SAT SAT-Critical-Reading 試験概要:

SAT SAT-Critical-Reading 試験シラバストピック:

SAT Section One : Critical Reading 認定 SAT-Critical-Reading 試験問題：

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

A) to indicate to the reader just how significant the damage to her face was
B) to introduce the subject matter for the next paragraph
C) to impart that there was nowhere on her face you could not see the pain
D) to reaffirm to the reader that there was massive damage that was immediately noticeable
E) to summate the previous writing in the passage to this point

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

A) The markings would be visible in every part of her face.
B) The gray hair was any more unnatural than any other markings was apparent.
C) It was unusual that someone so young would have such markings.
D) We know her to be only around 30 with all these marks.
E) For a young girl in every other aspect, this pain caused graying hair.

3. The ______ dress of the performers was considered ______ by the censors.

A) color of ... errant
B) matching ... unfashionable
C) ostentatious ... repugnant
D) uniform ... haughty
E) overly revealing ... acceptable

4. In the year 1860, the reputation of Doctor Wybrow as a London physician reached its highest point. It was
re ported on good authority that he was in receipt of one of the largest incomes derived from the practice
of medicine in modern times.
One afternoon, towards the close of the London season, the doctor had just taken his luncheon after a
specially hard morning's work in his consulting-room, and with a formidable list of visits to patients at their
own houses to fill up the rest of his day--when the servant announced that a lady wished to speak to him.
"Who is she?" the Doctor asked. "A stranger?" "Yes, sir."
"I see no strangers out of consulting-hours. Tell her what the hours are, and send her away." "I have told
her, sir."
"Well?"
"And she won't go."
"Won't go?" The doctor smiled as he repeated the words. He was a humorist in his way; and there was an
absurd side to the situation which rather amused him. "Has this obstinate lady given you her name?" he
inquired.
"No, sir. She refused to give any name--she said she wouldn't keep you five minutes, and the matter was
too important to wait till to-morrow. There she is in the consulting-room; and how to get her out again is
more than I know."
Doctor Wybrow considered for a moment. His knowledge of women (professionally speaking) rested on
the ripe experience of more than thirty years; he had met with them in all their varieties--especially the
variety which knows nothing of the value of time, and never hesitates at sheltering itself behind the
privileges of its sex. A glance at his watch informed him that he must soon begin his rounds among the
patients who were waiting for him at their own houses. He decided forthwith on taking the only wise
course that was open under the circumstances. In other words, he decided on taking to flight.
"Is the carriage at the door?" he asked. "Yes, sir."
"Very well. Open the house-door for me without making any noise, and leave the lady in undisturbed
possession of the consulting-room. When she gets tired of waiting, you know what to tell her. If she asks
when I am expected to return, say that I dine at my club, and spend the evening at the theatre. Now then,
softly, Thomas! If your shoes creak, I am a lost man." What is meant by "and never hesitates at sheltering
itself behind the privileges of its sex"?

A) Women know that a gentlemen, such as a physician, would never be so rude as to not allow a lady the
time requested lest they be considered offensive.
B) Females have certain inherent rights and privileges, not the least of which is to take their time in all
manners.
C) Because it is a known fact that women take time, members of the opposite sex need to simply accept
the fact and deal with it accordingly.
D) People of class expect that women of breeding need extra allowances and that exercising the grace of
slowness is a virtue.
E) Certain appurtenances come with being a female, one of which is the ability and expectation of taking
your time.

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

A) has been elected to this office
B) was haled before this court to testify
C) volunteered for his current duties
D) will step down as required by law
E) intends to correct the mistakes of his predecessors

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