significance to the rock standing up alone in a sea of billow and spray; to the broken boat stranded on a desolate coast; to the cold and ghastly moon glancing through bars of cloud at a wreck just sinking.11 I cannot tell what sentiment haunted the quite solitary churchyard, with its inscribed headstone; its gate, its two trees, its low horizon, girdled by a broken wall, and its newly-risen crescent, attesting the hour of eventide.12 The two ships becalmed on a torpid sea, I believed to be marine phantoms.13 The fiend pinning down the thief's pack behind him, I passed over quickly: it was an object of terror.14 So was the black horned thing seated aloof on a rock, surveying a distant crowd surrounding a gallows.15 Each picture told a story; mysterious often to my undeveloped understanding and imperfect feelings, yet ever profoundly interesting: as interesting as the tales Bessie sometimes narrated on winter evenings, when she chanced to be in good humour; and when, having brought her ironing-table to the nursery hearth, she allowed us to sit about it, and while she got up Mrs. Reed's lace frills, and crimped her nightcap borders, fed our eager attention with passages of love and adventure taken from old fairy tales and other ballads; or (as at a later period I discovered) from the pages of Pamela, and Henry, Earl of Moreland.QuestionWhat does the term 'chidings' mean as it is used in the second paragraph?ResponsesA commendationscommendationsB flatteryflatteryC lectureslecturesD storiesstories

The following text is from Charlotte Brontë’s 1847 novel Jane Eyre.Jane is trying to decide whether or not to accept a proposal of marriage. Feeling . . . clamoured wildly. “Oh, comply!” it said. “. . . soothe him; save him; love him; tell him you love him and will be his. Who in the world cares for you? or who will be injured by what you do?” Still indomitable was the reply: “I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself. I will keep the law given by God; sanctioned by man. I will hold to the principles received by me when I was sane, and not mad—as I am now. Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation. . . . They have a worth—so I have always believed; and if I cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane—quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs.According to the text, what is true about Jane? Jane must remind herself that she is a good person. eliminateJane is often overcome with emotion. eliminateJane is unwilling to sacrifice her self-respect. eliminateJane is struggling with issues of mental health. eliminate

The following passage is an excerpt from Charlotte Brontë's 1847 novel 'Jane Eyre'. After the death of both her parents, Jane is taken home by her uncle where her aunt forbids her from playing. She finds a curtained window seat where she can read."Jane, I don't like cavilers or questioners; besides, there is something truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that manner. Be seated somewhere; and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent."A breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room, I slipped in there. It contained a bookcase: I soon possessed myself of a volume, taking care that it should be one stored with pictures. I mounted into the window-seat: gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk; and having drawn the red moreen curtain nearly close, I was enshrined in double retirement.6Mark for ReviewABCThe narrator uses the phrase "double retirement" to emphasize that she hadAstopped interacting with anyoneBgiven up active participationCcut herself off from the worldDlost interest in everything

British writer Jean Rhys grew up on the Caribbean island of Dominica in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, but spent most of her life in England.  Her most famous novel, Wide Sargasso Sea, is a prequel to Charlotte Bronte’s ------- is told from the point of view of Mr. Rochester’s first wife as her mental health deteriorates and she becomes the “madwoman in the attic.”Which choice completes the text so that it conforms to the conventions of Standard English?Jane Eyre iteliminateJane Eyre, iteliminateJane Eyre and iteliminateJane Eyre. It