In a group of children, 35 play football out of which 20 play football only, 22 play hockey, 25 play cricket out of which 11 play cricket only. Out of these 7 play cricket and football but not hockey, 3 play football and hockey but not cricket and 12 play football and cricket both. How many play all the three games ? How many play cricket and hockey but not football, how many play hockey only? What is the total number of children in the group?

Close at hand is a bridge over the River Thames, an admirable vantage ground for us to make a survey. The river flows beneath, barges pass, laden with timber, bursting with corn, there on one side are 5 the domes and spires of the city, on the other, Westminster and the Houses of Parliament. It is a place to stand on by the hour, dreaming. But not now. Now we are pressed for time. Now we are here to consider facts, now we must fix our eyes upon the 10 procession—the procession of the sons of educated men. There they go, our brothers who have been educated at public schools and universities, mounting those steps, passing in and out of those 15 doors, ascending those pulpits, preaching, teaching, administering justice, practising medicine, transacting business, making money. It is a solemn sight always—a procession, like a caravanserai crossing a desert. . . . But now, for the past twenty 20 years or so, it is no longer a sight merely, a photograph, or fresco scrawled upon the walls of time, at which we can look with merely an esthetic appreciation. For there, trapesing along at the tail end of the procession, we go ourselves. And that 25 makes a difference. We who have looked so long at the pageant in books, or from a curtained window watched educated men leaving the house at about nine-thirty to go to an office, returning to the house at about six-thirty from an office, need look passively 30no longer. We too can leave the house, can mount those steps, pass in and out of those doors, . . . make money, administer justice. . . . We who nowagitate these humble pens may in another century or two speak from a pulpit. Nobody will dare contradict us 35 then, we shall be the mouthpieces of the divine spirit—a solemn thought, is it not? Who can say whether, as time goes on, we may not dress in military uniform, with gold lace on our breasts, swords at our sides, and something like the old 40 family coal-scuttle on our heads, save that that venerable object was never decorated with plumes of white horsehair. You laugh—indeed the shadow of the private house still makes those dresses look a little queer. We have worn private clothes so 45 long. . . . But we have not come here to laugh, or to talk of fashions—men’s and women’s. We are here, on the bridge, to ask ourselves certain questions. And they are very important questions, and we have very little time in which to answer them. The 50 questions that we have to ask and to answer about that procession during this moment of transition are so important that they may well change the lives of all men and women for ever. For we have to ask ourselves, here and now, do we wish to join that 55 procession, or don’t we? On what terms shall we join that procession? Above all, where is it leading us, the procession of educated men? The moment is short, it may last five years, ten years, or perhaps only a matter of a few months longer. . . . But, you will 60 object, you have no time to think, you have your battles to fight, your rent to pay, your bazaars to organize. That excuse shall not serve you, Madam. As you know from your own experience, and there are facts that prove it, the daughters of educated men 65 have always done their thinking from hand to mouth, not under green lamps at study tables in the cloisters of secluded colleges. They have thought while they stirred the pot, while they rocked the cradle. It was thus that they won us the right to our 70 brand-new sixpence. It falls to us now to go on thinking, how are we to spend that sixpence? Think we must. Let us think in offices, in omnibuses, while we are standing in the crowd watching Coronations and Lord Mayor’s Shows, let us think . . . in the 75 gallery of the House of Commons, in the Law Courts, let us think at baptisms and marriages and funerals. Let us never cease from thinking—what is this “civilization” in which we find ourselves? What are these ceremonies and why should we take part in 80 them? What are these professions and why should we make money out of them? Where in short is it leading us, the procession of the sons of educated men? 41. The range of places and occasions listed in lines 72-76 (“Let us . . . funerals”) mainly serves to emphasize how

Close at hand is a bridge over the River Thames, an admirable vantage ground for us to make a survey. The river flows beneath, barges pass, laden with timber, bursting with corn, there on one side are 5 the domes and spires of the city, on the other, Westminster and the Houses of Parliament. It is a place to stand on by the hour, dreaming. But not now. Now we are pressed for time. Now we are here to consider facts, now we must fix our eyes upon the 10 procession—the procession of the sons of educated men. There they go, our brothers who have been educated at public schools and universities, mounting those steps, passing in and out of those 15 doors, ascending those pulpits, preaching, teaching, administering justice, practising medicine, transacting business, making money. It is a solemn sight always—a procession, like a caravanserai crossing a desert. . . . But now, for the past twenty 20 years or so, it is no longer a sight merely, a photograph, or fresco scrawled upon the walls of time, at which we can look with merely an esthetic appreciation. For there, trapesing along at the tail end of the procession, we go ourselves. And that 25 makes a difference. We who have looked so long at the pageant in books, or from a curtained window watched educated men leaving the house at about nine-thirty to go to an office, returning to the house at about six-thirty from an office, need look passively 30no longer. We too can leave the house, can mount those steps, pass in and out of those doors, . . . make money, administer justice. . . . We who nowagitate these humble pens may in another century or two speak from a pulpit. Nobody will dare contradict us 35 then, we shall be the mouthpieces of the divine spirit—a solemn thought, is it not? Who can say whether, as time goes on, we may not dress in military uniform, with gold lace on our breasts, swords at our sides, and something like the old 40 family coal-scuttle on our heads, save that that venerable object was never decorated with plumes of white horsehair. You laugh—indeed the shadow of the private house still makes those dresses look a little queer. We have worn private clothes so 45 long. . . . But we have not come here to laugh, or to talk of fashions—men’s and women’s. We are here, on the bridge, to ask ourselves certain questions. And they are very important questions, and we have very little time in which to answer them. The 50 questions that we have to ask and to answer about that procession during this moment of transition are so important that they may well change the lives of all men and women for ever. For we have to ask ourselves, here and now, do we wish to join that 55 procession, or don’t we? On what terms shall we join that procession? Above all, where is it leading us, the procession of educated men? The moment is short, it may last five years, ten years, or perhaps only a matter of a few months longer. . . . But, you will 60 object, you have no time to think, you have your battles to fight, your rent to pay, your bazaars to organize. That excuse shall not serve you, Madam. As you know from your own experience, and there are facts that prove it, the daughters of educated men 65 have always done their thinking from hand to mouth, not under green lamps at study tables in the cloisters of secluded colleges. They have thought while they stirred the pot, while they rocked the cradle. It was thus that they won us the right to our 70 brand-new sixpence. It falls to us now to go on thinking, how are we to spend that sixpence? Think we must. Let us think in offices, in omnibuses, while we are standing in the crowd watching Coronations and Lord Mayor’s Shows, let us think . . . in the 75 gallery of the House of Commons, in the Law Courts, let us think at baptisms and marriages and funerals. Let us never cease from thinking—what is this “civilization” in which we find ourselves? What are these ceremonies and why should we take part in 80 them? What are these professions and why should we make money out of them? Where in short is it leading us, the procession of the sons of educated men? 40. Which choice most closely captures the meaning of the figurative “sixpence” referred to in lines 70 and 71?

Close at hand is a bridge over the River Thames, an admirable vantage ground for us to make a survey. The river flows beneath, barges pass, laden with timber, bursting with corn, there on one side are 5 the domes and spires of the city, on the other, Westminster and the Houses of Parliament. It is a place to stand on by the hour, dreaming. But not now. Now we are pressed for time. Now we are here to consider facts, now we must fix our eyes upon the 10 procession—the procession of the sons of educated men. There they go, our brothers who have been educated at public schools and universities, mounting those steps, passing in and out of those 15 doors, ascending those pulpits, preaching, teaching, administering justice, practising medicine, transacting business, making money. It is a solemn sight always—a procession, like a caravanserai crossing a desert. . . . But now, for the past twenty 20 years or so, it is no longer a sight merely, a photograph, or fresco scrawled upon the walls of time, at which we can look with merely an esthetic appreciation. For there, trapesing along at the tail end of the procession, we go ourselves. And that 25 makes a difference. We who have looked so long at the pageant in books, or from a curtained window watched educated men leaving the house at about nine-thirty to go to an office, returning to the house at about six-thirty from an office, need look passively 30no longer. We too can leave the house, can mount those steps, pass in and out of those doors, . . . make money, administer justice. . . . We who nowagitate these humble pens may in another century or two speak from a pulpit. Nobody will dare contradict us 35 then, we shall be the mouthpieces of the divine spirit—a solemn thought, is it not? Who can say whether, as time goes on, we may not dress in military uniform, with gold lace on our breasts, swords at our sides, and something like the old 40 family coal-scuttle on our heads, save that that venerable object was never decorated with plumes of white horsehair. You laugh—indeed the shadow of the private house still makes those dresses look a little queer. We have worn private clothes so 45 long. . . . But we have not come here to laugh, or to talk of fashions—men’s and women’s. We are here, on the bridge, to ask ourselves certain questions. And they are very important questions, and we have very little time in which to answer them. The 50 questions that we have to ask and to answer about that procession during this moment of transition are so important that they may well change the lives of all men and women for ever. For we have to ask ourselves, here and now, do we wish to join that 55 procession, or don’t we? On what terms shall we join that procession? Above all, where is it leading us, the procession of educated men? The moment is short, it may last five years, ten years, or perhaps only a matter of a few months longer. . . . But, you will 60 object, you have no time to think, you have your battles to fight, your rent to pay, your bazaars to organize. That excuse shall not serve you, Madam. As you know from your own experience, and there are facts that prove it, the daughters of educated men 65 have always done their thinking from hand to mouth, not under green lamps at study tables in the cloisters of secluded colleges. They have thought while they stirred the pot, while they rocked the cradle. It was thus that they won us the right to our 70 brand-new sixpence. It falls to us now to go on thinking, how are we to spend that sixpence? Think we must. Let us think in offices, in omnibuses, while we are standing in the crowd watching Coronations and Lord Mayor’s Shows, let us think . . . in the 75 gallery of the House of Commons, in the Law Courts, let us think at baptisms and marriages and funerals. Let us never cease from thinking—what is this “civilization” in which we find ourselves? What are these ceremonies and why should we take part in 80 them? What are these professions and why should we make money out of them? Where in short is it leading us, the procession of the sons of educated men? 33. The central claim of the passage is that

Close at hand is a bridge over the River Thames, an admirable vantage ground for us to make a survey. The river flows beneath, barges pass, laden with timber, bursting with corn, there on one side are 5 the domes and spires of the city, on the other, Westminster and the Houses of Parliament. It is a place to stand on by the hour, dreaming. But not now. Now we are pressed for time. Now we are here to consider facts, now we must fix our eyes upon the 10 procession—the procession of the sons of educated men. There they go, our brothers who have been educated at public schools and universities, mounting those steps, passing in and out of those 15 doors, ascending those pulpits, preaching, teaching, administering justice, practising medicine, transacting business, making money. It is a solemn sight always—a procession, like a caravanserai crossing a desert. . . . But now, for the past twenty 20 years or so, it is no longer a sight merely, a photograph, or fresco scrawled upon the walls of time, at which we can look with merely an esthetic appreciation. For there, trapesing along at the tail end of the procession, we go ourselves. And that 25 makes a difference. We who have looked so long at the pageant in books, or from a curtained window watched educated men leaving the house at about nine-thirty to go to an office, returning to the house at about six-thirty from an office, need look passively 30no longer. We too can leave the house, can mount those steps, pass in and out of those doors, . . . make money, administer justice. . . . We who nowagitate these humble pens may in another century or two speak from a pulpit. Nobody will dare contradict us 35 then, we shall be the mouthpieces of the divine spirit—a solemn thought, is it not? Who can say whether, as time goes on, we may not dress in military uniform, with gold lace on our breasts, swords at our sides, and something like the old 40 family coal-scuttle on our heads, save that that venerable object was never decorated with plumes of white horsehair. You laugh—indeed the shadow of the private house still makes those dresses look a little queer. We have worn private clothes so 45 long. . . . But we have not come here to laugh, or to talk of fashions—men’s and women’s. We are here, on the bridge, to ask ourselves certain questions. And they are very important questions, and we have very little time in which to answer them. The 50 questions that we have to ask and to answer about that procession during this moment of transition are so important that they may well change the lives of all men and women for ever. For we have to ask ourselves, here and now, do we wish to join that 55 procession, or don’t we? On what terms shall we join that procession? Above all, where is it leading us, the procession of educated men? The moment is short, it may last five years, ten years, or perhaps only a matter of a few months longer. . . . But, you will 60 object, you have no time to think, you have your battles to fight, your rent to pay, your bazaars to organize. That excuse shall not serve you, Madam. As you know from your own experience, and there are facts that prove it, the daughters of educated men 65 have always done their thinking from hand to mouth, not under green lamps at study tables in the cloisters of secluded colleges. They have thought while they stirred the pot, while they rocked the cradle. It was thus that they won us the right to our 70 brand-new sixpence. It falls to us now to go on thinking, how are we to spend that sixpence? Think we must. Let us think in offices, in omnibuses, while we are standing in the crowd watching Coronations and Lord Mayor’s Shows, let us think . . . in the 75 gallery of the House of Commons, in the Law Courts, let us think at baptisms and marriages and funerals. Let us never cease from thinking—what is this “civilization” in which we find ourselves? What are these ceremonies and why should we take part in 80 them? What are these professions and why should we make money out of them? Where in short is it leading us, the procession of the sons of educated men? 36. Woolf indicates that the procession she describes in the passage

Close at hand is a bridge over the River Thames, an admirable vantage ground for us to make a survey. The river flows beneath, barges pass, laden with timber, bursting with corn, there on one side are 5 the domes and spires of the city, on the other, Westminster and the Houses of Parliament. It is a place to stand on by the hour, dreaming. But not now. Now we are pressed for time. Now we are here to consider facts, now we must fix our eyes upon the 10 procession—the procession of the sons of educated men. There they go, our brothers who have been educated at public schools and universities, mounting those steps, passing in and out of those 15 doors, ascending those pulpits, preaching, teaching, administering justice, practising medicine, transacting business, making money. It is a solemn sight always—a procession, like a caravanserai crossing a desert. . . . But now, for the past twenty 20 years or so, it is no longer a sight merely, a photograph, or fresco scrawled upon the walls of time, at which we can look with merely an esthetic appreciation. For there, trapesing along at the tail end of the procession, we go ourselves. And that 25 makes a difference. We who have looked so long at the pageant in books, or from a curtained window watched educated men leaving the house at about nine-thirty to go to an office, returning to the house at about six-thirty from an office, need look passively 30no longer. We too can leave the house, can mount those steps, pass in and out of those doors, . . . make money, administer justice. . . . We who nowagitate these humble pens may in another century or two speak from a pulpit. Nobody will dare contradict us 35 then, we shall be the mouthpieces of the divine spirit—a solemn thought, is it not? Who can say whether, as time goes on, we may not dress in military uniform, with gold lace on our breasts, swords at our sides, and something like the old 40 family coal-scuttle on our heads, save that that venerable object was never decorated with plumes of white horsehair. You laugh—indeed the shadow of the private house still makes those dresses look a little queer. We have worn private clothes so 45 long. . . . But we have not come here to laugh, or to talk of fashions—men’s and women’s. We are here, on the bridge, to ask ourselves certain questions. And they are very important questions, and we have very little time in which to answer them. The 50 questions that we have to ask and to answer about that procession during this moment of transition are so important that they may well change the lives of all men and women for ever. For we have to ask ourselves, here and now, do we wish to join that 55 procession, or don’t we? On what terms shall we join that procession? Above all, where is it leading us, the procession of educated men? The moment is short, it may last five years, ten years, or perhaps only a matter of a few months longer. . . . But, you will 60 object, you have no time to think, you have your battles to fight, your rent to pay, your bazaars to organize. That excuse shall not serve you, Madam. As you know from your own experience, and there are facts that prove it, the daughters of educated men 65 have always done their thinking from hand to mouth, not under green lamps at study tables in the cloisters of secluded colleges. They have thought while they stirred the pot, while they rocked the cradle. It was thus that they won us the right to our 70 brand-new sixpence. It falls to us now to go on thinking, how are we to spend that sixpence? Think we must. Let us think in offices, in omnibuses, while we are standing in the crowd watching Coronations and Lord Mayor’s Shows, let us think . . . in the 75 gallery of the House of Commons, in the Law Courts, let us think at baptisms and marriages and funerals. Let us never cease from thinking—what is this “civilization” in which we find ourselves? What are these ceremonies and why should we take part in 80 them? What are these professions and why should we make money out of them? Where in short is it leading us, the procession of the sons of educated men? 35. According to the passage, Woolf chooses the setting of the bridge because it

Close at hand is a bridge over the River Thames, an admirable vantage ground for us to make a survey. The river flows beneath, barges pass, laden with timber, bursting with corn, there on one side are 5 the domes and spires of the city, on the other, Westminster and the Houses of Parliament. It is a place to stand on by the hour, dreaming. But not now. Now we are pressed for time. Now we are here to consider facts, now we must fix our eyes upon the 10 procession—the procession of the sons of educated men. There they go, our brothers who have been educated at public schools and universities, mounting those steps, passing in and out of those 15 doors, ascending those pulpits, preaching, teaching, administering justice, practising medicine, transacting business, making money. It is a solemn sight always—a procession, like a caravanserai crossing a desert. . . . But now, for the past twenty 20 years or so, it is no longer a sight merely, a photograph, or fresco scrawled upon the walls of time, at which we can look with merely an esthetic appreciation. For there, trapesing along at the tail end of the procession, we go ourselves. And that 25 makes a difference. We who have looked so long at the pageant in books, or from a curtained window watched educated men leaving the house at about nine-thirty to go to an office, returning to the house at about six-thirty from an office, need look passively 30no longer. We too can leave the house, can mount those steps, pass in and out of those doors, . . . make money, administer justice. . . . We who nowagitate these humble pens may in another century or two speak from a pulpit. Nobody will dare contradict us 35 then, we shall be the mouthpieces of the divine spirit—a solemn thought, is it not? Who can say whether, as time goes on, we may not dress in military uniform, with gold lace on our breasts, swords at our sides, and something like the old 40 family coal-scuttle on our heads, save that that venerable object was never decorated with plumes of white horsehair. You laugh—indeed the shadow of the private house still makes those dresses look a little queer. We have worn private clothes so 45 long. . . . But we have not come here to laugh, or to talk of fashions—men’s and women’s. We are here, on the bridge, to ask ourselves certain questions. And they are very important questions, and we have very little time in which to answer them. The 50 questions that we have to ask and to answer about that procession during this moment of transition are so important that they may well change the lives of all men and women for ever. For we have to ask ourselves, here and now, do we wish to join that 55 procession, or don’t we? On what terms shall we join that procession? Above all, where is it leading us, the procession of educated men? The moment is short, it may last five years, ten years, or perhaps only a matter of a few months longer. . . . But, you will 60 object, you have no time to think, you have your battles to fight, your rent to pay, your bazaars to organize. That excuse shall not serve you, Madam. As you know from your own experience, and there are facts that prove it, the daughters of educated men 65 have always done their thinking from hand to mouth, not under green lamps at study tables in the cloisters of secluded colleges. They have thought while they stirred the pot, while they rocked the cradle. It was thus that they won us the right to our 70 brand-new sixpence. It falls to us now to go on thinking, how are we to spend that sixpence? Think we must. Let us think in offices, in omnibuses, while we are standing in the crowd watching Coronations and Lord Mayor’s Shows, let us think . . . in the 75 gallery of the House of Commons, in the Law Courts, let us think at baptisms and marriages and funerals. Let us never cease from thinking—what is this “civilization” in which we find ourselves? What are these ceremonies and why should we take part in 80 them? What are these professions and why should we make money out of them? Where in short is it leading us, the procession of the sons of educated men? 32 The main purpose of the passage is to