(1) On my nineteenth birthday, I began my trip to Mali, West Africa.
(2) Some 24 hours later I arrived in Bamako, the capital of Mali.
(3) The sun had set and the night was starless.
(4) One of the officials from the literacy program I was working was there to meet me.
(5) After the melee in the baggage claim, we proceeded to his car.
(6) Actually, it was a truck.
(7) I was soon to learn that most people in Mali that had automobiles actually had trucks or SUVs.
(8) Apparently, there not just a convenience but a necessity when you live on the edge of the Sahara.
(9) I threw my bags into the bed of the truck, and hopped in to the back of the cab.
(10) Riding to my welcome dinner, I stared out the windows of the truck and took in the city.
(11) It was truly a foreign land to me, and I knew that I was an alien there.
(12) "What am I doing here?" I thought.
(13) It is hard to believe but seven months later I returned to the same airport along the same road that I
had traveled on that first night in Bamako, and my perspective on the things that I saw had completely
changed.
(14) The landscape that had once seemed so desolate and lifeless now was the homeland of people that I
had come to love.
(15) When I looked back at the capital, Bamako, fast receding on the horizon, I did not see a city
foreboding and wild in its foreignness.
(16) I saw the city which held so many dear friends.
(17) I saw teadrinking sessions going late into the night.
(18) I saw the hospitality and open-heartedness of the people of Mali.
(19) The second time, everything looked completely different, and I knew that it was I who had changed
and not it.
Which of the following is the best way to revise sentence 7 (reproduced below)? I was soon to learn that
most people in Mali that had automobiles actually had trucks or SUVs.

• A. Change "I was soon to learn" to "I was soon learning"
• B. Change "that had automobiles" to "who had automobiles"
• C. Replace "or" with "and"
• D. Add an apostrophe to make "SUVs" read "SUV's
• E. Add commas after "Mali" and "automobiles"

George Washington served as president of the Constitutional Convention in 1787, and was then elected
President of the United States in 1789. This is from his first address to Congress. Such being the
impressions under which I have, in obedience to the public summons, repaired to the present station, it
would be peculiarly improper to omit, in this first official act, my fervent supplications to the Almighty Being,
who rules over the universe, who presides in the councils of nations, and whose providential aids can
supply every human defect, that his benediction may consecrate to the liberties and happiness of the
people of the United States a government instituted by themselves for these essential purposes, and may
enable every instrument employed in its administration to execute with success the functions allotted to
his charge. In tendering this homage to the great Author of every public and private good, I assure myself
that it expresses your sentiments not less than my own; nor those of my fellow-citizens at large, less than
either. No people can be bound to acknowledge and adore the invisible hand, which conducts the affairs
of men, more than the people of the United States.
Every step, by which they have advanced to the character of an independent nation, seems to have been
distinguished by some token of providential agency. And, in the important revolution just accomplished in
the system of their united government, the tranquil deliberations and voluntary consent of so many distinct
communities, from which the event has resulted, cannot be compared with the means by which most
governments have been established, without some return of pious gratitude along with a humble
anticipation of the future blessings which the past seems to presage. These reflections, arising out of the
present crisis, have forced themselves too strongly on my mind to be suppressed. You will join with me, I
trust, in thinking that there are none, under the influence of which the proceedings of a new and free
government can more auspiciously commence.
By the article establishing the executive department, it is made the duty of the President "to recommend
to your consideration such measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient." The circumstances,
under which I now meet you, will acquit me from entering into that subject farther than to refer you to the
great constitutional charter under which we are assembled; and which, in defining your powers,
designates the objects to which your attention is to be given. It will be more consistent with those
circumstances, and far more congenial with the feelings which actuate me, to substitute, in place of a
recommendation of particular measures, the tribute that is due to the talents, the rectitude, and the
patriotism, which adorn the characters selected to devise and adopt them. In these honorable
qualifications I behold the surest pledges, that as, on one side, no local prejudices or attachments, no
separate views or party animosities, will misdirect the comprehensive and equal eye, which ought to
watch over this great assemblage of communities and interests; so, on another, that the foundations of
our national policy will be laid in the pure and immutable principles of private morality, and the
preeminence of a free government be exemplified by all the attributes, which can win the affections of its
citizens, and command the respect of the world.
The word acquit (3rd line of last paragraph) is used to mean

• A. sentence
• B. discontinue
• C. excuse
• D. reject
• E. act

Mathew ascended three flights of stairs--passed half-way down a long arched gallery--and knocked at
another old-fashioned oak door. This time the signal was answered. A low, clear, sweet voice, inside the
room, inquired who was waiting without? In a few hasty words Mathew told his errand. Before he had
done speaking the door was quietly and quickly opened, and Sarah Leeson confronted him on the
threshold, with her candle in her hand.
Not tall, not handsome, not in her first youth--shy and irresolute in manner--simple in dress to the utmost
limits of plainness--the lady's-maid, in spite of all these disadvantages, was a woman whom it was
impossible to look at without a feeling of curiosity, if not of interest. Few men, at first sight of her, could
have resisted the desire to find out who she was; few would have been satisfied with receiving for answer,
She is Mrs. Treverton's maid; few would have refrained from the attempt to extract some secret
information for themselves from her face and manner; and none, not even the most patient and practiced
of observers, could have succeeded in discovering more than that she must have passed through the
ordeal of some great suffering at some former period of her life. Much in her manner, and more in her face,
said plainly and sadly: I am the wreck of something that you might once have liked to see; a wreck that
can never be repaired--that must drift on through life unnoticed, unguided, unpitied--drift till the fatal shore
is touched, and the waves of Time have swallowed up these broken relics of me forever.
This was the story that was told in Sarah Leeson's face--this, and no more. No two men interpreting that
story for themselves, would probably have agreed on the nature of the suffering which this woman had
undergone. It was hard to say, at the outset, whether the past pain that had set its ineffaceable mark on
her had been pain of the body or pain of the mind. But whatever the nature of the affliction she had
suffered, the traces it had left were deeply and strikingly visible in every part of her face.
Her cheeks had lost their roundness and their natural color; her lips, singularly flexible in movement and
delicate in form, had faded to an unhealthy paleness; her eyes, large and black and overshadowed by
unusually thick lashes, had contracted an anxious startled look, which never left them and which piteously
expressed the painful acuteness of her sensibility, the inherent timidity of her disposition. So far, the
marks which sorrow or sickness had set on her were the marks common to most victims of mental or
physical suffering. The one extraordinary personal deterioration which she had undergone consisted in
the unnatural change that had passed over the color of her hair. It was as thick and soft, it grew as
gracefully, as the hair of a young girl; but it was as gray as the hair of an old woman. It seemed to
contradict, in the most startling manner, every personal assertion of youth that still existed in her face.
With all its haggardness and paleness, no one could have looked at it and supposed for a moment that it
was the face of an elderly woman. Wan as they might be, there was not a wrinkle in her cheeks. Her eyes,
viewed apart from their prevailing expression of uneasiness and timidity, still preserved that bright, clear
moisture which is never seen in the eyes of the old. The skin about her temples was as delicately smooth
as the skin of a child. These and other physical signs which never mislead, showed that she was still, as
to years, in the very prime of her life.
Sickly and sorrow-stricken as she was, she looked, from the eyes downward, a woman who had barely
reached thirty years of age. From the eyes upward, the effect of her abundant gray hair, seen in
connection with her face, was not simply incongruous--it was absolutely startling; so startling as to make it
no paradox to say that she would have looked most natural, most like herself if her hair had been dyed. In
her case, Art would have seemed to be the truth, because Nature looked like falsehood. What shock had
stricken her hair, in the very maturity of its luxuriance, with the hue of an unnatural old age? Was it a
serious illness, or a dreadful grief that had turned her gray in the prime of her womanhood? That question
had often been agitated among her fellow-servants, who were all struck by the peculiarities of her
personal appearance, and rendered a little suspicious of her, as well, by an inveterate habit that she had
of talking to herself. Inquire as they might, however, their curiosity was always baffled. Nothing more
could be discovered than that Sarah Leeson was, in the common phrase, touchy on the subject of her
gray hair and her habit of talking to herself, and that Sarah Leeson's mistress had long since forbidden
every one, from her husband downward, to ruffle her maid's tranquility by inquisitive questions.
In context, the word "wan" in the passage most nearly means

• A. pale.
• B. pretty.
• C. pink.
• D. shapely.
• E. round.

F. Scott Fitzgerald was a prominent American writer of the twentieth century. This passage comes from
one of his short stories and tells the story of a young John Unger leaving home for boarding school. John
T. Unger came from a family that had been well known in Hades a small town on the Mississippi River for
several generations. John's father had held the amateur golf championship through many a heated
contest; Mrs. Unger was known "from hot-box to hot-bed," as the local phrase went, for her political
addresses; and young John T. Unger, who had just turned sixteen, had danced all the latest dances from
New York before he put on long trousers. And now, for a certain time, he was to be away from home
That respect for a New England education which is the bane of all provincial places, which drains them
yearly of their most promising young men, had seized upon his parents.
Nothing would suit them but that he should go to St. Midas's School near Boston-Hades was too small to
hold their darling and gifted son. Now in Hades-as you know if you ever have been there the names of the
more fashionable preparatory schools and colleges mean very little. The inhabitants have been so long
out of the world that, though they make a show of keeping up-to-date in dress and manners and literature,
they depend to a great extent on hearsay, and a function that in Hades would be considered elaborate
would doubtless be hailed by a Chicago beef-princess as "perhaps a little tacky."
John T. Unger was on the eve of departure. Mrs. Unger, with maternal fatuity, packed his trunks full of
linen suits and electric fans, and Mr. Unger presented his son with an asbestos pocket-book stuffed with
money.
"Remember, you are always welcome here," he said. "You can be sure, boy, that we'll keep the home
fires burning." "I know," answered John huskily.
"Don't forget who you are and where you come from," continued his father proudly, "and you can do
nothing to harm you. You are an Unger-from Hades."
So the old man and the young shook hands, and John walked away with tears streaming from his eyes.
Ten minutes later he had passed outside the city limits and he stopped to glance back for the last time.
Over the gates the old-fashioned Victorian motto seemed strangely attractive to him. His father had tried
time and time again to have it changed to something with a little more push and verve about it, such as
"Hades-Your Opportunity," or else a plain "Welcome" sign set over a hearty handshake pricked out in
electric lights. The old motto was a little depressing, Mr. Unger had thought-but now.
So John took his look and then set his face resolutely toward his destination. And, as he turned away, the
lights of Hades against the sky seemed full of a warm and passionate beauty.
From the conversation between John and his father in paragraphs 3-6, it can be inferred that John feels

• A. relieved but apprehensive.
• B. impassive and indifferent.
• C. resigned but filled with dread.
• D. rejected and angry.
• E. melancholic but composed.