Read the student draft about The Land, Part 4. In part 4 of The Land by Mildred D. Taylor, Paul, Mitchell, and Paul’s father go to East Texas. Paul successfully rides a horse to win a wager for his father, but he is upset by how his father treats him. He voices his frustration when he says, "Well, you didn't tell that man from Alabama anything about you being my daddy, just that I was 'your boy'! Figure that says more than anything else!”

What is the best concluding sentence for this draft?

Paul can no longer accept the hypocrisy of his father’s actions.
Paul wants his father to treat him the same way he treats Mitchell.
Paul does not understand why his father will not let him ride the stallion.
Paul says he does not understand why his father calls him “my boy.”

What form would best be classified as postmodern

Select the contred text in the passage which sentence in this excerpt from john galsworthy's narrative essay "gone" reflects his view that there is no afterlife? an old woman and mrs. herd's sister were in the sitting-room, they showed us to the crazy, narrow stairway. though we lived distant but four hundred yards of a crows flight, we had never seen mrs. herd before, for that is the way of things in this land of minding one's own business a slight dark girlish-looking woman, almost quite refined away, and with those eyes of the dying, where the spirit is coming through, as it only does when it knows that al is over except just the passing. she lay in a double bed with clean white sheets. a white-washed room, so low that the ceiling almost touched our heads, some flowers in a bow, the small lattice window open. though it was hot in there, it was better far than the rooms of most families in towns, living on a wage of twice as much, for here was no sign of defeat in decency or cleanliness. in her face, as in poor herd's, was that same strange minging of resigned despair and almost eager appeal, so terrible to disappoint. yet, trying not to disappoint it, one felt guilty of treachery: what was the good, the kindness in making this poor bird flutter still with hope against the bars, when fast prison had so surely closed in round her? but what else could we do? we could not give her those glib assurances that naive souls make so easily to others concerning their after state. and the night was so beautiful, so utterly glamourously beautiful, with its star-flowers, and its silence and its trees clothed in moonlight. all was tranquil as a dream of sleep. but it was long before our hearts wandering with poor herd, would let us remember that she had slipped away into so beautiful a dream

Based on this excerpt, charlotte smith and reverend walsh