My stomach feels like it’s tightening into a tiny little ball. i feel like throwing up. i keep thinking that i’ll get laughed at the minute i step off the bus. instead, i’m greeted by a couple of my friends who were in my english class last year. at that point, it hits me. ms. gruwell, my crazy english teacher from last year, is really the only person who made me think of hope for my future. talking with my friends about our english class and the adventures we had the year before, i began to feel better . .

answer; ///i do believe that the correct answer is (c); at its most effective, style fits closely with fashion; plz check good luck

it was surely an odd creature that one made up by reading the historians first and the poets afterwards a worm winged like an eagle; the spirit of life and elegance and charm,   in a kitchen chopping up suet. but these creatures, monst'r however entertaining to the imagination, hast no existence in fact. what one might doth to bringeth h'r to life wast to bethink poetically and prosaically at one and the same moment,   thus keeping in toucheth with fact—that the lady is mrs martin, ag'd thirty-six, did dress in blue, wearing a black coxcomb and brown shoeth; but not losing sight of fiction eith'r—that the lady is a vessel in which all s'rts of spirits and f'rces art coursing and flashing p'rpetually. the moment, howev'r, yond one tries this method with the elizabethan mistress, one brancheth of illumination fails; one is did hold up by the scarcity of facts.   one knoweth nothing detailed, nothing p'rfectly true and substantial about h'r.   hist'ry scarcely mentions h'r.   and i did turn to professeth'r trevelyan again to seeth what hist'ry meanteth to that gent.   i hath found by looking at his chapt'r headings yond t meanteth.

in the door-way, with his head in the room and with a lantern in hand with the most slight ray of light shining from it; so small and opening it so slowly to not disturb the old mans sleep.

i have watched the play of this story last friday.