Have you ever known a person who talks like Mrs. Jones? What does her language tell you about the character of Mrs. Jones?

Read the excerpt from the land. in the late afternoon i did the same, but all the time i was on the stallion, i was aware that mitchell was watching me. he had appeared on the edge of the woods and had just stood there watching ghost wind and me as we went round and round the meadow. finally, on one of our turns past him, he said: "s'pose you thinkin' you a real somebody 'cause you can ride that stallion." i looked down at mitchell and stopped, knowing that despite our understanding, he was itching for a fight with me. now, i don't know what possessed me in that moment to say the next thing i did. maybe i was feeling guilty that because i was my daddy's son, i could ride ghost wind. maybe it was that, but it wasn't out of fear i said what i said. i no longer was afraid of mitchell. "you want to ride him? " i asked. mitchell took a step backward. it was obvious he hadn't expected me to say that. "you know i can't ride him," he said. "your white daddy'd kill me." "you want to ride him? " i asked again. mitchell looked at the stallion, then at me. "so, what if i do? " what intrinsic motivation does the author most likely intend the reader to infer from the passage? paul is motivated by his need to have mitchell praise his riding skills. mitchell is motivated by his need to have paul praise his riding skills. paul is motivated by jealousy and wishes he had free time like mitchell. mitchell is motivated by jealousy and wishes he could ride the horse.

Who was influential in tolkien's life first? a) c. s. lewis b) the inklings c) tolkien's children d) fr. francis morgan

In the sweet hereafter and the following poem, what does the newborn symbolize? "every death is magic from the enemy to be avenged" by brooks haxton when fever burned the last light out of my daughter's eyes, i swore to find and kill the ones to blame. men must mount the long boat in the dark with spears. at dawn, where the flowering spicebush hid my scent, i crouched. a young wife, newborn slung across her chest, came first for spring water. she stooped. my god, for vengeance, spoke her secret name inside my ear. her god stepped back with no scream, his right hand at his mouth, the knuckles clenched between the pointed teeth. death is not evil. innocence of childhood the continuing cycle of life and death the children that will never be born