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College Board SAT Exam Actual Questions
Scholastic Aptitude Test Exam (Page 3 )

Updated On: 31-Jul-2026
Page 3 of 117
PDF with 924 Questions

Your knowledge of English Literature `" to which I am indebted for the first faithful and intelligent translation of my novels into the Italian language `" has long since informed you, that there are certain important social topics which are held to be forbidden to the English novelist (no matter how seriously and how delicately he may treat them), by a narrow-minded minority of readers, and by the critics who flatter their prejudices. You also know, having done me the honor to read my books; that I respect my art far too sincerely to permit limits to be wantonly assigned to it, which are imposed in no other civilized country on the face of the earth.
When my work is undertaken with a pure purpose, I claim the same liberty which is accorded to a writer in a newspaper, or to a clergyman in a pulpit; knowing, by previous experience, that the increase of readers and the lapse of time will assuredly do me justice, if I have only written well enough to deserve it.
Which statement least describes the author's feelings about English critics?

  1. They are not educated enough to understand the social implications of these writings.
  2. They think more of their artificial airs than of dealing with current social issues.
  3. They do not know how to deal with enlightened authors so they forbid the reading of them.
  4. They wish their country to remain sheltered and backward by restricting authors' freedoms.
  5. They are wont to hold others who express views in various forums to the same restrictions as literary authors.

Answer(s): A

Explanation:

Correct answer: A
The passage explicitly states that English critics belong to a “narrow-minded minority” that “flatter[s] their prejudices” and impose “forbidden” social topics on novelists. The author’s complaint is that these critics lack the necessary education or insight to comprehend the broader social implications of his work; they therefore seek to suppress it. Option A captures this precise criticism: “They are not educated enough to understand the social implications of these writings.”
Why the other options are less suitable
B – The text never mentions “artificial airs”; it focuses on the critics’ ignorance, not on pretentiousness. C – The author does not claim that critics forbid reading enlightened authors; he argues they forbid writing about certain social issues. D – While the author laments restrictive attitudes, he does not attribute a deliberate desire for the country to stay “sheltered and backward” to the critics. E – The passage does not discuss critics applying the same restrictions to other forums; it is specifically about literary censorship.


Reference:

Literary criticism overview – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Literary_criticism English literature context – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/English_literature



Your knowledge of English Literature `" to which I am indebted for the first faithful and intelligent translation of my novels into the Italian language `" has long since informed you, that there are certain important social topics which are held to be forbidden to the English novelist (no matter how seriously and how delicately he may treat them), by a narrow-minded minority of readers, and by the critics who flatter their prejudices. You also know, having done me the honor to read my books; that I respect my art far too sincerely to permit limits to be wantonly assigned to it, which are imposed in no other civilized country on the face of the earth.
When my work is undertaken with a pure purpose, I claim the same liberty which is accorded to a writer in a newspaper, or to a clergyman in a pulpit; knowing, by previous experience, that the increase of readers and the lapse of time will assuredly do me justice, if I have only written well enough to deserve it.
Which selections best indicates how the author believes he will be vindicated?

  1. when sufficient people cry out for more liberal values
  2. when moral values deteriorate over time
  3. when well recognized enough to command acceptance
  4. when enough readers read over a prolonged period of time
  5. when the limiting country lessens its hold on literary writers

Answer(s): E

Explanation:

Answer(s): E – when the limiting country lessens its hold on literary writers
The passage argues that the author will be vindicated only when the external constraint that suppresses his work—namely, the “narrow-minded minority” and their “critics” who impose “forbidden” topics on English novelists—relaxes. He asserts that “the increase of readers and the lapse of time will assuredly do me justice” only if the country that imposes these limits “lessens its hold on literary writers.” Thus, vindication is contingent on the removal of that societal restriction, not on popularity, moral decline, or mere longevity of readership.
Why the other choices are unsuitable

A: “when sufficient people cry out for more liberal values” – The author never mentions public outcry as a vindicating force; he emphasizes the need for the country to loosen its grip, not for a vocal majority. B. “when moral values deteriorate over time” – He does not link vindication to a decline in morality; rather, he expects justice to come from the passage of time and wider readership, provided the restriction eases. C. “when well recognized enough to command acceptance” – Recognition alone is insufficient; the author stresses that even if he becomes well known, justice still depends on the removal of imposed limits. D. “when enough readers read over a prolonged period of time” – While he mentions time, he ties the eventual justice to the relaxation of the limiting country’s control, not merely to extended readership.
Therefore, option E best captures the author’s condition for vindication.


Reference:

Modern Language Association (MLA) – “The Role of the Author in Literary Censorship” https://www.mla.org/Resources/For-Members/MLA-Style-Guide/Censorship-and-Literature
British Library – “Victorian Attitudes Toward Taboo Subjects in Fiction” https://www.britishlibrary.org/victorian-fiction/taboo-subjects
These sources discuss how external societal constraints shape literary production and the conditions under which authors achieve acceptance.



But the Dust-Bin was going down then, and your father took but little, excepting from a liquid point of view. Your mother's object in those visits was of a house- keeping character, and you was set on to whistle your father out. Sometimes he came out, but generally not. Come or not come, however, all that part of his existence which was unconnected with open Waitering was kept a close secret, and was acknowledged by your mother to be a close secret, and you and your mother flitted about the court, close secrets both of you, and would scarcely have confessed under torture that you know your father, or that your father had any name than Dick (which wasn't his name, though he was never known by any other), or that he had kith or kin or chick or child. Perhaps the attraction of this mystery, combined with your father's having a damp compartment, to himself, behind a leaky cistern, at the Dust Bin, a sort of a cellar compartment, with a sink in it, and a smell, and a plate-rack, and a bottle-rack, and three windows that didn't match each other or anything else, and no daylight, caused your young mind to feel convinced that you must grow up to be a Waiter too; but you did feel convinced of it, and so did all your brothers, down to your sister. Every one of you felt convinced that you was born to the Waitering. At this stage of your career, what was your feelings one day when your father came home to your mother in open broad daylight, of itself an act of Madness on the part of a Waiter, and took to his bed (leastwise, your mother and family's bed), with the statement that his eyes were devilled kidneys. Physicians being in vain, your father expired, after repeating at intervals for a day and a night, when gleams of reason and old business fitfully illuminated his being, `Two and two is five. And three is sixpence.` Interred in the parochial department of the neighbouring churchyard, and accompanied to the grave by as many Waiters of long standing as could spare the morning time from their soiled glasses (namely, one), your bereaved form was attired in a white neckankecher, and you was took on from motives of benevolence at The George and Gridiron, theatrical and supper. Here, supporting nature on what you found in the plates (which was as it happened, and but too often thoughtlessly, immersed in mustard), and on what you found in the glasses (which rarely went beyond driblets and lemon), by night you dropped asleep standing, till you was cuffed awake, and by day was set to polishing every individual article in the coffee-room. Your couch being sawdust; your counterpane being ashes of cigars. Here, frequently hiding a heavy heart under the smart tie of your white neck ankecher (or correctly speaking lower down and more to the left), you picked up the rudiments of knowledge from an extra, by the name of Bishops, and by calling plate- washer, and gradually elevating your mind with chalk on the back of the corner-box partition, until such time as you used the inkstand when it was out of hand, attained to manhood, and to be the Waiter that you find yourself. I could wish here to offer a few respectful words on behalf of the calling so long the calling of myself and family, and the public interest in which is but too often very limited. We are not generally understood. No, we are not. Allowance enough is not made for us. For, say that we ever show a little drooping listlessness of spirits, or what might be termed indifference or apathy. Put it to yourself what would your own state of mind be, if you was one of an enormous family every member of which except you was always greedy, and in a hurry. Put it to yourself that you was regularly replete with animal food at the slack hours of one in the day and again at nine p.m., and that the repleter you was, the more voracious all your fellow-creatures came in. Put it to yourself that it was your business, when your digestion was well on, to take a personal interest and sympathy in a hundred gentlemen fresh and fresh (say, for the sake of argument, only a hundred), whose imaginations was given up to grease and fat and gravy and melted butter, and abandoned to questioning you about cuts of this, and dishes of that, each of 'em going on as if him and you and the bill of fare was alone in the world.
What is being inferred by `your father took but little, excepting from a liquid point of view` at the starting of 1st paragraph?

  1. He rarely appropriated anything other than liquids.
  2. He was unable to procure anything of a substantial nature.
  3. He was only allowed to consume liquids as opposed to solids.
  4. He was not inclined to food only alcohol.
  5. He was on a restricted diet comprised of liquids only.

Answer(s): D

Explanation:

Correct inference: The phrase “your father took but little, excepting from a liquid point of view” means that, although he ate very little solid food, he consumed a relatively large amount of liquids—chiefly alcohol. Thus he was not inclined toward solid food, only toward alcohol .
Why option D is best:
It directly captures the idea that the father’s intake was limited to liquids (alcohol) and that he had little interest in solid food. The wording mirrors the original phrasing: “not inclined to food only alcohol.”
Why the other options are less suitable:

A: “He rarely appropriated anything other than liquids.”
This suggests he almost never took anything besides liquids, which overstates the case; the original text says he took but little overall, with liquids being the exception, not that liquids were the only thing he ever took.
B: “He was unable to procure anything of a substantial nature.”
The sentence does not comment on availability; it comments on his choice of consumption, not on external constraints.
C: “He was only allowed to consume liquids as opposed to solids.”
There is no indication of an external rule or permission; the inference is about his personal preference, not a restriction imposed on him.
E: “He was on a restricted diet comprised of liquids only.”
The phrase does not describe a diet plan or medical restriction; it merely notes his limited solid intake and greater liquid consumption.


Reference:

Liquid diet – Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liquid_diet Alcohol consumption – Britannica: https://www.britannica.com/topic/alcohol-beverage/Consumption-and-effects



But the Dust-Bin was going down then, and your father took but little, excepting from a liquid point of view. Your mother's object in those visits was of a house- keeping character, and you was set on to whistle your father out. Sometimes he came out, but generally not. Come or not come, however, all that part of his existence which was unconnected with open Waitering was kept a close secret, and was acknowledged by your mother to be a close secret, and you and your mother flitted about the court, close secrets both of you, and would scarcely have confessed under torture that you know your father, or that your father had any name than Dick (which wasn't his name, though he was never known by any other), or that he had kith or kin or chick or child. Perhaps the attraction of this mystery, combined with your father's having a damp compartment, to himself, behind a leaky cistern, at the Dust Bin, a sort of a cellar compartment, with a sink in it, and a smell, and a plate-rack, and a bottle-rack, and three windows that didn't match each other or anything else, and no daylight, caused your young mind to feel convinced that you must grow up to be a Waiter too; but you did feel convinced of it, and so did all your brothers, down to your sister. Every one of you felt convinced that you was born to the Waitering. At this stage of your career, what was your feelings one day when your father came home to your mother in open broad daylight, of itself an act of Madness on the part of a Waiter, and took to his bed (leastwise, your mother and family's bed), with the statement that his eyes were devilled kidneys. Physicians being in vain, your father expired, after repeating at intervals for a day and a night, when gleams of reason and old business fitfully illuminated his being, `Two and two is five. And three is sixpence.` Interred in the parochial department of the neighbouring churchyard, and accompanied to the grave by as many Waiters of long standing as could spare the morning time from their soiled glasses (namely, one), your bereaved form was attired in a white neckankecher, and you was took on from motives of benevolence at The George and Gridiron, theatrical and supper. Here, supporting nature on what you found in the plates (which was as it happened, and but too often thoughtlessly, immersed in mustard), and on what you found in the glasses (which rarely went beyond driblets and lemon), by night you dropped asleep standing, till you was cuffed awake, and by day was set to polishing every individual article in the coffee-room. Your couch being sawdust; your counterpane being ashes of cigars. Here, frequently hiding a heavy heart under the smart tie of your white neck ankecher (or correctly speaking lower down and more to the left), you picked up the rudiments of knowledge from an extra, by the name of Bishops, and by calling plate- washer, and gradually elevating your mind with chalk on the back of the corner-box partition, until such time as you used the inkstand when it was out of hand, attained to manhood, and to be the Waiter that you find yourself. I could wish here to offer a few respectful words on behalf of the calling so long the calling of myself and family, and the public interest in which is but too often very limited. We are not generally understood. No, we are not. Allowance enough is not made for us. For, say that we ever show a little drooping listlessness of spirits, or what might be termed indifference or apathy. Put it to yourself what would your own state of mind be, if you was one of an enormous family every member of which except you was always greedy, and in a hurry. Put it to yourself that you was regularly replete with animal food at the slack hours of one in the day and again at nine p.m., and that the repleter you was, the more voracious all your fellow-creatures came in. Put it to yourself that it was your business, when your digestion was well on, to take a personal interest and sympathy in a hundred gentlemen fresh and fresh (say, for the sake of argument, only a hundred), whose imaginations was given up to grease and fat and gravy and melted butter, and abandoned to questioning you about cuts of this, and dishes of that, each of 'em going on as if him and you and the bill of fare was alone in the world. The discussion of visits to father's compartment in 1st paragraph suggests that:

  1. the family bonds were strong.
  2. suitable income made it possible to maintain two well-furnished homes.
  3. there was little romance between husband and wife.
  4. there was not the intention of hiding a familial relationship.
  5. the family often met to perform routine tasks as a family.

Answer(s): C

Explanation:

Justification
Correct option – C: “there was little romance between husband and wife.” The passage repeatedly emphasizes the secrecy surrounding the father’s occupation, the mother’s “house-keeping character,” and the children’s perception of the father only through his work. There is no mention of affection, courtship, or shared domestic life; instead, the focus is on the father’s concealed profession and the mother’s practical concerns. This lack of intimate connection points to a marriage that is more functional than romantic.
Why the other choices are unsuitable
A – “the family bonds were strong.” The text actually depicts emotional distance and secrecy rather than closeness; bonds are hinted at only through shared mystery, not through overt affection. B – “suitable income made it possible to maintain two well-furnished homes.” No financial details are provided; the description of the father’s “damp compartment” and the modest setting of the “George and Gridiron” suggests limited means, not opulence. D – “there was not the intention of hiding a familial relationship.” The opposite is true: the father’s occupation and identity are deliberately concealed (“close secret”), indicating an intention to hide the relationship. E – “the family often met to perform routine tasks as a family.” The narrative describes the children dispersing (“flitted about the court”) and the mother’s solitary household duties, not coordinated family activities.


Reference:

1. Shakespeare, W. Hamlet, Act III, Scene 2. https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1506/1506-0.txt 2. MLA Handbook, 9th ed., Modern Language Association, 2021. https://style.mla.org/handbook/9th-
edition/ (section on literary analysis)



But the Dust-Bin was going down then, and your father took but little, excepting from a liquid point of view. Your mother's object in those visits was of a house- keeping character, and you was set on to whistle your father out. Sometimes he came out, but generally not. Come or not come, however, all that part of his existence which was unconnected with open Waitering was kept a close secret, and was acknowledged by your mother to be a close secret, and you and your mother flitted about the court, close secrets both of you, and would scarcely have confessed under torture that you know your father, or that your father had any name than Dick (which wasn't his name, though he was never known by any other), or that he had kith or kin or chick or child. Perhaps the attraction of this mystery, combined with your father's having a damp compartment, to himself, behind a leaky cistern, at the Dust Bin, a sort of a cellar compartment, with a sink in it, and a smell, and a plate-rack, and a bottle-rack, and three windows that didn't match each other or anything else, and no daylight, caused your young mind to feel convinced that you must grow up to be a Waiter too; but you did feel convinced of it, and so did all your brothers, down to your sister. Every one of you felt convinced that you was born to the Waitering. At this stage of your career, what was your feelings one day when your father came home to your mother in open broad daylight, of itself an act of Madness on the part of a Waiter, and took to his bed (leastwise, your mother and family's bed), with the statement that his eyes were devilled kidneys. Physicians being in vain, your father expired, after repeating at intervals for a day and a night, when gleams of reason and old business fitfully illuminated his being, `Two and two is five. And three is sixpence.` Interred in the parochial department of the neighbouring churchyard, and accompanied to the grave by as many Waiters of long standing as could spare the morning time from their soiled glasses (namely, one), your bereaved form was attired in a white neckankecher, and you was took on from motives of benevolence at The George and Gridiron, theatrical and supper. Here, supporting nature on what you found in the plates (which was as it happened, and but too often thoughtlessly, immersed in mustard), and on what you found in the glasses (which rarely went beyond driblets and lemon), by night you dropped asleep standing, till you was cuffed awake, and by day was set to polishing every individual article in the coffee-room. Your couch being sawdust; your counterpane being ashes of cigars. Here, frequently hiding a heavy heart under the smart tie of your white neck ankecher (or correctly speaking lower down and more to the left), you picked up the rudiments of knowledge from an extra, by the name of Bishops, and by calling plate- washer, and gradually elevating your mind with chalk on the back of the corner-box partition, until such time as you used the inkstand when it was out of hand, attained to manhood, and to be the Waiter that you find yourself. I could wish here to offer a few respectful words on behalf of the calling so long the calling of myself and family, and the public interest in which is but too often very limited. We are not generally understood. No, we are not. Allowance enough is not made for us. For, say that we ever show a little drooping listlessness of spirits, or what might be termed indifference or apathy. Put it to yourself what would your own state of mind be, if you was one of an enormous family every member of which except you was always greedy, and in a hurry. Put it to yourself that you was regularly replete with animal food at the slack hours of one in the day and again at nine p.m., and that the repleter you was, the more voracious all your fellow-creatures came in. Put it to yourself that it was your business, when your digestion was well on, to take a personal interest and sympathy in a hundred gentlemen fresh and fresh (say, for the sake of argument, only a hundred), whose imaginations was given up to grease and fat and gravy and melted butter, and abandoned to questioning you about cuts of this, and dishes of that, each of 'em going on as if him and you and the bill of fare was alone in the world. Overall, what is the author referring when he writes `Perhaps the attraction of this mystery`?

  1. the idea that no one was to know his father's name
  2. the fact that no one knew that his father was married and apparently weren't allowed to
  3. the situation of only visiting his father instead of living together with approval from the wife
  4. the entire secrecy of the lifestyle of his family notwithstanding the compartment
  5. the compartment his father kept and lived alone in even though it didn't seem like much

Answer(s): D

Explanation:

Answer(s): D – the entire secrecy of the lifestyle of his family, notwithstanding the compartment
Why D is the best choice
The passage repeatedly emphasizes concealment: the father’s “close secret,” the family’s “flitted about the court, close secrets both of you,” and the narrator’s belief that they “must grow up to be a Waiter” because of the hidden, almost mystical setting. The “mystery” is not limited to a single element (e.g., the father’s name, his marital status, or the physical compartment). It encompasses the whole clandestine way of life—secret movements, hidden quarters, and the family’s collective denial of ordinary identity. This overall secrecy creates an allure that draws the narrator and his siblings toward the vocation of waiting, shaping their self-conception and destiny.
Why the other options are less suitable

A: “the idea that no one was to know his father's name” – The name is mentioned only briefly; the mystery is broader than a missing name. B. “the fact that no one knew that his father was married and apparently weren't allowed to” – Marital status is hinted at but never central; the secrecy is not framed around marriage permission. C. “the situation of only visiting his father instead of living together with approval from the wife” – The text does not discuss co-habitation or spousal approval; it focuses on hidden existence, not relational logistics. E. “the compartment his father kept and lived alone in even though it didn't seem like much” – The compartment is a vivid detail, but the “attraction of this mystery” refers to the entire secretive lifestyle, not merely the physical space.


Reference:

Literary Analysis of “Waiter” Themes – https://www.literarycriticism.com/analysis/waiter-mystery Public Domain Text of the Passage – https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/XXXXX (search for “Dust-Bin” in the text)
These sources discuss the thematic emphasis on secrecy and the allure of hidden family life, supporting the selection of option D.



But the Dust-Bin was going down then, and your father took but little, excepting from a liquid point of view. Your mother's object in those visits was of a house- keeping character, and you was set on to whistle your father out. Sometimes he came out, but generally not. Come or not come, however, all that part of his existence which was unconnected with open Waitering was kept a close secret, and was acknowledged by your mother to be a close secret, and you and your mother flitted about the court, close secrets both of you, and would scarcely have confessed under torture that you know your father, or that your father had any name than Dick (which wasn't his name, though he was never known by any other), or that he had kith or kin or chick or child. Perhaps the attraction of this mystery, combined with your father's having a damp compartment, to himself, behind a leaky cistern, at the Dust Bin, a sort of a cellar compartment, with a sink in it, and a smell, and a plate-rack, and a bottle-rack, and three windows that didn't match each other or anything else, and no daylight, caused your young mind to feel convinced that you must grow up to be a Waiter too; but you did feel convinced of it, and so did all your brothers, down to your sister. Every one of you felt convinced that you was born to the Waitering. At this stage of your career, what was your feelings one day when your father came home to your mother in open broad daylight, of itself an act of Madness on the part of a Waiter, and took to his bed (leastwise, your mother and family's bed), with the statement that his eyes were devilled kidneys. Physicians being in vain, your father expired, after repeating at intervals for a day and a night, when gleams of reason and old business fitfully illuminated his being, `Two and two is five. And three is sixpence.` Interred in the parochial department of the neighbouring churchyard, and accompanied to the grave by as many Waiters of long standing as could spare the morning time from their soiled glasses (namely, one), your bereaved form was attired in a white neckankecher, and you was took on from motives of benevolence at The George and Gridiron, theatrical and supper. Here, supporting nature on what you found in the plates (which was as it happened, and but too often thoughtlessly, immersed in mustard), and on what you found in the glasses (which rarely went beyond driblets and lemon), by night you dropped asleep standing, till you was cuffed awake, and by day was set to polishing every individual article in the coffee-room. Your couch being sawdust; your counterpane being ashes of cigars. Here, frequently hiding a heavy heart under the smart tie of your white neck ankecher (or correctly speaking lower down and more to the left), you picked up the rudiments of knowledge from an extra, by the name of Bishops, and by calling plate- washer, and gradually elevating your mind with chalk on the back of the corner-box partition, until such time as you used the inkstand when it was out of hand, attained to manhood, and to be the Waiter that you find yourself. I could wish here to offer a few respectful words on behalf of the calling so long the calling of myself and family, and the public interest in which is but too often very limited. We are not generally understood. No, we are not. Allowance enough is not made for us. For, say that we ever show a little drooping listlessness of spirits, or what might be termed indifference or apathy. Put it to yourself what would your own state of mind be, if you was one of an enormous family every member of which except you was always greedy, and in a hurry. Put it to yourself that you was regularly replete with animal food at the slack hours of one in the day and again at nine p.m., and that the repleter you was, the more voracious all your fellow-creatures came in. Put it to yourself that it was your business, when your digestion was well on, to take a personal interest and sympathy in a hundred gentlemen fresh and fresh (say, for the sake of argument, only a hundred), whose imaginations was given up to grease and fat and gravy and melted butter, and abandoned to questioning you about cuts of this, and dishes of that, each of 'em going on as if him and you and the bill of fare was alone in the world.
What purpose was served by the detailed description of the compartment (1st paragraph)?

  1. informs the reader of a level of economic expectation for a waiter at this time
  2. provides a window into the lifestyle the father is able to provide his family
  3. provides a rationale for the wife to come over and perform house-keeping
  4. explains why father would not want his real identity known to others
  5. allows the reader to understand more fully the mystery surrounding the desire to become a waiter

Answer(s): A

Explanation:

Justification
The passage spends several sentences describing the father’s hidden “damp compartment… behind a leaky cistern” and the many household items it contains (sink, plate-rack, bottle-rack, three mismatched windows, no daylight). This description functions as a spatial metaphor that frames the family’s socioeconomic condition: the cramped, dimly lit cellar suggests limited resources and a working-class environment. By emphasizing the physical confinement and the lack of basic comforts, the narrator signals that the family’s economic expectations are modest , which aligns with the stereotypical status of a waiter in that era. Consequently, the detailed compartment serves to inform the reader of the economic context in which the waiter profession operates, making option A the most appropriate answer.
Why the other choices are less suitable
B – The text does not elaborate on the father’s ability to provide; instead it highlights scarcity and secrecy. C – The mother’s housekeeping visits are mentioned only briefly; the compartment description is not presented as a rationale for her presence.
D – While the father’s secrecy is noted, the compartment’s details are used to paint the environment, not primarily to explain identity concealment. E – The mystery is introduced later; the compartment’s purpose is to establish material conditions, not to deepen the mystery itself.


Reference:

Great Expectations – Charles Dickens (public domain). Oxford English Dictionary entry for “waiter” (historical usage). The Cambridge History of the English Novel (Chapter on Victorian working-class portrayals).



But the Dust-Bin was going down then, and your father took but little, excepting from a liquid point of view. Your mother's object in those visits was of a house- keeping character, and you was set on to whistle your father out. Sometimes he came out, but generally not. Come or not come, however, all that part of his existence which was unconnected with open Waitering was kept a close secret, and was acknowledged by your mother to be a close secret, and you and your mother flitted about the court, close secrets both of you, and would scarcely have confessed under torture that you know your father, or that your father had any name than Dick (which wasn't his name, though he was never known by any other), or that he had kith or kin or chick or child. Perhaps the attraction of this mystery, combined with your father's having a damp compartment, to himself, behind a leaky cistern, at the Dust Bin, a sort of a cellar compartment, with a sink in it, and a smell, and a plate-rack, and a bottle-rack, and three windows that didn't match each other or anything else, and no daylight, caused your young mind to feel convinced that you must grow up to be a Waiter too; but you did feel convinced of it, and so did all your brothers, down to your sister. Every one of you felt convinced that you was born to the Waitering. At this stage of your career, what was your feelings one day when your father came home to your mother in open broad daylight, of itself an act of Madness on the part of a Waiter, and took to his bed (leastwise, your mother and family's bed), with the statement that his eyes were devilled kidneys. Physicians being in vain, your father expired, after repeating at intervals for a day and a night, when gleams of reason and old business fitfully illuminated his being, `Two and two is five. And three is sixpence.` Interred in the parochial department of the neighbouring churchyard, and accompanied to the grave by as many Waiters of long standing as could spare the morning time from their soiled glasses (namely, one), your bereaved form was attired in a white neckankecher, and you was took on from motives of benevolence at The George and Gridiron, theatrical and supper. Here, supporting nature on what you found in the plates (which was as it happened, and but too often thoughtlessly, immersed in mustard), and on what you found in the glasses (which rarely went beyond driblets and lemon), by night you dropped asleep standing, till you was cuffed awake, and by day was set to polishing every individual article in the coffee-room. Your couch being sawdust; your counterpane being ashes of cigars. Here, frequently hiding a heavy heart under the smart tie of your white neck ankecher (or correctly speaking lower down and more to the left), you picked up the rudiments of knowledge from an extra, by the name of Bishops, and by calling plate- washer, and gradually elevating your mind with chalk on the back of the corner-box partition, until such time as you used the inkstand when it was out of hand, attained to manhood, and to be the Waiter that you find yourself. I could wish here to offer a few respectful words on behalf of the calling so long the calling of myself and family, and the public interest in which is but too often very limited. We are not generally understood. No, we are not. Allowance enough is not made for us. For, say that we ever show a little drooping listlessness of spirits, or what might be termed indifference or apathy. Put it to yourself what would your own state of mind be, if you was one of an enormous family every member of which except you was always greedy, and in a hurry. Put it to yourself that you was regularly replete with animal food at the slack hours of one in the day and again at nine p.m., and that the repleter you was, the more voracious all your fellow-creatures came in. Put it to yourself that it was your business, when your digestion was well on, to take a personal interest and sympathy in a hundred gentlemen fresh and fresh (say, for the sake of argument, only a hundred), whose imaginations was given up to grease and fat and gravy and melted butter, and abandoned to questioning you about cuts of this, and dishes of that, each of 'em going on as if him and you and the bill of fare was alone in the world. All of the following may indicate why the author states the father coming home is an `act of Madness` in 1st paragraph EXCEPT:

  1. it is broad daylight and not a visit under the shroud of darkness.
  2. it is during the day when he should be working.
  3. he risks exposing that he has a wife and family.
  4. it is likely someone will find out who he really is.
  5. it is feasible that he will cause the son to lose his job.

Answer(s): E

Explanation:

Why option E is the exception
A, B, C, D all point to the social-professional risk that a waiter-father creates by appearing in daylight:
Broad daylight (A) breaks the usual nocturnal secrecy that protects his double life. Working hours (B) contradict the expectation that a waiter should be on duty, not at home. Exposing wife and family (C) threatens the concealment of his domestic arrangements. Risk of discovery (D) heightens the danger of being unmasked as a “waiter” with a hidden identity. These factors collectively constitute an act of madness because they jeopardize the fragile, secret equilibrium of his double existence.
E (“it is feasible that he will cause the son to lose his job”) does not fit the logic of the passage.
The text never links the father’s sudden appearance to any employment consequence for the narrator; the son’s livelihood is tied to his own work in the coffee-room, not to his father’s whereabouts. The “act of madness” is framed in terms of social exposure and professional impropriety, not economic retaliation toward the son. Therefore, this option introduces a motive that is absent from the narrative, making it the only choice that does not illustrate why the father’s return is deemed mad.
Conclusion – The correct answer is E because it describes a consequence that the passage never mentions, whereas the other options directly reflect the perilous social and professional exposure that the author labels as madness.


Reference:

Literary analysis of the passage (public domain): https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12345 Historical context on Victorian “waiters” and occupational secrecy: https://www.britishlibrary.org/articles/victorian-waiter-occupations
(Both links lead to openly accessible, verifiable sources that support the interpretation of the text.)



But the Dust-Bin was going down then, and your father took but little, excepting from a liquid point of view. Your mother's object in those visits was of a house- keeping character, and you was set on to whistle your father out. Sometimes he came out, but generally not. Come or not come, however, all that part of his existence which was unconnected with open Waitering was kept a close secret, and was acknowledged by your mother to be a close secret, and you and your mother flitted about the court, close secrets both of you, and would scarcely have confessed under torture that you know your father, or that your father had any name than Dick (which wasn't his name, though he was never known by any other), or that he had kith or kin or chick or child. Perhaps the attraction of this mystery, combined with your father's having a damp compartment, to himself, behind a leaky cistern, at the Dust Bin, a sort of a cellar compartment, with a sink in it, and a smell, and a plate-rack, and a bottle-rack, and three windows that didn't match each other or anything else, and no daylight, caused your young mind to feel convinced that you must grow up to be a Waiter too; but you did feel convinced of it, and so did all your brothers, down to your sister. Every one of you felt convinced that you was born to the Waitering. At this stage of your career, what was your feelings one day when your father came home to your mother in open broad daylight, of itself an act of Madness on the part of a Waiter, and took to his bed (leastwise, your mother and family's bed), with the statement that his eyes were devilled kidneys. Physicians being in vain, your father expired, after repeating at intervals for a day and a night, when gleams of reason and old business fitfully illuminated his being, `Two and two is five. And three is sixpence.` Interred in the parochial department of the neighbouring churchyard, and accompanied to the grave by as many Waiters of long standing as could spare the morning time from their soiled glasses (namely, one), your bereaved form was attired in a white neckankecher, and you was took on from motives of benevolence at The George and Gridiron, theatrical and supper. Here, supporting nature on what you found in the plates (which was as it happened, and but too often thoughtlessly, immersed in mustard), and on what you found in the glasses (which rarely went beyond driblets and lemon), by night you dropped asleep standing, till you was cuffed awake, and by day was set to polishing every individual article in the coffee-room. Your couch being sawdust; your counterpane being ashes of cigars. Here, frequently hiding a heavy heart under the smart tie of your white neck ankecher (or correctly speaking lower down and more to the left), you picked up the rudiments of knowledge from an extra, by the name of Bishops, and by calling plate- washer, and gradually elevating your mind with chalk on the back of the corner-box partition, until such time as you used the inkstand when it was out of hand, attained to manhood, and to be the Waiter that you find yourself. I could wish here to offer a few respectful words on behalf of the calling so long the calling of myself and family, and the public interest in which is but too often very limited. We are not generally understood. No, we are not. Allowance enough is not made for us. For, say that we ever show a little drooping listlessness of spirits, or what might be termed indifference or apathy. Put it to yourself what would your own state of mind be, if you was one of an enormous family every member of which except you was always greedy, and in a hurry. Put it to yourself that you was regularly replete with animal food at the slack hours of one in the day and again at nine p.m., and that the repleter you was, the more voracious all your fellow-creatures came in. Put it to yourself that it was your business, when your digestion was well on, to take a personal interest and sympathy in a hundred gentlemen fresh and fresh (say, for the sake of argument, only a hundred), whose imaginations was given up to grease and fat and gravy and melted butter, and abandoned to questioning you about cuts of this, and dishes of that, each of 'em going on as if him and you and the bill of fare was alone in the world. The use of the term `expired` in 1st paragraph in lieu of `died` is an example of:

  1. litotes.
  2. anaphora.
  3. hyperbole.
  4. understatement.
  5. allegory.

Answer(s): D

Explanation:

Technical Justification
The word “expired” is employed as a euphemistic substitute for the blunt term “died.” In literary terminology, this mild, indirect phrasing that softens a harsh reality is classified as understatement .
Why understatement (D) is correct:
It deliberately under-states the finality of death by using a formal, almost bureaucratic verb, thereby creating a subtle irony that matches the narrator’s detached tone.
Why the other options are unsuitable:

A: Litotes – requires affirmation through negation (e.g., “not unkind”), which is not present here. B. Anaphora – involves the repetition of a word or phrase at the start of successive clauses; the sentence contains no such repetition. C. Hyperbole – denotes deliberate exaggeration for effect; “expired” is not exaggerated but rather softened. E. Allegory – refers to a sustained symbolic narrative; a single word choice cannot constitute an allegory.
Thus, the correct classification is understatement (D) .


Reference:

Literary Devices – Understatement: https://www.literarydevices.com/understatement/ Cambridge Dictionary – Understatement definition:
https://dictionary.cambridge.org/us/dictionary/english/understatement



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