in the story "miss brill," the protagonist is extremely fond of her fur necklet, which she lovingly personifies as being a 'rogue.' she wears the fur to a band performance at the jardins publiques (the public gardens) each sunday. the fur is described in the story as follows:
"dear little thing! . she had taken it out of its box that afternoon, shaken out the moth-powder, given it a good brush, and rubbed the life back into the dim little eyes… oh, how sweet it was to see them snap at her again from the red eiderdown! . but the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn't at all firm… never mind—a little dab of black sealing-wax when the time came—when it was absolutely necessary . . little rogue! yes, she really felt like that about it.
later in the story, a young couple criticizes miss brill's fur by describing it as a "fried whiting," and remarking that nobody needs miss brill in the gardens. miss brill feels sad and troubled, and hurries home to put the fur necklet back into its box. as she closes the lid of the box, she hears herself crying.

what does the fur necklet, which is symbolic of miss brill, tell you about the protagonist?
a.
she is materialistic and selfish.
b.
she is vain and haughty.
c.
she is stylish and dignified.
d.
she is old and lonely.

If you can answer this riddle right in the next five minutes i will give you 20 points davids dad had two sons, snap, crackle, and

Which of the following arguments uses a non sequitur fallacy? a. if we allow students to wear caps to school, soon we'll have to let them wear gang colors. b. you should vote for sylvia for class president because everyone else on the squad is voting for her. c. regulations on motorists should be lifted because factories are a bigger source of pollution. d. the gray wolves of winter falls park should be protected because they need our support.

Select the contred text in the passage which sentence in this excerpt from john galsworthy's narrative essay "gone" reflects his view that there is no afterlife? an old woman and mrs. herd's sister were in the sitting-room, they showed us to the crazy, narrow stairway. though we lived distant but four hundred yards of a crows flight, we had never seen mrs. herd before, for that is the way of things in this land of minding one's own business a slight dark girlish-looking woman, almost quite refined away, and with those eyes of the dying, where the spirit is coming through, as it only does when it knows that al is over except just the passing. she lay in a double bed with clean white sheets. a white-washed room, so low that the ceiling almost touched our heads, some flowers in a bow, the small lattice window open. though it was hot in there, it was better far than the rooms of most families in towns, living on a wage of twice as much, for here was no sign of defeat in decency or cleanliness. in her face, as in poor herd's, was that same strange minging of resigned despair and almost eager appeal, so terrible to disappoint. yet, trying not to disappoint it, one felt guilty of treachery: what was the good, the kindness in making this poor bird flutter still with hope against the bars, when fast prison had so surely closed in round her? but what else could we do? we could not give her those glib assurances that naive souls make so easily to others concerning their after state. and the night was so beautiful, so utterly glamourously beautiful, with its star-flowers, and its silence and its trees clothed in moonlight. all was tranquil as a dream of sleep. but it was long before our hearts wandering with poor herd, would let us remember that she had slipped away into so beautiful a dream