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ENG II Characters, Plot and Theme Blizzard Bag 2014 - 2015
Bitterness of Women
by Mary Austin
Louis Chabot was sitting under the fig tree in his father's garden at Tres Pinos when he told
Marguerita Dupré that he could not love her. This sort of thing happened so often to Louis that
he did it very well and rather enjoyed it. He was one of those before whom women bloomed
instinctively and preened themselves, and that Marguerita loved him very much was known not
only to Louis, but to all Tres Pinos.
It was bright mid-afternoon, and there was no sound in Dupré's garden louder than the
dropping of ripe figs and the drip of the hydrant under the Castilian roses. A mile out of town
Chabot's flock dozed on their feet with their heads under one another's bellies, and his herders
dozed on the ground with their heads under the plaited tops of the sage. Old Dupré sat out in
front of his own front yard, with a handkerchief over his face, and slept very soundly. Chabot
sat back in his chair and explained to Marguerita point by point why he did not love her.
Marguerita leaned her fat arms on the table, wrapped in her blue reboza; she leaned
forward, looking steadily and quietly at Louis, because she was afraid if she so much as let her
lids droop the tears would come and if she smiled her lips would quiver. Marguerita felt that
she had not invited this, neither had she known how to avoid it.
adapted from Stories from the Country of Lost Borders by Mary Austin
1. Which of the following is a major conflict for Marguerita?
A. She did not invite Louis to the garden.
B. Her boyfriend is loved by many women.
C. She wants to break up with Louis.
D. Her boyfriend does not love her.
2. Which of the following is developed in this passage?
A. the resolution to Louis and Marguerita's conflict
B. the history behind Marguerita's love affair with Louis
C. the turning point in Louis' relationships with women
D. the complication between Marguerita and Louis
3.
Directions: Select the correct text in the passage.
Which sentence shows how the narrator's poor emotional and physical health impacts his
actions?
from Frankenstein
by Mary Shelley
It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an
anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I
might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the
morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out,
when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature
open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.
How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom
with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I
had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered
the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his
teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his
watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in which they
were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.
The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature. I had
worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body.
For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour that far
exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and
breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had
created, I rushed out of the room and continued a long time traversing my bed-chamber,
unable to compose my mind to sleep. At length lassitude succeeded to the tumult I had before
endured, and I threw myself on the bed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of
forgetfulness. But it was in vain; I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I
thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted
and surprised, I embraced her, but as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid
with the hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I held the corpse of
my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling
in the folds of the flannel. I started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my
forehead, my teeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed; when, by the dim and yellow
light of the moon, as it forced its way through the window shutters, I beheld the wretch—the
miserable monster whom I had created. He held up the curtain of the bed; and his eyes, if eyes
they may be called, were fixed on me. His jaws opened, and he muttered some inarticulate
sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have spoken, but I did not hear; one hand
was stretched out, seemingly to detain me, but I escaped and rushed downstairs. I took refuge
in the courtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited, where I remained during the rest of
the night, walking up and down in the greatest agitation, listening attentively, catching and
fearing each sound as if it were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I
had so miserably given life.
Oh! No mortal could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy again endued with
animation could not be so hideous as that wretch. I had gazed on him while unfinished; he was
ugly then, but when those muscles and joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a
thing such as even Dante could not have conceived.
I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and hardly that I felt the
palpitation of every artery; at others, I nearly sank to the ground through languor and extreme
weakness. Mingled with this horror, I felt the bitterness of disappointment; dreams that had
been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a hell to me; and the
change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete!
Morning, dismal and wet, at length dawned and discovered to my sleepless and aching eyes
the church of Ingolstadt, its white steeple and clock, which indicated the sixth hour. The porter
opened the gates of the court, which had that night been my asylum, and I issued into the
streets, pacing them with quick steps, as if I sought to avoid the wretch whom I feared every
turning of the street would present to my view.I did not dare return to the apartment which I
inhabited, but felt impelled to hurry on, although drenched by the rain which poured from a
black and comfortless sky.
One Swing
Brenden saw the hockey stick swinging up, but it was too late to react. The hockey stick
crashed into his upper chest, knocking Brenden backwards onto the ice. Looking up, he saw a
flash of a white jersey speeding away. He knew who had hit him. It was Jackson.
The team trainers and Coach Kyle skated quickly to Brenden. He had not gotten up, and they
were afraid he was hurt. They found that Brenden was fine physically, but emotionally, he was
a storm.
“I saw what that bully did,” Coach Kyle said. “I know how you feel, but you have to forget
about it. Focus on the game, not Jackson.”
Brenden calmed down once he got up and began playing again. Brenden ignored Jackson and
played a clean game. With the incident forgotten, Brenden scored two extra goals for his team.
At halftime, the players began skating toward the benches for a break. Brenden saw a
familiar flash of white heading toward Timothy, a small freshman that played on his team.
Timothy suddenly crashed onto the ice as Jackson slipped away.
“Hey,” Brenden shouted. “I saw what you did.” He pointed at the culprit.
Jackson put his hands up and looked at everyone like he didn’t know what happened. Then,
he smirked at Brenden and rolled his eyes.
A fire in Brenden began burning hot. He streaked across the ice and grabbed that white
jersey. Jackson didn’t have his helmet on, and Brenden slammed his fist into Jackson’s cheek.
Brenden was about to land another punch, when he felt strong arms pulling him away. It was
Coach Kyle.
Brenden’s heart stopped when he looked in the coach’s eyes. Disappointment poured out of
the coach.
“I taught you better than that,” Coach Kyle grumbled. “I’m benching you until you can
behave like the kind of player I want on my team.”
4. Brenden's experience helps him learn the value of
A. winning no matter what.
B. treating others with respect.
C. appreciating a friend's help.
D. practicing to improve skills.
5. Which excerpt shows how the author supports the theme of sportsmanship through
Brenden's characterization?
A. "At halftime, the players began skating toward the benches for a break."
B. "Brenden ignored Jackson and played a clean game."
C. "He streaked across the ice and grabbed that white jersey."
D. "Then, he smirked at Brenden and rolled his eyes."
The last transport had left for Sigma Colony at 10:00 p.m. Michael had not been on it. Instead,
he had sat in the terminal watching everyone else board, munching on a bag of Chocolate Puffs
and thinking that everyone on that transport was a sucker. He would hear about this stunt the
same way he’d heard about the last one—from his manager, his manager’s manager, the
director, and probably his mom. And Hector.
His phone twitched in his jacket pocket. Michael let it twitch three, four, and five times
before he reached for it. “Hey, Hec! I dodged the transport!”
“No kidding. I’m not covering for you this time, Michael. I mean it,” Hector said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Michael replied.
“Yeah, yeah, is right. You can explain it. You can explain how everyone from here to Sigma to
Earth has given you second chances and you throw them back in everyone’s face.”
“Okay, Hec, I’m sorry. I said I’m sorry, is that what you want to hear?” Michael said.
Michael couldn’t even hear Hector breathe. “No, Michael, that isn’t what I want to hear,
because you don’t mean it. I want to hear that you did what you were supposed to do for once
and followed through on a great opportunity. You know, little brother, someone with your track
record isn’t going to make it unless he . . .”
Michael sighed, holding the phone away from his ear as Hector gave his usual rehearsed
speech. Something about how Michael needed to “straighten up and fly right” or some such
cliché. He shot his empty bag of Chocolate Puffs at the garbage can, missed, and laid across five
or six seats as if nobody else in the terminal needed to sit down except for him.
When he finally put the phone back to his ear, Hector was still doing his big brother-tough
love routine. “And this is the last time, Michael. I’m not helping you. Whatever anybody does,
you feel the need to do the opposite. And no one—no one, do you hear me?—is going to give
you a pass on this one.”
Michael didn’t care. He didn’t want to live on Sigma Colony with a bunch of stuffed shirts. He
didn’t want to live on Earth with all their rules. He didn’t want to live here at Delta Base either,
where people just thought about money, money, and more money. Michael didn’t know what
he wanted, but whatever it was, he would do it his own way.
6. The author depicts Michael laying across the seats at the terminal to show that
A. Michael is waiting for Hector.
B. Michael is tired from working.
C. Michael works at the terminal.
D. Michael thinks only of himself.
7. Based on information in the passage, which word best describes Michael?
A. sensitive
B. intelligent
C. rebellious
D. excitable
Unless one is wealthy, there is no use in being charming. Romance is the privilege of the rich.
The poor should be practical and common. It is better to have a permanent income than to be
fascinating. These are the great truths of modern life, which poor Hughie Erskine never realized.
To make matters worse, he was in love. He loved Laura Merton, the daughter of a retired
colonel. Laura adored him. They were the handsomest couple in London, without a penny-piece
between them. The Colonel was fond of Hughie, but would not hear of an engagement.
"Come to me, my boy, when you have ten thousand pounds, and we will see," he used to
say. Hughie looked glum on these days.
One morning, he was on his way to the Mertons. He dropped by to see a friend, Alan Trevor.
Trevor was a painter.
When Hughie came in, Trevor was finishing a life-size picture of a beggar-man. The beggar
was standing on a raised platform in a corner of the studio. He was a wizened old man with a
wrinkled face and a piteous expression. With one hand, he leaned on a rough stick. With the
other, he held out his battered hat for alms.
After some time, the servant came in and told Trevor the frame-maker wanted to speak to
him. Trevor went out for a bit, and the beggar-man rested on a wooden bench behind him.
Hughie pitied him and checked his pockets for money. He slipped his largest coin into the
beggar's hand.
The old man started, and a smile flitted across his lips. "Thank you, sir," he said.
When Trevor came back, Hughie left, blushing at what he did. Later, Trevor told Hughie
about the beggar-man.
"That old beggar is one of the richest men in Europe. He was Baron Hausberg, a great friend
of mine. He buys all of my pictures. He is a millionaire!" Trevor said.
"Baron Hausberg!" cried Hughie. "I am an unlucky devil. Please say nothing. I am so
embarrassed."
The next morning, Hughie was at breakfast when Baron Hausberg's servant came to the
house. "Please offer the Baron my apologies," Hughie said.
"The Baron," the servant said, "has asked me to bring you this letter."
The outside said, "A wedding present to Hugh Erksine and Laura Merton, from an old
beggar." Inside was a check for ten thousand pounds.
When they were married, Trevor was the best man. Baron Hausberg came to the wedding.
"Millionaire models," remarked Trevor, "are rare enough. Model millionaires are rarer still!"
adapted from "The Model Millionaire" by Oscar Wilde
8. Why can't Hughie and Laura marry at the beginning of the story?
A. Laura's father dislikes Hughie.
B. Hughie is already married.
C. Laura has no aristocratic title.
D. Hughie does not have money.
9. Why does Hughie feel embarrassed when Trevor tells him about the beggar?
A. Hughie did not know the beggar was really a rich baron.
B. Hughie had not treated the beggar with any respect.
C. Hughie had told the beggar to clean himself up and get a job.
D. Hughie did not know that Trevor had already paid the beggar.
As he went down the narrow staircase, covered with its dingy and threadbare carpet, he found
the house so full of dirty yellow haze that he realized that the fog must be of the extraordinary
ones, which are remembered in after-years as abnormal specimens of their kind. He recalled
that there had been one of the sort three years before, that traffic and business had been
almost entirely stopped by it, that accidents had happened in the streets, and that people
having lost their way had wandered about turning corners until they found themselves far from
their intended destinations and obliged to take refuge in hotels or the houses of hospitable
strangers. Curious incidents had occurred, and odd stories were told by those who had felt
themselves obliged by circumstances to go out into the baffling gloom. He guessed that
something of a like nature had fallen upon the town again. The gas light on the landings and in
the melancholy hall burned feebly—so feebly that one got but a vague view of the rickety hat
stand and the shabby overcoats and headgear hanging upon it. It was well for him that he had
but a corner or so to turn before he reached the shop.
When he opened the street door he saw that the fog was, upon the whole, perhaps even
heavier and more obscuring, if possible, than the one so well remembered. He could not see
anything three feet before him; he could not see with distinctness anything two feet ahead. The
sensation of stepping forward was uncertain and mysterious enough to be almost appalling. A
man not sufficiently cautious might have fallen into any open hole in his path. He kept as closely
as possible to the sides of the houses. It would have been easy to walk off the pavement into
the middle of the street but for the edges of the curb and the step downward from its level.
Traffic had almost absolutely ceased. The blind feeling of the thing was rather awful. Though
but few pedestrians were out, he found himself once or twice brushing against or coming into
forcible contact with men feeling their way about like himself.
"One turn to the right," he repeated mentally, "two to the left, and the place is at the corner
of the other side of the street."
He managed to reach it at last, but it had been a slow and long journey. All the gas jets the
little shop owned were lighted, but even under their flare the articles in the window hung in the
haze like the dreary, dangling ghosts of things recently executed.
adapted from The Dawn of a To-morrow by Frances Hodgson Burnett
10. Why is the man worried about falling into the street?
A. Any traffic would not be able to see him.
B. Other people would not help him get up.
C. He always gets embarrassed when he falls.
D. He has fallen into the street many times.
Overcoming
by J. Robbins
"What happens next?" asked Onegin as he stared up at the ceiling of the computer lab. His
friends Tatiana and Lensky groaned and shook their heads.
"This is too hard," Lensky complained. "Whose dumb idea was it to write a children's play
anyway? Our writing skills won't exactly earn us the Nobel Prize in literature. We don't even
know how to write a decent ending!"
"It was my dumb idea to write a play," admitted Tatiana nervously. "I'm sorry it is so
difficult—I didn't mean to cause all this trouble. The children at the hospital love to see plays
and skits, and I just want to help them feel better."
"We can do anything we put our minds to. The main point of our plot is that the characters
have to work together to find the magic sword," mused Onegin. "Maybe we should include
some danger and excitement? Nothing too scary, of course, but a little excitement should be
okay." Tatiana started to speak but sat back in her chair instead.
"Something exciting but not too scary? That sounds impossible," Lensky said with a
frustrated frown.
"Maybe this is too hard for us after all," sighed Tatiana. Suddenly, the door to the computer
lab opened, and a loud group of students entered.
"What are you three doing in here?" demanded Vlad, whose voice was even louder and
more piercing than usual. "I hope you don't mind that we're going to be spending the afternoon
in here. I just found a great new computer game, and my friends want to test it out."
"Couldn't you please find somewhere else to play?" Tatiana requested. "We are working on a
special project for the children's hospital, and we really need to concentrate."
"Oh, please," smirked Vlad. "Even I get better grades in English class than the three of you.
What makes you think you can write a whole play?" Lensky and Tatiana drooped visibly at
Vlad's harsh words, and Onegin felt his face turn red with anger.
"Some of us believe that kindness is more important than good grades," Onegin replied
hotly. "We are not going to give up on this play, and we're not going to leave. Every student in
this school has a right to use the computer lab." Vlad shook his head and turned away from the
three of them. He and his friends began playing games and pointedly ignoring Onegin and his
friends.
"I think I might have a good idea for the ending of our play," said Tatiana. "No, it's a great
idea! The main characters in our play are confronted with an evil dragon while searching for the
magic sword. They work together to overcome the dragon, and they earn the gratitude of the
entire village." Onegin grinned and gave Tatiana a high-five.
"That's the best idea I've heard all day," he told her. "In fact, I think we should name the evil
dragon 'Vlad.' What do you guys think?"
"It's perfect," agreed Tatiana. "Why don't you type as I tell you how the ending of the play
should go?"
Onegin typed quickly, and the play, complete with an exciting ending, was finished an hour
later. Lensky, in spite of his natural pessimism, felt his spirits lift. Vlad watched with a scowl as
the three friends laughed and talked together. He quietly grabbed his backpack and slunk out of
the room, leaving everyone behind him.
11. Based on the information in this passage, Onegin can best be described as
A. irritated.
B. determined.
C. unsympathetic.
D. bored.
"Hurry up!" called Tyndale to his friends as they entered the computer lab. "We only have
twelve hours until our test! Nehemiah, I hope you have a study plan for us today like you did
the last time we studied together." Essex rolled his eyes and tossed his backpack onto a table.
"Who cares, T?" Essex asked. "The time will pass whether we study or not. We should relax
with some popcorn and a movie instead of stressing ourselves out."
"We're here to study, Essex, not goof off," Nehemiah stated firmly. "Valancy and Perpetua
will write down three practice essay questions for the rest of us, and Tyndale will print five
copies of the study guide. Essex, you should read all four chapters in the textbook to catch up
with the rest of us." The four friends jumped into action at Nehemiah's words.
"Oh, no!" Tyndale exclaimed as he sat down in front of the computer. "Something is wrong
with this stupid machine. I just knew we were all going to fail this test."
"The computer isn't broken, Tyndale," Valancy snapped at him irritably. "You forgot to turn
the monitor on. Now calm down and get busy before you give yourself—and the rest of us—an
ulcer."
"These essay questions are too hard," complained Essex as Perpetua handed him a sheet of
paper. "It's already getting dark outside. We'll be stuck here all night at this rate."
"You're right, Essex," Nehemiah agreed to his friends' surprise. "We should order food to
keep our strength up. Perpetua, please call Pizza Qwik and ask my brother Yelchin to bring us
two pizzas." Perpetua grabbed her cell phone and left to place the order while the other four
students studied in silence.
"We have a problem, guys," she said as she rushed back into the computer lab. "Someone
forgot to tell the janitorial staff that we are staying late. They locked the front doors, and
there's no way for us to leave the building. Thank goodness the lights are left on automatically,
or we'd be sitting here in the dark all night!" Nehemiah, Tyndale, and Valancy stared at her in
disbelief. Essex winced and pulled his baseball cap down to shield his face.
"Wasn't Essex in charge of talking to the head janitor?" demanded Valancy. She slammed her
textbook closed and stared at Essex with undisguised anger. Essex glared back at her despite his
evident embarrassment.
"I asked you to talk to Mr. Petersmith about leaving the front doors open," Nehemiah said to
a red-faced Essex. "Now we're stuck here until morning. I hope you're happy."
"I'm really sorry, guys," Essex said with an apologetic smile. Everyone smiled back at him
kindly except for Valancy, who turned back to her textbook without a glance in his direction.
"At least we'll have plenty of time to study, and I have enough protein bars in my backpack
to keep us from starving to death," said Perpetua. "See? There is a bright side to every
situation."
"Twelve straight hours of studying? Excellent!" Tyndale cheered as he gave Perpetua a highfive. The worry lines on Tyndale's face began to disappear as he happily worked on his essay
questions.
"Let's get busy then!" said Nehemiah with a smile. "If I have to be stuck at school all night,
then I'm glad to have my friends with me."
12. How does Tyndale change as the story progresses?
A. from hostile to happy
B. from lazy to diligent
C. from excited to disappointed
D. from anxious to excited