English I Quiz 2: 3 August 2025 (May 2025 term)

Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions
My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.
People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest.
From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages.
The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass, Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain.
Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

Where did the narrator’s mother and father meet?

Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions
My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.
People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest.
From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages.
The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass, Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain.
Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

Woes refer to _____.

Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions
My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.
People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest.
From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages.
The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass, Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain.
Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

Which of the following is NOT a part of the cacophony created by the rain?

Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions
My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.
People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest.
From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages.
The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass, Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain.
Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

During the months of rain, mysterious vegetations sometimes sprouted from _____.

Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions
My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.
People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest.
From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages.
The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass, Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain.
Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

The rain drove the residents of Limerick into _____, which acted as their only dry place.

Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions
My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.
People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest.
From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages.
The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass, Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain.
Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

State true or false.
The narrator’s sister Margaret was four years old when his parents moved back to Ireland.

Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions
My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.
People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest.
From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages.
The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass, Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain.
Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

On the basis of your reading of the passage, which of the following is NOT true?
i. To prepare a home remedy for clearing congested passages, a paste is made out of boiled flour and nettles.
ii. The paste is wrapped in a rag while still hot.
iii. The rag with the paste is slapped on the chest after it has cooled down.

Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions
My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.
People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest.
From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages.
The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass, Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain.
Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

What, according to the narrator, figuratively settles forever in Limerick?

Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions
My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.
People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest.
From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages.
The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass, Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain.
Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

The happy childhood is hardly worth your while.
What does it mean for an activity to be worth someone’s while?

Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions
My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone. When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.
People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. Above all—we were wet. Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick.The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year’s Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest.
From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week’s wages.
The rain drove us into the church—our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass, Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest-drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain.
Excerpted from: McCourt, Frank. Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir. E-book ed., Scribner, 1996, pp.11-12.

In the phrase the stale fumes of spilled stout, the word stout is used as:

Read the excerpt given below and fill in the blanks with those forms of the verbs which best fit the passage from the options provided. Your chosen answer should maintain the tense consistency of the excerpt.
Wasobiowe [i] _____ in the neighbourhood of Nagasaki. He loved nothing better than to spend his days far out at sea, fishing from a little boat. Once, when the eighth full moon [ii] _____—which in Japan is called the “bean moon” and is the most beautiful of all—Wasobiowe started on a long voyage. Leisurely he [iii] _____ the coast, and rejoiced in the bold outlines of the rocks seen by the light of the moon. But, without warning, black clouds gathered overhead. The storm [iv] _____, the rain poured down, and darkness fell. The waves were lashed into fury, and the little boat was driven swift as an arrow before the wind. For three days and nights the hurricane raged. As dawn [v] _____ on the fourth morning, the wind was stilled, and the sea grew calm.
Excerpted from: Old-World Japan: Legends of the Land of the Gods. Retold by Frank Rinder, The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, 2014, p. 77.
Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Find the appropriate verb form to fill in blank [i].

Read the excerpt given below and fill in the blanks with those forms of the verbs which best fit the passage from the options provided. Your chosen answer should maintain the tense consistency of the excerpt.
Wasobiowe [i] _____ in the neighbourhood of Nagasaki. He loved nothing better than to spend his days far out at sea, fishing from a little boat. Once, when the eighth full moon [ii] _____—which in Japan is called the “bean moon” and is the most beautiful of all—Wasobiowe started on a long voyage. Leisurely he [iii] _____ the coast, and rejoiced in the bold outlines of the rocks seen by the light of the moon. But, without warning, black clouds gathered overhead. The storm [iv] _____, the rain poured down, and darkness fell. The waves were lashed into fury, and the little boat was driven swift as an arrow before the wind. For three days and nights the hurricane raged. As dawn [v] _____ on the fourth morning, the wind was stilled, and the sea grew calm.
Excerpted from: Old-World Japan: Legends of the Land of the Gods. Retold by Frank Rinder, The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, 2014, p. 77.
Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Find the appropriate verb form to fill in blank [ii].

Read the excerpt given below and fill in the blanks with those forms of the verbs which best fit the passage from the options provided. Your chosen answer should maintain the tense consistency of the excerpt.
Wasobiowe [i] _____ in the neighbourhood of Nagasaki. He loved nothing better than to spend his days far out at sea, fishing from a little boat. Once, when the eighth full moon [ii] _____—which in Japan is called the “bean moon” and is the most beautiful of all—Wasobiowe started on a long voyage. Leisurely he [iii] _____ the coast, and rejoiced in the bold outlines of the rocks seen by the light of the moon. But, without warning, black clouds gathered overhead. The storm [iv] _____, the rain poured down, and darkness fell. The waves were lashed into fury, and the little boat was driven swift as an arrow before the wind. For three days and nights the hurricane raged. As dawn [v] _____ on the fourth morning, the wind was stilled, and the sea grew calm.
Excerpted from: Old-World Japan: Legends of the Land of the Gods. Retold by Frank Rinder, The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, 2014, p. 77.
Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Find the appropriate verb form to fill in blank [iii].

Read the excerpt given below and fill in the blanks with those forms of the verbs which best fit the passage from the options provided. Your chosen answer should maintain the tense consistency of the excerpt.
Wasobiowe [i] _____ in the neighbourhood of Nagasaki. He loved nothing better than to spend his days far out at sea, fishing from a little boat. Once, when the eighth full moon [ii] _____—which in Japan is called the “bean moon” and is the most beautiful of all—Wasobiowe started on a long voyage. Leisurely he [iii] _____ the coast, and rejoiced in the bold outlines of the rocks seen by the light of the moon. But, without warning, black clouds gathered overhead. The storm [iv] _____, the rain poured down, and darkness fell. The waves were lashed into fury, and the little boat was driven swift as an arrow before the wind. For three days and nights the hurricane raged. As dawn [v] _____ on the fourth morning, the wind was stilled, and the sea grew calm.
Excerpted from: Old-World Japan: Legends of the Land of the Gods. Retold by Frank Rinder, The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, 2014, p. 77.
Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Find the appropriate verb form to fill in blank [iv].

Read the excerpt given below and fill in the blanks with those forms of the verbs which best fit the passage from the options provided. Your chosen answer should maintain the tense consistency of the excerpt.
Wasobiowe [i] _____ in the neighbourhood of Nagasaki. He loved nothing better than to spend his days far out at sea, fishing from a little boat. Once, when the eighth full moon [ii] _____—which in Japan is called the “bean moon” and is the most beautiful of all—Wasobiowe started on a long voyage. Leisurely he [iii] _____ the coast, and rejoiced in the bold outlines of the rocks seen by the light of the moon. But, without warning, black clouds gathered overhead. The storm [iv] _____, the rain poured down, and darkness fell. The waves were lashed into fury, and the little boat was driven swift as an arrow before the wind. For three days and nights the hurricane raged. As dawn [v] _____ on the fourth morning, the wind was stilled, and the sea grew calm.
Excerpted from: Old-World Japan: Legends of the Land of the Gods. Retold by Frank Rinder, The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, 2014, p. 77.
Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Find the appropriate verb form to fill in blank [v].

Choose the correct option.
Avilash ___________ the strike really well.

Choose the correct option.
A majority of the city ___________ unaware of the events.

Fill in the blank with future perfect progressive tense form.
At the end of this term, I _________ French for about 10 years. In another 10 years, I might be fluent!

Choose the future perfect continuous tense sentence from the following options:

Choose the correct option.
There ___________ a hundred people gathered here today.

How many syllables are there in the word Implementation?

How many syllables are there in the word Repentance?

The word limitation is stressed as ______.

The word constraint is stressed as ______ .

‘Since last month, there has been a decrease in the amount of cereals sold for the same price.’ Choose the appropriate stress for the usage of the word ‘decrease’ in the sentence.

In the plural noun dishes, the plural marker sounds as ________.

In the plural noun landscapes, the plural marker sounds as ________.

In the plural noun factories, the plural marker sounds as ________.

‘The site of the protest looked bloody and chaotic.’
Choose the appropriate stress for the usage of the word ‘protest’ in the sentence.

The plural markers for the words ‘meetings’, ‘discussions’, and ‘presentations’ are _________.

Which of the following has an aspirated stop?

Which of the following has an aspirated stop ?

Identify whether the sound /t/ (in bold) in the following word are aspirated or not.
Passionate

The consonant cluster in the word jump is an instance of _________.

The word validity stressed as ___________ (stress is indicated in bold)

Fill in the blanks in List A with the most appropriate options in List B. There is only one fitting answer for each blank.

Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

The sheep in their farm _____ of a breed called Barbados Black Belly; they love to graze.

Fill in the blanks in List A with the most appropriate options in List B. There is only one fitting answer for each blank.

Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

The deer _____ a herbivore.

Fill in the blanks in List A with the most appropriate options in List B. There is only one fitting answer for each blank.

Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Unless they talk, and very loudly at that, no one _____ any attention in this world.

Fill in the blanks in List A with the most appropriate options in List B. There is only one fitting answer for each blank.

Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

Do these scissors _____ rusty?

Fill in the blanks in List A with the most appropriate options in List B. There is only one fitting answer for each blank.

Based on the above data, answer the given subquestions.

The officer said that the most disturbing fact about the murder last week _____ the dismembering of the victim’s body.