According to the context, an avocation would mean

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

According to the text, a repeat offender, in tattoo language, is symbolised by

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

The tattoos, according to the prisoner's ultimate opinion, show that the prisoner

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

That Arkady Bronnikov has done exhaustive research on the topic is evident from which of the following phrases used by the author?

I. fistful of black and white photos II. had access to thousands of prisoners III. overstuffed valise IV. 20,000 photos and published books

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

Those convicts who are voluntarily tattooed include

I. prisoners in labour camps II. women convicts III. insulted men IV. burglars

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

Bronnikov managed to collect so much information regarding tattoos because of all of the following factors, except

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

From the tattoos etched on the body of the convict, one can identify

I. the prisons that he has been in II. the crimes committed by him III. his position in the hierarchy of convict life IV. the sentence served by him

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

Which of the following statements best expresses the main idea of the passage?

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

Which of the following questions cannot be answered by reading the passage?

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

Mysnik's statement "One way or the other, you get nailed" would mean

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

The word that evokes the comment "That doesn't include time in the shower from Sylvia Earle" is

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

That's the way it is with explorers: any reason will do. They are, after all, no ordinary mortals. They are obsessed, fiercely competitive, driving themselves to reach beyond the last barrier into the untravelled world, or to do their predecessors one better, to live to tell the world what they have seen, and not incidentally, to enjoy triumph and glory.
Hardly any place on the surface of the earth remains to be discovered, let alone mapped, prodded, examined and analysed, yet explorers persist in pushing at frontiers. Italy's Reinhold Messner, 48, the first man ever to climb all 14 of the world's 8,000-plus-metre peaks - he did it without using oxygen equipment - also made the first solo oxygen-free ascent of Mount Everest and walked across Antarctica. Germany's Arved Fuchs, 39, hiked to both Poles in a single year, rounded Cape Horn in a collapsible boat, explored Greenland and the Canadian Arctic - to name only a few of his exploits.
France's Philippe Frey, 35, courted death when he travelled 9,000 km across the Sahara from the Red Sea to the Atlantic Ocean in 1991. Working from outdated maps (which eventually got blown away by the wind), he plowed through the desert for nine agonising months. One after another, the wells that were marked on the map turned out dry. He had two camels; his water supply was down to five litres. Just as he was preparing to slit a camel's throat to drink its blood and stomach juices, two nomads appeared and directed him to an unmarked well 20 km away. Last year, the Club des Explorateurs et Voyageurs awarded Frey its Prix Liotard for exploration.
Among Americans, the leading explorer is Will Steger, 48, for whom happiness is going into an area that's never been visited before, an area where the sounds and the sights are foreign to human eyes. In 1986 Steger led the first confirmed expedition to reach the North Pole by traveling across the ice, and in 1989-90 made the first dogsled crossing of Antarctica. Typically, he is almost blasé when he described adversity. People are side-tracked by the suffering, by the cold, he says. it's fascinating for them the idea of going to the bathroom outdoors at 500 below zero. They imagine the hardships of cold, but it's not really much. It's just physical, temporary. But if you make a mistake, you die.
A fellow Minneston, schoolteacher Ann Bancroft, 37, is the first woman ever to reach the North Pole by dogsled (with Steger in 1986). Last November she set out with three other women to ski across Antarctica, reached the South Pole, then had to withdraw in mid-January when weather delays upset their schedule.
Californian Sylvia Earle, 57, prefers to study the last truly unexplored region on earth: the bottom of the sea. A marine biologist, she has clocked 6,000 hours underwater (That doesn't include time in the shower, she jokes) and holds the record for reaching the greatest depth - 381 m - ever attained by an untethered diver.
She has swum in the Indian Ocean with thousands of bioluminescent fish, dived in water so clear that from 30 m below the surface she could see the moon and stars; in the Pacific she has felt her body resonate with the vibrations of communicating whales- like being in a cathedral with otherworldly music. Most of the planet, she says, has yet to be explored. In the deep sea, less than one-tenth of 1% has even been looked at, and much of it has been mapped only in the most general way. Earle hopes to build a high-tech underwater craft that will take her to 11,000 m, the ocean's deepest depths.
It is the British, following centuries of tradition, who hold a special place in the chronicles of spectacular explorations. In a half-serious lexicon of Great British Things We Can Be Proud Of, London's Evening Standard recently listed Outwardness. From Sloaney grannies batting through the Hindu Kush in hire cars to lone seafarers circumnavigating the globe in sherry casks, the British are famously outward-looking.
Five hundred expeditions of dazzling variety and frequently exotic destinations, in fact, leave Britain's shores every year. Some are supported by public or private subscription, some by the Royal Geographical Society, others by sympathetic corporations.
They are costly investments and usually lose money. Britain's Robert Swan, who raised $3.5 million for a journey to the South Pole in 1984, retraced Robert Scott's 1911-12, 1,450-km route unassisted and in 1989 walked the 750-km from Ellesmere Island to the North Pole. Swan is still more than $ 100,000 in debt; his only consolation is that some of his famous predecessors - notably Sir Ernest Shackleton - died penniless.

The reasons why explorers do what they do, include all of the following, except

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

That's the way it is with explorers: any reason will do. They are, after all, no ordinary mortals. They are obsessed, fiercely competitive, driving themselves to reach beyond the last barrier into the untravelled world, or to do their predecessors one better, to live to tell the world what they have seen, and not incidentally, to enjoy triumph and glory.
Hardly any place on the surface of the earth remains to be discovered, let alone mapped, prodded, examined and analysed, yet explorers persist in pushing at frontiers. Italy's Reinhold Messner, 48, the first man ever to climb all 14 of the world's 8,000-plus-metre peaks - he did it without using oxygen equipment - also made the first solo oxygen-free ascent of Mount Everest and walked across Antarctica. Germany's Arved Fuchs, 39, hiked to both Poles in a single year, rounded Cape Horn in a collapsible boat, explored Greenland and the Canadian Arctic - to name only a few of his exploits.
France's Philippe Frey, 35, courted death when he travelled 9,000 km across the Sahara from the Red Sea to the Atlantic Ocean in 1991. Working from outdated maps (which eventually got blown away by the wind), he plowed through the desert for nine agonising months. One after another, the wells that were marked on the map turned out dry. He had two camels; his water supply was down to five litres. Just as he was preparing to slit a camel's throat to drink its blood and stomach juices, two nomads appeared and directed him to an unmarked well 20 km away. Last year, the Club des Explorateurs et Voyageurs awarded Frey its Prix Liotard for exploration.
Among Americans, the leading explorer is Will Steger, 48, for whom happiness is going into an area that's never been visited before, an area where the sounds and the sights are foreign to human eyes. In 1986 Steger led the first confirmed expedition to reach the North Pole by traveling across the ice, and in 1989-90 made the first dogsled crossing of Antarctica. Typically, he is almost blasé when he described adversity. People are side-tracked by the suffering, by the cold, he says. it's fascinating for them the idea of going to the bathroom outdoors at 500 below zero. They imagine the hardships of cold, but it's not really much. It's just physical, temporary. But if you make a mistake, you die.
A fellow Minneston, schoolteacher Ann Bancroft, 37, is the first woman ever to reach the North Pole by dogsled (with Steger in 1986). Last November she set out with three other women to ski across Antarctica, reached the South Pole, then had to withdraw in mid-January when weather delays upset their schedule.
Californian Sylvia Earle, 57, prefers to study the last truly unexplored region on earth: the bottom of the sea. A marine biologist, she has clocked 6,000 hours underwater (That doesn't include time in the shower, she jokes) and holds the record for reaching the greatest depth - 381 m - ever attained by an untethered diver.
She has swum in the Indian Ocean with thousands of bioluminescent fish, dived in water so clear that from 30 m below the surface she could see the moon and stars; in the Pacific she has felt her body resonate with the vibrations of communicating whales- like being in a cathedral with otherworldly music. Most of the planet, she says, has yet to be explored. In the deep sea, less than one-tenth of 1% has even been looked at, and much of it has been mapped only in the most general way. Earle hopes to build a high-tech underwater craft that will take her to 11,000 m, the ocean's deepest depths.
It is the British, following centuries of tradition, who hold a special place in the chronicles of spectacular explorations. In a half-serious lexicon of Great British Things We Can Be Proud Of, London's Evening Standard recently listed Outwardness. From Sloaney grannies batting through the Hindu Kush in hire cars to lone seafarers circumnavigating the globe in sherry casks, the British are famously outward-looking.
Five hundred expeditions of dazzling variety and frequently exotic destinations, in fact, leave Britain's shores every year. Some are supported by public or private subscription, some by the Royal Geographical Society, others by sympathetic corporations.
They are costly investments and usually lose money. Britain's Robert Swan, who raised $3.5 million for a journey to the South Pole in 1984, retraced Robert Scott's 1911-12, 1,450-km route unassisted and in 1989 walked the 750-km from Ellesmere Island to the North Pole. Swan is still more than $ 100,000 in debt; his only consolation is that some of his famous predecessors - notably Sir Ernest Shackleton - died penniless.

By saying that the British are famously outward looking, the Evening Standard means that they are

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

That's the way it is with explorers: any reason will do. They are, after all, no ordinary mortals. They are obsessed, fiercely competitive, driving themselves to reach beyond the last barrier into the untravelled world, or to do their predecessors one better, to live to tell the world what they have seen, and not incidentally, to enjoy triumph and glory.
Hardly any place on the surface of the earth remains to be discovered, let alone mapped, prodded, examined and analysed, yet explorers persist in pushing at frontiers. Italy's Reinhold Messner, 48, the first man ever to climb all 14 of the world's 8,000-plus-metre peaks - he did it without using oxygen equipment - also made the first solo oxygen-free ascent of Mount Everest and walked across Antarctica. Germany's Arved Fuchs, 39, hiked to both Poles in a single year, rounded Cape Horn in a collapsible boat, explored Greenland and the Canadian Arctic - to name only a few of his exploits.
France's Philippe Frey, 35, courted death when he travelled 9,000 km across the Sahara from the Red Sea to the Atlantic Ocean in 1991. Working from outdated maps (which eventually got blown away by the wind), he plowed through the desert for nine agonising months. One after another, the wells that were marked on the map turned out dry. He had two camels; his water supply was down to five litres. Just as he was preparing to slit a camel's throat to drink its blood and stomach juices, two nomads appeared and directed him to an unmarked well 20 km away. Last year, the Club des Explorateurs et Voyageurs awarded Frey its Prix Liotard for exploration.
Among Americans, the leading explorer is Will Steger, 48, for whom happiness is going into an area that's never been visited before, an area where the sounds and the sights are foreign to human eyes. In 1986 Steger led the first confirmed expedition to reach the North Pole by traveling across the ice, and in 1989-90 made the first dogsled crossing of Antarctica. Typically, he is almost blasé when he described adversity. People are side-tracked by the suffering, by the cold, he says. it's fascinating for them the idea of going to the bathroom outdoors at 500 below zero. They imagine the hardships of cold, but it's not really much. It's just physical, temporary. But if you make a mistake, you die.
A fellow Minneston, schoolteacher Ann Bancroft, 37, is the first woman ever to reach the North Pole by dogsled (with Steger in 1986). Last November she set out with three other women to ski across Antarctica, reached the South Pole, then had to withdraw in mid-January when weather delays upset their schedule.
Californian Sylvia Earle, 57, prefers to study the last truly unexplored region on earth: the bottom of the sea. A marine biologist, she has clocked 6,000 hours underwater (That doesn't include time in the shower, she jokes) and holds the record for reaching the greatest depth - 381 m - ever attained by an untethered diver.
She has swum in the Indian Ocean with thousands of bioluminescent fish, dived in water so clear that from 30 m below the surface she could see the moon and stars; in the Pacific she has felt her body resonate with the vibrations of communicating whales- like being in a cathedral with otherworldly music. Most of the planet, she says, has yet to be explored. In the deep sea, less than one-tenth of 1% has even been looked at, and much of it has been mapped only in the most general way. Earle hopes to build a high-tech underwater craft that will take her to 11,000 m, the ocean's deepest depths.
It is the British, following centuries of tradition, who hold a special place in the chronicles of spectacular explorations. In a half-serious lexicon of Great British Things We Can Be Proud Of, London's Evening Standard recently listed Outwardness. From Sloaney grannies batting through the Hindu Kush in hire cars to lone seafarers circumnavigating the globe in sherry casks, the British are famously outward-looking.
Five hundred expeditions of dazzling variety and frequently exotic destinations, in fact, leave Britain's shores every year. Some are supported by public or private subscription, some by the Royal Geographical Society, others by sympathetic corporations.
They are costly investments and usually lose money. Britain's Robert Swan, who raised $3.5 million for a journey to the South Pole in 1984, retraced Robert Scott's 1911-12, 1,450-km route unassisted and in 1989 walked the 750-km from Ellesmere Island to the North Pole. Swan is still more than $ 100,000 in debt; his only consolation is that some of his famous predecessors - notably Sir Ernest Shackleton - died penniless.

The number of firsts to Steger's credit includes:

I. the first dogsled crossing of Antarctica in 1989-90 II. the first to have hiked to both the poles in a single year
III. the first confirmed expedition to reach the North Pole travelling across the ice IV. the first to have walked 750 km from Ellesmere Island to the North Pole

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

That's the way it is with explorers: any reason will do. They are, after all, no ordinary mortals. They are obsessed, fiercely competitive, driving themselves to reach beyond the last barrier into the untravelled world, or to do their predecessors one better, to live to tell the world what they have seen, and not incidentally, to enjoy triumph and glory.
Hardly any place on the surface of the earth remains to be discovered, let alone mapped, prodded, examined and analysed, yet explorers persist in pushing at frontiers. Italy's Reinhold Messner, 48, the first man ever to climb all 14 of the world's 8,000-plus-metre peaks - he did it without using oxygen equipment - also made the first solo oxygen-free ascent of Mount Everest and walked across Antarctica. Germany's Arved Fuchs, 39, hiked to both Poles in a single year, rounded Cape Horn in a collapsible boat, explored Greenland and the Canadian Arctic - to name only a few of his exploits.
France's Philippe Frey, 35, courted death when he travelled 9,000 km across the Sahara from the Red Sea to the Atlantic Ocean in 1991. Working from outdated maps (which eventually got blown away by the wind), he plowed through the desert for nine agonising months. One after another, the wells that were marked on the map turned out dry. He had two camels; his water supply was down to five litres. Just as he was preparing to slit a camel's throat to drink its blood and stomach juices, two nomads appeared and directed him to an unmarked well 20 km away. Last year, the Club des Explorateurs et Voyageurs awarded Frey its Prix Liotard for exploration.
Among Americans, the leading explorer is Will Steger, 48, for whom happiness is going into an area that's never been visited before, an area where the sounds and the sights are foreign to human eyes. In 1986 Steger led the first confirmed expedition to reach the North Pole by traveling across the ice, and in 1989-90 made the first dogsled crossing of Antarctica. Typically, he is almost blasé when he described adversity. People are side-tracked by the suffering, by the cold, he says. it's fascinating for them the idea of going to the bathroom outdoors at 500 below zero. They imagine the hardships of cold, but it's not really much. It's just physical, temporary. But if you make a mistake, you die.
A fellow Minneston, schoolteacher Ann Bancroft, 37, is the first woman ever to reach the North Pole by dogsled (with Steger in 1986). Last November she set out with three other women to ski across Antarctica, reached the South Pole, then had to withdraw in mid-January when weather delays upset their schedule.
Californian Sylvia Earle, 57, prefers to study the last truly unexplored region on earth: the bottom of the sea. A marine biologist, she has clocked 6,000 hours underwater (That doesn't include time in the shower, she jokes) and holds the record for reaching the greatest depth - 381 m - ever attained by an untethered diver.
She has swum in the Indian Ocean with thousands of bioluminescent fish, dived in water so clear that from 30 m below the surface she could see the moon and stars; in the Pacific she has felt her body resonate with the vibrations of communicating whales- like being in a cathedral with otherworldly music. Most of the planet, she says, has yet to be explored. In the deep sea, less than one-tenth of 1% has even been looked at, and much of it has been mapped only in the most general way. Earle hopes to build a high-tech underwater craft that will take her to 11,000 m, the ocean's deepest depths.
It is the British, following centuries of tradition, who hold a special place in the chronicles of spectacular explorations. In a half-serious lexicon of Great British Things We Can Be Proud Of, London's Evening Standard recently listed Outwardness. From Sloaney grannies batting through the Hindu Kush in hire cars to lone seafarers circumnavigating the globe in sherry casks, the British are famously outward-looking.
Five hundred expeditions of dazzling variety and frequently exotic destinations, in fact, leave Britain's shores every year. Some are supported by public or private subscription, some by the Royal Geographical Society, others by sympathetic corporations.
They are costly investments and usually lose money. Britain's Robert Swan, who raised $3.5 million for a journey to the South Pole in 1984, retraced Robert Scott's 1911-12, 1,450-km route unassisted and in 1989 walked the 750-km from Ellesmere Island to the North Pole. Swan is still more than $ 100,000 in debt; his only consolation is that some of his famous predecessors - notably Sir Ernest Shackleton - died penniless.

When the author says of Steger that he is almost blasé when he describes adversity, he means by the highlighted word

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

That's the way it is with explorers: any reason will do. They are, after all, no ordinary mortals. They are obsessed, fiercely competitive, driving themselves to reach beyond the last barrier into the untravelled world, or to do their predecessors one better, to live to tell the world what they have seen, and not incidentally, to enjoy triumph and glory.
Hardly any place on the surface of the earth remains to be discovered, let alone mapped, prodded, examined and analysed, yet explorers persist in pushing at frontiers. Italy's Reinhold Messner, 48, the first man ever to climb all 14 of the world's 8,000-plus-metre peaks - he did it without using oxygen equipment - also made the first solo oxygen-free ascent of Mount Everest and walked across Antarctica. Germany's Arved Fuchs, 39, hiked to both Poles in a single year, rounded Cape Horn in a collapsible boat, explored Greenland and the Canadian Arctic - to name only a few of his exploits.
France's Philippe Frey, 35, courted death when he travelled 9,000 km across the Sahara from the Red Sea to the Atlantic Ocean in 1991. Working from outdated maps (which eventually got blown away by the wind), he plowed through the desert for nine agonising months. One after another, the wells that were marked on the map turned out dry. He had two camels; his water supply was down to five litres. Just as he was preparing to slit a camel's throat to drink its blood and stomach juices, two nomads appeared and directed him to an unmarked well 20 km away. Last year, the Club des Explorateurs et Voyageurs awarded Frey its Prix Liotard for exploration.
Among Americans, the leading explorer is Will Steger, 48, for whom happiness is going into an area that's never been visited before, an area where the sounds and the sights are foreign to human eyes. In 1986 Steger led the first confirmed expedition to reach the North Pole by traveling across the ice, and in 1989-90 made the first dogsled crossing of Antarctica. Typically, he is almost blasé when he described adversity. People are side-tracked by the suffering, by the cold, he says. it's fascinating for them the idea of going to the bathroom outdoors at 500 below zero. They imagine the hardships of cold, but it's not really much. It's just physical, temporary. But if you make a mistake, you die.
A fellow Minneston, schoolteacher Ann Bancroft, 37, is the first woman ever to reach the North Pole by dogsled (with Steger in 1986). Last November she set out with three other women to ski across Antarctica, reached the South Pole, then had to withdraw in mid-January when weather delays upset their schedule.
Californian Sylvia Earle, 57, prefers to study the last truly unexplored region on earth: the bottom of the sea. A marine biologist, she has clocked 6,000 hours underwater (That doesn't include time in the shower, she jokes) and holds the record for reaching the greatest depth - 381 m - ever attained by an untethered diver.
She has swum in the Indian Ocean with thousands of bioluminescent fish, dived in water so clear that from 30 m below the surface she could see the moon and stars; in the Pacific she has felt her body resonate with the vibrations of communicating whales- like being in a cathedral with otherworldly music. Most of the planet, she says, has yet to be explored. In the deep sea, less than one-tenth of 1% has even been looked at, and much of it has been mapped only in the most general way. Earle hopes to build a high-tech underwater craft that will take her to 11,000 m, the ocean's deepest depths.
It is the British, following centuries of tradition, who hold a special place in the chronicles of spectacular explorations. In a half-serious lexicon of Great British Things We Can Be Proud Of, London's Evening Standard recently listed Outwardness. From Sloaney grannies batting through the Hindu Kush in hire cars to lone seafarers circumnavigating the globe in sherry casks, the British are famously outward-looking.
Five hundred expeditions of dazzling variety and frequently exotic destinations, in fact, leave Britain's shores every year. Some are supported by public or private subscription, some by the Royal Geographical Society, others by sympathetic corporations.
They are costly investments and usually lose money. Britain's Robert Swan, who raised $3.5 million for a journey to the South Pole in 1984, retraced Robert Scott's 1911-12, 1,450-km route unassisted and in 1989 walked the 750-km from Ellesmere Island to the North Pole. Swan is still more than $ 100,000 in debt; his only consolation is that some of his famous predecessors - notably Sir Ernest Shackleton - died penniless.

An untethered diver would most probably mean

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

That's the way it is with explorers: any reason will do. They are, after all, no ordinary mortals. They are obsessed, fiercely competitive, driving themselves to reach beyond the last barrier into the untravelled world, or to do their predecessors one better, to live to tell the world what they have seen, and not incidentally, to enjoy triumph and glory.
Hardly any place on the surface of the earth remains to be discovered, let alone mapped, prodded, examined and analysed, yet explorers persist in pushing at frontiers. Italy's Reinhold Messner, 48, the first man ever to climb all 14 of the world's 8,000-plus-metre peaks - he did it without using oxygen equipment - also made the first solo oxygen-free ascent of Mount Everest and walked across Antarctica. Germany's Arved Fuchs, 39, hiked to both Poles in a single year, rounded Cape Horn in a collapsible boat, explored Greenland and the Canadian Arctic - to name only a few of his exploits.
France's Philippe Frey, 35, courted death when he travelled 9,000 km across the Sahara from the Red Sea to the Atlantic Ocean in 1991. Working from outdated maps (which eventually got blown away by the wind), he plowed through the desert for nine agonising months. One after another, the wells that were marked on the map turned out dry. He had two camels; his water supply was down to five litres. Just as he was preparing to slit a camel's throat to drink its blood and stomach juices, two nomads appeared and directed him to an unmarked well 20 km away. Last year, the Club des Explorateurs et Voyageurs awarded Frey its Prix Liotard for exploration.
Among Americans, the leading explorer is Will Steger, 48, for whom happiness is going into an area that's never been visited before, an area where the sounds and the sights are foreign to human eyes. In 1986 Steger led the first confirmed expedition to reach the North Pole by traveling across the ice, and in 1989-90 made the first dogsled crossing of Antarctica. Typically, he is almost blasé when he described adversity. People are side-tracked by the suffering, by the cold, he says. it's fascinating for them the idea of going to the bathroom outdoors at 500 below zero. They imagine the hardships of cold, but it's not really much. It's just physical, temporary. But if you make a mistake, you die.
A fellow Minneston, schoolteacher Ann Bancroft, 37, is the first woman ever to reach the North Pole by dogsled (with Steger in 1986). Last November she set out with three other women to ski across Antarctica, reached the South Pole, then had to withdraw in mid-January when weather delays upset their schedule.
Californian Sylvia Earle, 57, prefers to study the last truly unexplored region on earth: the bottom of the sea. A marine biologist, she has clocked 6,000 hours underwater (That doesn't include time in the shower, she jokes) and holds the record for reaching the greatest depth - 381 m - ever attained by an untethered diver.
She has swum in the Indian Ocean with thousands of bioluminescent fish, dived in water so clear that from 30 m below the surface she could see the moon and stars; in the Pacific she has felt her body resonate with the vibrations of communicating whales- like being in a cathedral with otherworldly music. Most of the planet, she says, has yet to be explored. In the deep sea, less than one-tenth of 1% has even been looked at, and much of it has been mapped only in the most general way. Earle hopes to build a high-tech underwater craft that will take her to 11,000 m, the ocean's deepest depths.
It is the British, following centuries of tradition, who hold a special place in the chronicles of spectacular explorations. In a half-serious lexicon of Great British Things We Can Be Proud Of, London's Evening Standard recently listed Outwardness. From Sloaney grannies batting through the Hindu Kush in hire cars to lone seafarers circumnavigating the globe in sherry casks, the British are famously outward-looking.
Five hundred expeditions of dazzling variety and frequently exotic destinations, in fact, leave Britain's shores every year. Some are supported by public or private subscription, some by the Royal Geographical Society, others by sympathetic corporations.
They are costly investments and usually lose money. Britain's Robert Swan, who raised $3.5 million for a journey to the South Pole in 1984, retraced Robert Scott's 1911-12, 1,450-km route unassisted and in 1989 walked the 750-km from Ellesmere Island to the North Pole. Swan is still more than $ 100,000 in debt; his only consolation is that some of his famous predecessors - notably Sir Ernest Shackleton - died penniless.

What the explorers do besides discovering include which of the following?

I. Examination and analysis II. Mapping III. Prodding IV. Colonisation

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

That's the way it is with explorers: any reason will do. They are, after all, no ordinary mortals. They are obsessed, fiercely competitive, driving themselves to reach beyond the last barrier into the untravelled world, or to do their predecessors one better, to live to tell the world what they have seen, and not incidentally, to enjoy triumph and glory.
Hardly any place on the surface of the earth remains to be discovered, let alone mapped, prodded, examined and analysed, yet explorers persist in pushing at frontiers. Italy's Reinhold Messner, 48, the first man ever to climb all 14 of the world's 8,000-plus-metre peaks - he did it without using oxygen equipment - also made the first solo oxygen-free ascent of Mount Everest and walked across Antarctica. Germany's Arved Fuchs, 39, hiked to both Poles in a single year, rounded Cape Horn in a collapsible boat, explored Greenland and the Canadian Arctic - to name only a few of his exploits.
France's Philippe Frey, 35, courted death when he travelled 9,000 km across the Sahara from the Red Sea to the Atlantic Ocean in 1991. Working from outdated maps (which eventually got blown away by the wind), he plowed through the desert for nine agonising months. One after another, the wells that were marked on the map turned out dry. He had two camels; his water supply was down to five litres. Just as he was preparing to slit a camel's throat to drink its blood and stomach juices, two nomads appeared and directed him to an unmarked well 20 km away. Last year, the Club des Explorateurs et Voyageurs awarded Frey its Prix Liotard for exploration.
Among Americans, the leading explorer is Will Steger, 48, for whom happiness is going into an area that's never been visited before, an area where the sounds and the sights are foreign to human eyes. In 1986 Steger led the first confirmed expedition to reach the North Pole by traveling across the ice, and in 1989-90 made the first dogsled crossing of Antarctica. Typically, he is almost blasé when he described adversity. People are side-tracked by the suffering, by the cold, he says. it's fascinating for them the idea of going to the bathroom outdoors at 500 below zero. They imagine the hardships of cold, but it's not really much. It's just physical, temporary. But if you make a mistake, you die.
A fellow Minneston, schoolteacher Ann Bancroft, 37, is the first woman ever to reach the North Pole by dogsled (with Steger in 1986). Last November she set out with three other women to ski across Antarctica, reached the South Pole, then had to withdraw in mid-January when weather delays upset their schedule.
Californian Sylvia Earle, 57, prefers to study the last truly unexplored region on earth: the bottom of the sea. A marine biologist, she has clocked 6,000 hours underwater (That doesn't include time in the shower, she jokes) and holds the record for reaching the greatest depth - 381 m - ever attained by an untethered diver.
She has swum in the Indian Ocean with thousands of bioluminescent fish, dived in water so clear that from 30 m below the surface she could see the moon and stars; in the Pacific she has felt her body resonate with the vibrations of communicating whales- like being in a cathedral with otherworldly music. Most of the planet, she says, has yet to be explored. In the deep sea, less than one-tenth of 1% has even been looked at, and much of it has been mapped only in the most general way. Earle hopes to build a high-tech underwater craft that will take her to 11,000 m, the ocean's deepest depths.
It is the British, following centuries of tradition, who hold a special place in the chronicles of spectacular explorations. In a half-serious lexicon of Great British Things We Can Be Proud Of, London's Evening Standard recently listed Outwardness. From Sloaney grannies batting through the Hindu Kush in hire cars to lone seafarers circumnavigating the globe in sherry casks, the British are famously outward-looking.
Five hundred expeditions of dazzling variety and frequently exotic destinations, in fact, leave Britain's shores every year. Some are supported by public or private subscription, some by the Royal Geographical Society, others by sympathetic corporations.
They are costly investments and usually lose money. Britain's Robert Swan, who raised $3.5 million for a journey to the South Pole in 1984, retraced Robert Scott's 1911-12, 1,450-km route unassisted and in 1989 walked the 750-km from Ellesmere Island to the North Pole. Swan is still more than $ 100,000 in debt; his only consolation is that some of his famous predecessors - notably Sir Ernest Shackleton - died penniless.

The author traces the famous exploits of citizens from all of the following nations, except

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

That's the way it is with explorers: any reason will do. They are, after all, no ordinary mortals. They are obsessed, fiercely competitive, driving themselves to reach beyond the last barrier into the untravelled world, or to do their predecessors one better, to live to tell the world what they have seen, and not incidentally, to enjoy triumph and glory.
Hardly any place on the surface of the earth remains to be discovered, let alone mapped, prodded, examined and analysed, yet explorers persist in pushing at frontiers. Italy's Reinhold Messner, 48, the first man ever to climb all 14 of the world's 8,000-plus-metre peaks - he did it without using oxygen equipment - also made the first solo oxygen-free ascent of Mount Everest and walked across Antarctica. Germany's Arved Fuchs, 39, hiked to both Poles in a single year, rounded Cape Horn in a collapsible boat, explored Greenland and the Canadian Arctic - to name only a few of his exploits.
France's Philippe Frey, 35, courted death when he travelled 9,000 km across the Sahara from the Red Sea to the Atlantic Ocean in 1991. Working from outdated maps (which eventually got blown away by the wind), he plowed through the desert for nine agonising months. One after another, the wells that were marked on the map turned out dry. He had two camels; his water supply was down to five litres. Just as he was preparing to slit a camel's throat to drink its blood and stomach juices, two nomads appeared and directed him to an unmarked well 20 km away. Last year, the Club des Explorateurs et Voyageurs awarded Frey its Prix Liotard for exploration.
Among Americans, the leading explorer is Will Steger, 48, for whom happiness is going into an area that's never been visited before, an area where the sounds and the sights are foreign to human eyes. In 1986 Steger led the first confirmed expedition to reach the North Pole by traveling across the ice, and in 1989-90 made the first dogsled crossing of Antarctica. Typically, he is almost blasé when he described adversity. People are side-tracked by the suffering, by the cold, he says. it's fascinating for them the idea of going to the bathroom outdoors at 500 below zero. They imagine the hardships of cold, but it's not really much. It's just physical, temporary. But if you make a mistake, you die.
A fellow Minneston, schoolteacher Ann Bancroft, 37, is the first woman ever to reach the North Pole by dogsled (with Steger in 1986). Last November she set out with three other women to ski across Antarctica, reached the South Pole, then had to withdraw in mid-January when weather delays upset their schedule.
Californian Sylvia Earle, 57, prefers to study the last truly unexplored region on earth: the bottom of the sea. A marine biologist, she has clocked 6,000 hours underwater (That doesn't include time in the shower, she jokes) and holds the record for reaching the greatest depth - 381 m - ever attained by an untethered diver.
She has swum in the Indian Ocean with thousands of bioluminescent fish, dived in water so clear that from 30 m below the surface she could see the moon and stars; in the Pacific she has felt her body resonate with the vibrations of communicating whales- like being in a cathedral with otherworldly music. Most of the planet, she says, has yet to be explored. In the deep sea, less than one-tenth of 1% has even been looked at, and much of it has been mapped only in the most general way. Earle hopes to build a high-tech underwater craft that will take her to 11,000 m, the ocean's deepest depths.
It is the British, following centuries of tradition, who hold a special place in the chronicles of spectacular explorations. In a half-serious lexicon of Great British Things We Can Be Proud Of, London's Evening Standard recently listed Outwardness. From Sloaney grannies batting through the Hindu Kush in hire cars to lone seafarers circumnavigating the globe in sherry casks, the British are famously outward-looking.
Five hundred expeditions of dazzling variety and frequently exotic destinations, in fact, leave Britain's shores every year. Some are supported by public or private subscription, some by the Royal Geographical Society, others by sympathetic corporations.
They are costly investments and usually lose money. Britain's Robert Swan, who raised $3.5 million for a journey to the South Pole in 1984, retraced Robert Scott's 1911-12, 1,450-km route unassisted and in 1989 walked the 750-km from Ellesmere Island to the North Pole. Swan is still more than $ 100,000 in debt; his only consolation is that some of his famous predecessors - notably Sir Ernest Shackleton - died penniless.

In this passage, the author is discussing

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

That's the way it is with explorers: any reason will do. They are, after all, no ordinary mortals. They are obsessed, fiercely competitive, driving themselves to reach beyond the last barrier into the untravelled world, or to do their predecessors one better, to live to tell the world what they have seen, and not incidentally, to enjoy triumph and glory.
Hardly any place on the surface of the earth remains to be discovered, let alone mapped, prodded, examined and analysed, yet explorers persist in pushing at frontiers. Italy's Reinhold Messner, 48, the first man ever to climb all 14 of the world's 8,000-plus-metre peaks - he did it without using oxygen equipment - also made the first solo oxygen-free ascent of Mount Everest and walked across Antarctica. Germany's Arved Fuchs, 39, hiked to both Poles in a single year, rounded Cape Horn in a collapsible boat, explored Greenland and the Canadian Arctic - to name only a few of his exploits.
France's Philippe Frey, 35, courted death when he travelled 9,000 km across the Sahara from the Red Sea to the Atlantic Ocean in 1991. Working from outdated maps (which eventually got blown away by the wind), he plowed through the desert for nine agonising months. One after another, the wells that were marked on the map turned out dry. He had two camels; his water supply was down to five litres. Just as he was preparing to slit a camel's throat to drink its blood and stomach juices, two nomads appeared and directed him to an unmarked well 20 km away. Last year, the Club des Explorateurs et Voyageurs awarded Frey its Prix Liotard for exploration.
Among Americans, the leading explorer is Will Steger, 48, for whom happiness is going into an area that's never been visited before, an area where the sounds and the sights are foreign to human eyes. In 1986 Steger led the first confirmed expedition to reach the North Pole by traveling across the ice, and in 1989-90 made the first dogsled crossing of Antarctica. Typically, he is almost blasé when he described adversity. People are side-tracked by the suffering, by the cold, he says. it's fascinating for them the idea of going to the bathroom outdoors at 500 below zero. They imagine the hardships of cold, but it's not really much. It's just physical, temporary. But if you make a mistake, you die.
A fellow Minneston, schoolteacher Ann Bancroft, 37, is the first woman ever to reach the North Pole by dogsled (with Steger in 1986). Last November she set out with three other women to ski across Antarctica, reached the South Pole, then had to withdraw in mid-January when weather delays upset their schedule.
Californian Sylvia Earle, 57, prefers to study the last truly unexplored region on earth: the bottom of the sea. A marine biologist, she has clocked 6,000 hours underwater (That doesn't include time in the shower, she jokes) and holds the record for reaching the greatest depth - 381 m - ever attained by an untethered diver.
She has swum in the Indian Ocean with thousands of bioluminescent fish, dived in water so clear that from 30 m below the surface she could see the moon and stars; in the Pacific she has felt her body resonate with the vibrations of communicating whales- like being in a cathedral with otherworldly music. Most of the planet, she says, has yet to be explored. In the deep sea, less than one-tenth of 1% has even been looked at, and much of it has been mapped only in the most general way. Earle hopes to build a high-tech underwater craft that will take her to 11,000 m, the ocean's deepest depths.
It is the British, following centuries of tradition, who hold a special place in the chronicles of spectacular explorations. In a half-serious lexicon of Great British Things We Can Be Proud Of, London's Evening Standard recently listed Outwardness. From Sloaney grannies batting through the Hindu Kush in hire cars to lone seafarers circumnavigating the globe in sherry casks, the British are famously outward-looking.
Five hundred expeditions of dazzling variety and frequently exotic destinations, in fact, leave Britain's shores every year. Some are supported by public or private subscription, some by the Royal Geographical Society, others by sympathetic corporations.
They are costly investments and usually lose money. Britain's Robert Swan, who raised $3.5 million for a journey to the South Pole in 1984, retraced Robert Scott's 1911-12, 1,450-km route unassisted and in 1989 walked the 750-km from Ellesmere Island to the North Pole. Swan is still more than $ 100,000 in debt; his only consolation is that some of his famous predecessors - notably Sir Ernest Shackleton - died penniless.

When Sylvia Earle uses the comparison like being in a cathedral with other worldly music, the highlighted words would refer to, in that order,

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

That's the way it is with explorers: any reason will do. They are, after all, no ordinary mortals. They are obsessed, fiercely competitive, driving themselves to reach beyond the last barrier into the untravelled world, or to do their predecessors one better, to live to tell the world what they have seen, and not incidentally, to enjoy triumph and glory.
Hardly any place on the surface of the earth remains to be discovered, let alone mapped, prodded, examined and analysed, yet explorers persist in pushing at frontiers. Italy's Reinhold Messner, 48, the first man ever to climb all 14 of the world's 8,000-plus-metre peaks - he did it without using oxygen equipment - also made the first solo oxygen-free ascent of Mount Everest and walked across Antarctica. Germany's Arved Fuchs, 39, hiked to both Poles in a single year, rounded Cape Horn in a collapsible boat, explored Greenland and the Canadian Arctic - to name only a few of his exploits.
France's Philippe Frey, 35, courted death when he travelled 9,000 km across the Sahara from the Red Sea to the Atlantic Ocean in 1991. Working from outdated maps (which eventually got blown away by the wind), he plowed through the desert for nine agonising months. One after another, the wells that were marked on the map turned out dry. He had two camels; his water supply was down to five litres. Just as he was preparing to slit a camel's throat to drink its blood and stomach juices, two nomads appeared and directed him to an unmarked well 20 km away. Last year, the Club des Explorateurs et Voyageurs awarded Frey its Prix Liotard for exploration.
Among Americans, the leading explorer is Will Steger, 48, for whom happiness is going into an area that's never been visited before, an area where the sounds and the sights are foreign to human eyes. In 1986 Steger led the first confirmed expedition to reach the North Pole by traveling across the ice, and in 1989-90 made the first dogsled crossing of Antarctica. Typically, he is almost blasé when he described adversity. People are side-tracked by the suffering, by the cold, he says. it's fascinating for them the idea of going to the bathroom outdoors at 500 below zero. They imagine the hardships of cold, but it's not really much. It's just physical, temporary. But if you make a mistake, you die.
A fellow Minneston, schoolteacher Ann Bancroft, 37, is the first woman ever to reach the North Pole by dogsled (with Steger in 1986). Last November she set out with three other women to ski across Antarctica, reached the South Pole, then had to withdraw in mid-January when weather delays upset their schedule.
Californian Sylvia Earle, 57, prefers to study the last truly unexplored region on earth: the bottom of the sea. A marine biologist, she has clocked 6,000 hours underwater (That doesn't include time in the shower, she jokes) and holds the record for reaching the greatest depth - 381 m - ever attained by an untethered diver.
She has swum in the Indian Ocean with thousands of bioluminescent fish, dived in water so clear that from 30 m below the surface she could see the moon and stars; in the Pacific she has felt her body resonate with the vibrations of communicating whales- like being in a cathedral with otherworldly music. Most of the planet, she says, has yet to be explored. In the deep sea, less than one-tenth of 1% has even been looked at, and much of it has been mapped only in the most general way. Earle hopes to build a high-tech underwater craft that will take her to 11,000 m, the ocean's deepest depths.
It is the British, following centuries of tradition, who hold a special place in the chronicles of spectacular explorations. In a half-serious lexicon of Great British Things We Can Be Proud Of, London's Evening Standard recently listed Outwardness. From Sloaney grannies batting through the Hindu Kush in hire cars to lone seafarers circumnavigating the globe in sherry casks, the British are famously outward-looking.
Five hundred expeditions of dazzling variety and frequently exotic destinations, in fact, leave Britain's shores every year. Some are supported by public or private subscription, some by the Royal Geographical Society, others by sympathetic corporations.
They are costly investments and usually lose money. Britain's Robert Swan, who raised $3.5 million for a journey to the South Pole in 1984, retraced Robert Scott's 1911-12, 1,450-km route unassisted and in 1989 walked the 750-km from Ellesmere Island to the North Pole. Swan is still more than $ 100,000 in debt; his only consolation is that some of his famous predecessors - notably Sir Ernest Shackleton - died penniless.

Directions: The given sentence is followed by a question. From the given options, select the appropriate question tag for the statement.

He was not making a noise. ___________

Even the most macho convict does not tattoo his whole body all at once because

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

As per textual evidence, Mr. Bronnikov is all of the following, except

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

Which of the following is false with reference to Andrei Mysnik?

Directions: Read the following passsage and answer the given question.

Arkady Bronnikov pulls out a fistful of black and white photos from his overstuffed valise and, like a proud parent, passes them around.
This one's my favourite. The work on him is really artistic, Mr. Bronnikov says admiringly of the snapshot in his hand.
The photograph shows a Russian convict bald, and naked to the waist. To the delight of Mr. Bronnikov, the man's torso is covered with tattoos.
As Russia's leading expert on tattoo iconography, Mr. Bronnikov can tell the prisoner's story from looking at the designs on his body. The huge spider in a web that is drawn on his skull reveals, in prison tattoo code, that he is a drug addict. Also, he is a repeat offender: The onion domes of a Russian church fan across his shoulder blades, each of the seven cupolas representing a different stay in prison. Above the church, across the back of his neck, the convict has stencilled, in Russian, "Not just anyone can hold his head this high".
He's the pakhan, the king of thieves in his prison, Mr. Bronnikov explains.
For nearly 30 years, Mr. Bronnikov, a criminologist, has analysed the language of tattoos among Soviet convicts. As a colonel in the secretive Interior Ministry, Mr. Bronnikov had access to thousands of prisoners in remote labour camps. Nearly everybody who does time gets tattooed (women, too, but less elaborately). Most are tattooed voluntarily. Forcibly tattooed are the so-called insulted men who have been raped in prison.
Across Russia and in the other former Soviet republics, convicts use the same symbols. The images document the prisoner's crimes, sentences and, most importantly, his position in the rigid hierarchy that runs convict life and, in some cases, the prisons, themselves.
The more tattoos a convict gets, the more sentences he has served, the more respect he gets in prison, says the 66-year old Mr. Bronnikov. The tattoos show that he isn't afraid of pain.
When Mr. Bronikov began as a criminologist in the late 1950s, he was struck by the blue and black symbols turning up on suspects and, occasionally, on an unidentified corpse. As a hobby, he started collecting photographs of such tattoos. The avocation quickly became a subject of scholarship.
Working in the Perm region, Mr. Bronnikov was virtually surrounded by thugs. This Ural province is the penal capital of the former Soviet Union, with more than 30 labour camps and a convict population exceeding 100,000. As a lecturer at the regional police academy, Mr. Bronnikov persuaded his students, many of them prison wardens, to provide him with photos of the best tattoos in their camps.
Mr. Bronnikov now has more than 20,000 photos and has published books on what they mean. He has helped solve criminal cases around the country by studying tattoos to identify culprits and corpses. In the mid 1970s, Mr. Bronnikov assisted in the search for a child molester in the Volga town of Yeshevsk. One of the man's victims recalled markings on the criminal's hands and chest that suggested to police he was an ex-convict. A young girl's description and the telltale tattoos got the suspect nabbed quickly and then convicted.
Although 17^th century Russian courts favoured branding and tattooing the faces of criminals, Soviet prisoners began to tattoo one another in the 1950s. Discreet symbols on the chest and shoulder have evolved into elabourate murals, with prisoners sporting hundreds of drawings on their bodies.
Interned in Correctional Labour Colony 29 on the outskirts of Prem, Andrei Mysnik is serving a 15 year sentence for killing a policeman in Leningrad in 1981. As an old-timer in the zone, the vast network of labour camps, Mr. Mysnik has an impressive array of tattoos.
He opens his fist and points to two rows of tattoos etched across his knuckles. The beetle is a good luck charm in burglary, the 30-year old Mr. Mysnik's speciality. The black and white diamond indicates that Mr. Mysnik has spend half his life in prison. As he looks down to explain the images, the words do not wake become visible; they are tattooed on his eyelids.
Mr. Mysnik's favourite tattoo extends across his slender back: a prehistoric scene, with pterodactyls and tar pits and, in the middle, a dinosaur biting another on the neck. "This is the criminal world to me", Mr. Mysnik says. One way or the other, you get nailed.
Still, the pain does deter even the most macho convict from covering his body, all at once, with meaningful pictures. Tattoos are created by instilling pigment in the skin with thousands of needle pricks. In the camps, the process can take anywhere from a few hours to a few years, depending on the artist and his ambition, says Mr. Bronnikov. Because of prison conditions, tattoo artists have to improvise with materials and equipment. For instance, they will draw a picture on a wooden plank, place needles along the lines of the design, cover the needles with ink and stamp the whole tableau on the prisoner's body. Another method is to slice the image onto the skin with a razor and daub that cut with indelible ink.

Who are the ‘priori philosophers’ in the passage?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.

With respect to the theory of the origin of the forms of life peopling our globe, with which Darwin's name is bound up as closely as that of Newton with the theory of gravitation, nothing seems to be further from the mind of the present generation than any attempt to smother it with ridicule or to crush it by vehemence of denunciation. The Struggle for Existence, and Natural Selection, have become household words and every-day conceptions. The reality and the importance of the natural processes on which Darwin founds his deductions are no more doubted than those of growth and multiplication; and, whether the full potency attributed to them is admitted or not, no one doubts their vast and far-reaching significance. 

Wherever the biological sciences are studied, the 'Origin of Species' lights the paths of the investigator; wherever they are taught it permeates the course of instruction. Nor has the influence of Darwinian ideas been less profound, beyond the realms of Biology. The oldest of all philosophies, that of Evolution, was bound hand and foot and cast into utter darkness during the millennium of theological scholasticism. But Darwin poured new life-blood into the ancient frame; the bonds burst, and the revivified thought of ancient Greece has proved itself to be adequate expression of the universal order of things.

To any one who studies the signs of the times, the emergence of the philosophy of Evolution, in the attitude of claimant to the throne of the world of thought, from the limbo of hated and, as many hoped, forgotten things, is the most portentous event of the nineteenth century. But the most effective weapons of the modern champions of Evolution were fabricated by Darwin; and the 'Origin of Species' has enlisted a formidable body of combatants, trained in the severe school of Physical Science, whose ears might have long remained deaf to the speculations of a priori philosophers.

Who/What are/is the “repository of venerable traditions”?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.

With respect to the theory of the origin of the forms of life peopling our globe, with which Darwin's name is bound up as closely as that of Newton with the theory of gravitation, nothing seems to be further from the mind of the present generation than any attempt to smother it with ridicule or to crush it by vehemence of denunciation. The Struggle for Existence, and Natural Selection, have become household words and every-day conceptions. The reality and the importance of the natural processes on which Darwin founds his deductions are no more doubted than those of growth and multiplication; and, whether the full potency attributed to them is admitted or not, no one doubts their vast and far-reaching significance. 

Wherever the biological sciences are studied, the 'Origin of Species' lights the paths of the investigator; wherever they are taught it permeates the course of instruction. Nor has the influence of Darwinian ideas been less profound, beyond the realms of Biology. The oldest of all philosophies, that of Evolution, was bound hand and foot and cast into utter darkness during the millennium of theological scholasticism. But Darwin poured new life-blood into the ancient frame; the bonds burst, and the revivified thought of ancient Greece has proved itself to be adequate expression of the universal order of things.

To any one who studies the signs of the times, the emergence of the philosophy of Evolution, in the attitude of claimant to the throne of the world of thought, from the limbo of hated and, as many hoped, forgotten things, is the most portentous event of the nineteenth century. But the most effective weapons of the modern champions of Evolution were fabricated by Darwin; and the 'Origin of Species' has enlisted a formidable body of combatants, trained in the severe school of Physical Science, whose ears might have long remained deaf to the speculations of a priori philosophers.

What does the author mean by the phrase, “….torture texts in the vain hope of making them confess the creed of Science”?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.

With respect to the theory of the origin of the forms of life peopling our globe, with which Darwin's name is bound up as closely as that of Newton with the theory of gravitation, nothing seems to be further from the mind of the present generation than any attempt to smother it with ridicule or to crush it by vehemence of denunciation. The Struggle for Existence, and Natural Selection, have become household words and every-day conceptions. The reality and the importance of the natural processes on which Darwin founds his deductions are no more doubted than those of growth and multiplication; and, whether the full potency attributed to them is admitted or not, no one doubts their vast and far-reaching significance. 

Wherever the biological sciences are studied, the 'Origin of Species' lights the paths of the investigator; wherever they are taught it permeates the course of instruction. Nor has the influence of Darwinian ideas been less profound, beyond the realms of Biology. The oldest of all philosophies, that of Evolution, was bound hand and foot and cast into utter darkness during the millennium of theological scholasticism. But Darwin poured new life-blood into the ancient frame; the bonds burst, and the revivified thought of ancient Greece has proved itself to be adequate expression of the universal order of things.

To any one who studies the signs of the times, the emergence of the philosophy of Evolution, in the attitude of claimant to the throne of the world of thought, from the limbo of hated and, as many hoped, forgotten things, is the most portentous event of the nineteenth century. But the most effective weapons of the modern champions of Evolution were fabricated by Darwin; and the 'Origin of Species' has enlisted a formidable body of combatants, trained in the severe school of Physical Science, whose ears might have long remained deaf to the speculations of a priori philosophers.

Which of the following options best illustrates the primary purpose of the passage?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the question that follows.

With respect to the theory of the origin of the forms of life peopling our globe, with which Darwin's name is bound up as closely as that of Newton with the theory of gravitation, nothing seems to be further from the mind of the present generation than any attempt to smother it with ridicule or to crush it by vehemence of denunciation. The Struggle for Existence, and Natural Selection, have become household words and every-day conceptions. The reality and the importance of the natural processes on which Darwin founds his deductions are no more doubted than those of growth and multiplication; and, whether the full potency attributed to them is admitted or not, no one doubts their vast and far-reaching significance. 

Wherever the biological sciences are studied, the 'Origin of Species' lights the paths of the investigator; wherever they are taught it permeates the course of instruction. Nor has the influence of Darwinian ideas been less profound, beyond the realms of Biology. The oldest of all philosophies, that of Evolution, was bound hand and foot and cast into utter darkness during the millennium of theological scholasticism. But Darwin poured new life-blood into the ancient frame; the bonds burst, and the revivified thought of ancient Greece has proved itself to be adequate expression of the universal order of things.

To any one who studies the signs of the times, the emergence of the philosophy of Evolution, in the attitude of claimant to the throne of the world of thought, from the limbo of hated and, as many hoped, forgotten things, is the most portentous event of the nineteenth century. But the most effective weapons of the modern champions of Evolution were fabricated by Darwin; and the 'Origin of Species' has enlisted a formidable body of combatants, trained in the severe school of Physical Science, whose ears might have long remained deaf to the speculations of a priori philosophers.

Fire is a result of all of the following except :

passage 

Halons, a group of chlorofluorobromo ethane and methane derivatives, are exceptionally good fire extinguishing agents, which are effective and safe. Advanced countries realised the advantages of halon fire extinguishers in 1960s and standardised on Halons to replace Carbon dioxide, Methyl/Ethyl hromide, and other fire extinguishers.
Fire is a result of fuel, energy and oxygen. In order to extinguish fire, one or more of these elements will have to be removed. While conventional agents like carbon dioxide, DCP, water, sand, etc, put out fire only by means of creating physical barrier between the flames and the surrounding oxygen, , i.e. by amothering the fire, halons work in three ways: Physically cool the area, create a barrier between the flames and surrounding oxygen and chemically release bromine atoms in the heat of fire. These bromine atoms combine with reactive components of fire and thus kill the fire.
No real life falls into any single category as per standard classification, based on different materials involved in fire. The extinguishing medium then has to be effective against all classes of fire. Halons are most effective, among various fire extinguishers know, for all types of common fires, viz. Class A, B and C.
Several attributes of halons which contribute to its superiority over conventional agents are:
The versatility of halons I fighting all kinds of common fires makes it indispensable in several applications such as operation theatres, explosive factories, steel plants, oil refineries, etc.
Halons are safe upto 1,00,000 Volts. This non conductivity makes it ideal for cable galleries, thermal/nuclear power generating stations, transformer/oil switches, rotating equipment, etc.
The low toxicity of halons makes it essential for the areas which are normally occupied by human beings. For example. Telecommunications transmitting and receiving stations, telephone exchange, control rooms, air control towers, T.V. centres, X-rays rooms, railways, etc.
Halons leave no residue after use and hence do not damage the documents and valuable properties. Hence it becomes most suitable for locations, having objects of high value such as computer rooms, delicate electronic equipment, radar stations, museums, archives, libraries, stock exchanges , banks, press/mints, etc.
Halons are more effective and thus are capable of rapid and complete extinguishing of fires at low concentrations. For example. Halon 1211 is 2.5 times more effective than carbon dioxide. As a result, it is a solution for fires in aircraft, tanks, armoured carriers, motor vehicles, ships, submarines, etc.
Halons being light weight with an extremely low freezing point, it is the ideal fire extinguisher at high altitudes and also at places where the availability of water and space is limited. Halons also permit clear vision during fire fighting operations.
Commensurate with halons\\' superior fire fighting capabilities, developed countries have so far produced 2,95,000 MTs of halons during the last 30 years, and still continue to do so. Infact 1,40,000 MTs of halons have been banked to meet the critical and strategic requirements in developed countries when the manufacture of halons will be phased out.
Halons, the best fire extinguisher known to mankind, is criticised for its ozone depleting potential and is a controlled substance under the Montreal Protocol, leading to its phase out in the near future.
However, India being a developing country, Article 5 of the Montreal Protocol gives it a grace period of ten years, and hence India will be allowed to use it for all applications till 2010 A..D., and thereafter for all essential used till a suitable alternative is made available. As per the Montreal Protocol, India is allowed to use 40,000 TPA of Halons, but it is expected to have a production of 2,300 TPA in the period of 1995-97, which forms the base year as per the Protocol.
Halons entered the India Fire Services (Defence and Civil)are slowly in the early\\' 80s. If the statutes of the Montreal Protocol are not tapped, a combination of two things detrimental to the country would occur i.e. damage due to fire being fought by inefficient fire fighting, loss of life and loss of costly installations, and needless import of costly substitutes on large scale.

Which of the following questions cannot be answered by a reading of the article?

passage 

Halons, a group of chlorofluorobromo ethane and methane derivatives, are exceptionally good fire extinguishing agents, which are effective and safe. Advanced countries realised the advantages of halon fire extinguishers in 1960s and standardised on Halons to replace Carbon dioxide, Methyl/Ethyl hromide, and other fire extinguishers.
Fire is a result of fuel, energy and oxygen. In order to extinguish fire, one or more of these elements will have to be removed. While conventional agents like carbon dioxide, DCP, water, sand, etc, put out fire only by means of creating physical barrier between the flames and the surrounding oxygen, , i.e. by amothering the fire, halons work in three ways: Physically cool the area, create a barrier between the flames and surrounding oxygen and chemically release bromine atoms in the heat of fire. These bromine atoms combine with reactive components of fire and thus kill the fire.
No real life falls into any single category as per standard classification, based on different materials involved in fire. The extinguishing medium then has to be effective against all classes of fire. Halons are most effective, among various fire extinguishers know, for all types of common fires, viz. Class A, B and C.
Several attributes of halons which contribute to its superiority over conventional agents are:
The versatility of halons I fighting all kinds of common fires makes it indispensable in several applications such as operation theatres, explosive factories, steel plants, oil refineries, etc.
Halons are safe upto 1,00,000 Volts. This non conductivity makes it ideal for cable galleries, thermal/nuclear power generating stations, transformer/oil switches, rotating equipment, etc.
The low toxicity of halons makes it essential for the areas which are normally occupied by human beings. For example. Telecommunications transmitting and receiving stations, telephone exchange, control rooms, air control towers, T.V. centres, X-rays rooms, railways, etc.
Halons leave no residue after use and hence do not damage the documents and valuable properties. Hence it becomes most suitable for locations, having objects of high value such as computer rooms, delicate electronic equipment, radar stations, museums, archives, libraries, stock exchanges , banks, press/mints, etc.
Halons are more effective and thus are capable of rapid and complete extinguishing of fires at low concentrations. For example. Halon 1211 is 2.5 times more effective than carbon dioxide. As a result, it is a solution for fires in aircraft, tanks, armoured carriers, motor vehicles, ships, submarines, etc.
Halons being light weight with an extremely low freezing point, it is the ideal fire extinguisher at high altitudes and also at places where the availability of water and space is limited. Halons also permit clear vision during fire fighting operations.
Commensurate with halons\\' superior fire fighting capabilities, developed countries have so far produced 2,95,000 MTs of halons during the last 30 years, and still continue to do so. Infact 1,40,000 MTs of halons have been banked to meet the critical and strategic requirements in developed countries when the manufacture of halons will be phased out.
Halons, the best fire extinguisher known to mankind, is criticised for its ozone depleting potential and is a controlled substance under the Montreal Protocol, leading to its phase out in the near future.
However, India being a developing country, Article 5 of the Montreal Protocol gives it a grace period of ten years, and hence India will be allowed to use it for all applications till 2010 A..D., and thereafter for all essential used till a suitable alternative is made available. As per the Montreal Protocol, India is allowed to use 40,000 TPA of Halons, but it is expected to have a production of 2,300 TPA in the period of 1995-97, which forms the base year as per the Protocol.
Halons entered the India Fire Services (Defence and Civil)are slowly in the early\\' 80s. If the statutes of the Montreal Protocol are not tapped, a combination of two things detrimental to the country would occur i.e. damage due to fire being fought by inefficient fire fighting, loss of life and loss of costly installations, and needless import of costly substitutes on large scale.