Wrote about paris society. guy de maupassant frank r. stockton mark twain

I’n a rough draft, where should the main idea first appear in the paper

Read this excerpt from "ain't i a woman? " by sojoumer truth in which three sentences does she make an emotional appeal to the audience by talking about her personal hardships? well, children, where there is so much racket there must be something out of kilter. {i think that 'twixt the negroes of the south and the women at the north, all talking about rights, the white men will be in a fix pretty soon.} but what's all this here talking about? {that man over there says that women need to be into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. nobody ever me into carriages, or over mud puddles, or gives me any best place} and ain't i a woman? look at me! look at my arm! {i have ploughed and planted, and gathered into bars, and no man could head me! } and ain't i a woman? i could work as much and eat as much as a man - when i could get it - and bear the lash as well! and ain't i a woman? {i have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when i cried out with my mother's grief, none but jesus heard me! } and ain't i a woman? {then they talk about this thing in the head, what's this they call it? [member of audience whispers, "intellect") that's it, honey.} what's that got to do with women's rights or negroes' rights? if my cup won't hold but a pint, and yours holds a quart, wouldn't you be mean not to let me have my little half measure full?

What is the effect of narrator's word choice on the tone of this passage? the words "my heart shrank within itself" create a fearful tone. the words "wounded his fellow" develop a remorseful tone. the words "struck harsh upon my ears" suggest an irritated tone. the words "better-omened" set a hopeful tone. excerpt from "the cabuliwallah" by rabindranath tagore i was sitting in my study, looking through the accounts, when some one entered, saluting respectfully, and stood before me. it was rahmun the cabuliwallah. at first i did not recognise him. he had no bag, nor the long hair, nor the same vigour that he used to have. but he smiled, and i knew him again. "when did you come, rahmun? " i asked him. "last evening," he said, "i was released from jail." the words struck harsh upon my ears. i had never before talked with one who had wounded his fellow, and my heart shrank within itself when i realised this; for i felt that the day would have been better-omened had he not turned up.