Questões de Inglês para Concurso - Página 550

Q1118368

Ano: 2018 Banca: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) Órgão: Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG Prova: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) - 2018 - Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG - Professor - Inglês |

Q1118368 Inglês

Texto associado

INSTRUCTIONS: This test comprises fifteen questions taken from the text below. Read the text carefully and then mark the alternatives that answer the questions or complete the sentences presented after it.

The whole affair began so very quietly. When I wrote, that summer, and asked my friend Louise if she would come with me on a car trip to Provence, I had no idea that I might be issuing an invitation to danger. And when we arrived one afternoon, after a hot but leisurely journey, at the enchanting little walled city of Avignon, we felt in that mood of pleasant weariness mingled with anticipation which marks, I believe, the beginning of every normal holiday.

I even sang to myself as I put the car away, and when I found they had given me a room with a balcony. And when, later on, the cat jumped on to my balcony, there was still nothing to indicate that this was the beginning of the whole strange, uneasy, tangled business. Or rather, not the beginning, but my own cue, the point where I came in. And, though the part I was to play in the tragedy was to break and re-form the pattern of my whole life, yet it was a very minor part, little more than a walk on in the last act. For most of the play had been played already; there had been love and lust and revenge and fear and murder – all the blood-tragedy – and now the killer, with blood enough on his hands, was waiting in the wings for the lights to go up again, on the last kill that would bring the final curtain down.

Louise is tall and fair and plump, with long legs, a pleasant voice, and beautiful hands. She is an artist, has no temperament to speak of, and is unutterably and incurably lazy. Before my marriage to Johnny Selbourne, I had taught at the Alice Private School for Girls in the West Midlands. Louise was still Art Mistress there, and owed her continued health and sanity to the habit of removing herself out of the trouble zone.

When Louise had gone to her own room, I washed, changed into a white frock with a wide blue belt, and did my face and hair very slowly. It was still hot, and the late sun’s rays fell obliquely across the balcony, through the half-opened shutter, in a shaft of copper-gold. Motionless, the shadows of the thin leaves traced a pattern across it as delicate and precise as a Chinese painting on silk, the image of the tree, brushed in like that by the sun, had a grace that the tree itself gave no hint of, for it was merely one of the nameless spindly affairs, parched and dustladen, that struggled up towards the sky from their pots in the hotel out below.

The courtyard was empty: people were still resting, or changing, or, if they were the mad English, walking out in the afternoon sun. A white-painted trellis wall separated the court on one side from the street, and beyond it people, mules, cars, occasionally even buses, moved about their business up and down the narrow thoroughfare. But inside the vine-covered trellis it was very still and peaceful.

Then fate took a hand. The first cue I had of it was the violent shaking of the shadows on the balcony. Then the ginger cat shot on to my balcony and sent down on her assailant the look to end all looks, and sat calmly down to wash. From below a rush and a volley of barking explained everything.

Then came a crash, and the sound of running feet.

The courtyard, formerly so empty and peaceful, seemed all of a sudden remarkably full of a boy and a large, nondescript dog. The latter, with his earnest gaze still on the balcony, was leaping futilely up and down, pouring out rage, hatred and excitement, while the boy tried with one hand to catch and quell him and with the other to lift one of the tables which had been knocked on to its side. It was, luckily, not one of those which had been set for dinner.

The boy looked up and saw me. He straightened, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and grinned.

“My French isn’t terribly good,” I said. “Do you speak English?”

He looked immensely pleased.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I am English,” he admitted. ”My name’s David,” he said. “David Shelley.”

Well, I was into the play.

I judged him to be about thirteen – who was lucky enough to be enjoying a holiday in the South of France.

Before I could speak again we were interrupted by a woman who came in through the vine-trellis, from the street. She was, I guessed, thirty-five. She was also blonde, tall, and quite the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The simple cream dress she wore must have been one of Dior’s favourite dreams, and the bill for it her husband’s nightmare.

She did not see me at all, which again was perfectly natural. She paused a moment when she saw the boy and the dog, then came forward with a kind of eyecompelling glance which would have turned heads in Piccadilly on a wet Monday morning.

She paused and spoke. Her voice was pleasant, her English perfect, but her accent was that of a Frenchwoman.

“David.”

No reply.

“Mon fils... “

Her son? He did not glance up. “Don’t you know what time it is? Hurry up and change. It’s nearly dinner time.”

Without a word the boy went into the hotel, trailing a somewhat subdued dog after him on the end of a string. His mother stared after him for a moment, with an expression half puzzled, half exasperated. Then she gave a smiling little shrug of the shoulders and went into the hotel after the boy.

I picked my bag up and went downstairs for a drink.

STEWART, Mary. Madam, will you talk?. Hodder and

Stoughton: Coronet Books, 1977, p. 5-14 (Edited).

In the sentence “Louise was still Art Mistress there”, found in the text, the particle there stands for:

A

Alice Private School for Girls.

B

Louise’s room in the hotel.

C

the city of Avignon.

D

the hotel in Provence.

Você errou! Resposta:

Acesse Comentários para encontrar explicações sobre a solução da questão.

Parabéns! Você acertou!

Aprenda mais ensinando outros alunos ao comentar esta questão.

Q1118367

Ano: 2018 Banca: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) Órgão: Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG Prova: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) - 2018 - Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG - Professor - Inglês |

Q1118367 Inglês

Texto associado

INSTRUCTIONS: This test comprises fifteen questions taken from the text below. Read the text carefully and then mark the alternatives that answer the questions or complete the sentences presented after it.

The whole affair began so very quietly. When I wrote, that summer, and asked my friend Louise if she would come with me on a car trip to Provence, I had no idea that I might be issuing an invitation to danger. And when we arrived one afternoon, after a hot but leisurely journey, at the enchanting little walled city of Avignon, we felt in that mood of pleasant weariness mingled with anticipation which marks, I believe, the beginning of every normal holiday.

I even sang to myself as I put the car away, and when I found they had given me a room with a balcony. And when, later on, the cat jumped on to my balcony, there was still nothing to indicate that this was the beginning of the whole strange, uneasy, tangled business. Or rather, not the beginning, but my own cue, the point where I came in. And, though the part I was to play in the tragedy was to break and re-form the pattern of my whole life, yet it was a very minor part, little more than a walk on in the last act. For most of the play had been played already; there had been love and lust and revenge and fear and murder – all the blood-tragedy – and now the killer, with blood enough on his hands, was waiting in the wings for the lights to go up again, on the last kill that would bring the final curtain down.

Louise is tall and fair and plump, with long legs, a pleasant voice, and beautiful hands. She is an artist, has no temperament to speak of, and is unutterably and incurably lazy. Before my marriage to Johnny Selbourne, I had taught at the Alice Private School for Girls in the West Midlands. Louise was still Art Mistress there, and owed her continued health and sanity to the habit of removing herself out of the trouble zone.

When Louise had gone to her own room, I washed, changed into a white frock with a wide blue belt, and did my face and hair very slowly. It was still hot, and the late sun’s rays fell obliquely across the balcony, through the half-opened shutter, in a shaft of copper-gold. Motionless, the shadows of the thin leaves traced a pattern across it as delicate and precise as a Chinese painting on silk, the image of the tree, brushed in like that by the sun, had a grace that the tree itself gave no hint of, for it was merely one of the nameless spindly affairs, parched and dustladen, that struggled up towards the sky from their pots in the hotel out below.

The courtyard was empty: people were still resting, or changing, or, if they were the mad English, walking out in the afternoon sun. A white-painted trellis wall separated the court on one side from the street, and beyond it people, mules, cars, occasionally even buses, moved about their business up and down the narrow thoroughfare. But inside the vine-covered trellis it was very still and peaceful.

Then fate took a hand. The first cue I had of it was the violent shaking of the shadows on the balcony. Then the ginger cat shot on to my balcony and sent down on her assailant the look to end all looks, and sat calmly down to wash. From below a rush and a volley of barking explained everything.

Then came a crash, and the sound of running feet.

The courtyard, formerly so empty and peaceful, seemed all of a sudden remarkably full of a boy and a large, nondescript dog. The latter, with his earnest gaze still on the balcony, was leaping futilely up and down, pouring out rage, hatred and excitement, while the boy tried with one hand to catch and quell him and with the other to lift one of the tables which had been knocked on to its side. It was, luckily, not one of those which had been set for dinner.

The boy looked up and saw me. He straightened, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and grinned.

“My French isn’t terribly good,” I said. “Do you speak English?”

He looked immensely pleased.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I am English,” he admitted. ”My name’s David,” he said. “David Shelley.”

Well, I was into the play.

I judged him to be about thirteen – who was lucky enough to be enjoying a holiday in the South of France.

Before I could speak again we were interrupted by a woman who came in through the vine-trellis, from the street. She was, I guessed, thirty-five. She was also blonde, tall, and quite the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The simple cream dress she wore must have been one of Dior’s favourite dreams, and the bill for it her husband’s nightmare.

She did not see me at all, which again was perfectly natural. She paused a moment when she saw the boy and the dog, then came forward with a kind of eyecompelling glance which would have turned heads in Piccadilly on a wet Monday morning.

She paused and spoke. Her voice was pleasant, her English perfect, but her accent was that of a Frenchwoman.

“David.”

No reply.

“Mon fils... “

Her son? He did not glance up. “Don’t you know what time it is? Hurry up and change. It’s nearly dinner time.”

Without a word the boy went into the hotel, trailing a somewhat subdued dog after him on the end of a string. His mother stared after him for a moment, with an expression half puzzled, half exasperated. Then she gave a smiling little shrug of the shoulders and went into the hotel after the boy.

I picked my bag up and went downstairs for a drink.

STEWART, Mary. Madam, will you talk?. Hodder and

Stoughton: Coronet Books, 1977, p. 5-14 (Edited).

“When Louise had gone to her own room, I washed, changed into a white frock with a wide blue belt, and did my face and hair very slowly.”

In the sentence above, we can find many modifiers. Mark the alternative that does NOT represent a modifier in this context.

A

Her own.

B

When.

C

White.

D

With a wide blue belt.

Você errou! Resposta:

Acesse Comentários para encontrar explicações sobre a solução da questão.

Parabéns! Você acertou!

Aprenda mais ensinando outros alunos ao comentar esta questão.

Q1118366

Ano: 2018 Banca: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) Órgão: Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG Prova: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) - 2018 - Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG - Professor - Inglês |

Q1118366 Inglês

Texto associado

INSTRUCTIONS: This test comprises fifteen questions taken from the text below. Read the text carefully and then mark the alternatives that answer the questions or complete the sentences presented after it.

The whole affair began so very quietly. When I wrote, that summer, and asked my friend Louise if she would come with me on a car trip to Provence, I had no idea that I might be issuing an invitation to danger. And when we arrived one afternoon, after a hot but leisurely journey, at the enchanting little walled city of Avignon, we felt in that mood of pleasant weariness mingled with anticipation which marks, I believe, the beginning of every normal holiday.

I even sang to myself as I put the car away, and when I found they had given me a room with a balcony. And when, later on, the cat jumped on to my balcony, there was still nothing to indicate that this was the beginning of the whole strange, uneasy, tangled business. Or rather, not the beginning, but my own cue, the point where I came in. And, though the part I was to play in the tragedy was to break and re-form the pattern of my whole life, yet it was a very minor part, little more than a walk on in the last act. For most of the play had been played already; there had been love and lust and revenge and fear and murder – all the blood-tragedy – and now the killer, with blood enough on his hands, was waiting in the wings for the lights to go up again, on the last kill that would bring the final curtain down.

Louise is tall and fair and plump, with long legs, a pleasant voice, and beautiful hands. She is an artist, has no temperament to speak of, and is unutterably and incurably lazy. Before my marriage to Johnny Selbourne, I had taught at the Alice Private School for Girls in the West Midlands. Louise was still Art Mistress there, and owed her continued health and sanity to the habit of removing herself out of the trouble zone.

When Louise had gone to her own room, I washed, changed into a white frock with a wide blue belt, and did my face and hair very slowly. It was still hot, and the late sun’s rays fell obliquely across the balcony, through the half-opened shutter, in a shaft of copper-gold. Motionless, the shadows of the thin leaves traced a pattern across it as delicate and precise as a Chinese painting on silk, the image of the tree, brushed in like that by the sun, had a grace that the tree itself gave no hint of, for it was merely one of the nameless spindly affairs, parched and dustladen, that struggled up towards the sky from their pots in the hotel out below.

The courtyard was empty: people were still resting, or changing, or, if they were the mad English, walking out in the afternoon sun. A white-painted trellis wall separated the court on one side from the street, and beyond it people, mules, cars, occasionally even buses, moved about their business up and down the narrow thoroughfare. But inside the vine-covered trellis it was very still and peaceful.

Then fate took a hand. The first cue I had of it was the violent shaking of the shadows on the balcony. Then the ginger cat shot on to my balcony and sent down on her assailant the look to end all looks, and sat calmly down to wash. From below a rush and a volley of barking explained everything.

Then came a crash, and the sound of running feet.

The courtyard, formerly so empty and peaceful, seemed all of a sudden remarkably full of a boy and a large, nondescript dog. The latter, with his earnest gaze still on the balcony, was leaping futilely up and down, pouring out rage, hatred and excitement, while the boy tried with one hand to catch and quell him and with the other to lift one of the tables which had been knocked on to its side. It was, luckily, not one of those which had been set for dinner.

The boy looked up and saw me. He straightened, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and grinned.

“My French isn’t terribly good,” I said. “Do you speak English?”

He looked immensely pleased.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I am English,” he admitted. ”My name’s David,” he said. “David Shelley.”

Well, I was into the play.

I judged him to be about thirteen – who was lucky enough to be enjoying a holiday in the South of France.

Before I could speak again we were interrupted by a woman who came in through the vine-trellis, from the street. She was, I guessed, thirty-five. She was also blonde, tall, and quite the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The simple cream dress she wore must have been one of Dior’s favourite dreams, and the bill for it her husband’s nightmare.

She did not see me at all, which again was perfectly natural. She paused a moment when she saw the boy and the dog, then came forward with a kind of eyecompelling glance which would have turned heads in Piccadilly on a wet Monday morning.

She paused and spoke. Her voice was pleasant, her English perfect, but her accent was that of a Frenchwoman.

“David.”

No reply.

“Mon fils... “

Her son? He did not glance up. “Don’t you know what time it is? Hurry up and change. It’s nearly dinner time.”

Without a word the boy went into the hotel, trailing a somewhat subdued dog after him on the end of a string. His mother stared after him for a moment, with an expression half puzzled, half exasperated. Then she gave a smiling little shrug of the shoulders and went into the hotel after the boy.

I picked my bag up and went downstairs for a drink.

STEWART, Mary. Madam, will you talk?. Hodder and

Stoughton: Coronet Books, 1977, p. 5-14 (Edited).

When the blonde woman came in, why didn’t she see the narrator? Because:

A

she had no eyes for her son and his dog.

B

she was not interested in anything around her.

C

she was very worried about dinner.

D

the narrator was upstairs in the balcony.

Você errou! Resposta:

Acesse Comentários para encontrar explicações sobre a solução da questão.

Parabéns! Você acertou!

Aprenda mais ensinando outros alunos ao comentar esta questão.

Q1118365

Ano: 2018 Banca: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) Órgão: Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG Prova: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) - 2018 - Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG - Professor - Inglês |

Q1118365 Inglês

Texto associado

INSTRUCTIONS: This test comprises fifteen questions taken from the text below. Read the text carefully and then mark the alternatives that answer the questions or complete the sentences presented after it.

The whole affair began so very quietly. When I wrote, that summer, and asked my friend Louise if she would come with me on a car trip to Provence, I had no idea that I might be issuing an invitation to danger. And when we arrived one afternoon, after a hot but leisurely journey, at the enchanting little walled city of Avignon, we felt in that mood of pleasant weariness mingled with anticipation which marks, I believe, the beginning of every normal holiday.

I even sang to myself as I put the car away, and when I found they had given me a room with a balcony. And when, later on, the cat jumped on to my balcony, there was still nothing to indicate that this was the beginning of the whole strange, uneasy, tangled business. Or rather, not the beginning, but my own cue, the point where I came in. And, though the part I was to play in the tragedy was to break and re-form the pattern of my whole life, yet it was a very minor part, little more than a walk on in the last act. For most of the play had been played already; there had been love and lust and revenge and fear and murder – all the blood-tragedy – and now the killer, with blood enough on his hands, was waiting in the wings for the lights to go up again, on the last kill that would bring the final curtain down.

Louise is tall and fair and plump, with long legs, a pleasant voice, and beautiful hands. She is an artist, has no temperament to speak of, and is unutterably and incurably lazy. Before my marriage to Johnny Selbourne, I had taught at the Alice Private School for Girls in the West Midlands. Louise was still Art Mistress there, and owed her continued health and sanity to the habit of removing herself out of the trouble zone.

When Louise had gone to her own room, I washed, changed into a white frock with a wide blue belt, and did my face and hair very slowly. It was still hot, and the late sun’s rays fell obliquely across the balcony, through the half-opened shutter, in a shaft of copper-gold. Motionless, the shadows of the thin leaves traced a pattern across it as delicate and precise as a Chinese painting on silk, the image of the tree, brushed in like that by the sun, had a grace that the tree itself gave no hint of, for it was merely one of the nameless spindly affairs, parched and dustladen, that struggled up towards the sky from their pots in the hotel out below.

The courtyard was empty: people were still resting, or changing, or, if they were the mad English, walking out in the afternoon sun. A white-painted trellis wall separated the court on one side from the street, and beyond it people, mules, cars, occasionally even buses, moved about their business up and down the narrow thoroughfare. But inside the vine-covered trellis it was very still and peaceful.

Then fate took a hand. The first cue I had of it was the violent shaking of the shadows on the balcony. Then the ginger cat shot on to my balcony and sent down on her assailant the look to end all looks, and sat calmly down to wash. From below a rush and a volley of barking explained everything.

Then came a crash, and the sound of running feet.

The courtyard, formerly so empty and peaceful, seemed all of a sudden remarkably full of a boy and a large, nondescript dog. The latter, with his earnest gaze still on the balcony, was leaping futilely up and down, pouring out rage, hatred and excitement, while the boy tried with one hand to catch and quell him and with the other to lift one of the tables which had been knocked on to its side. It was, luckily, not one of those which had been set for dinner.

The boy looked up and saw me. He straightened, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and grinned.

“My French isn’t terribly good,” I said. “Do you speak English?”

He looked immensely pleased.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I am English,” he admitted. ”My name’s David,” he said. “David Shelley.”

Well, I was into the play.

I judged him to be about thirteen – who was lucky enough to be enjoying a holiday in the South of France.

Before I could speak again we were interrupted by a woman who came in through the vine-trellis, from the street. She was, I guessed, thirty-five. She was also blonde, tall, and quite the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The simple cream dress she wore must have been one of Dior’s favourite dreams, and the bill for it her husband’s nightmare.

She did not see me at all, which again was perfectly natural. She paused a moment when she saw the boy and the dog, then came forward with a kind of eyecompelling glance which would have turned heads in Piccadilly on a wet Monday morning.

She paused and spoke. Her voice was pleasant, her English perfect, but her accent was that of a Frenchwoman.

“David.”

No reply.

“Mon fils... “

Her son? He did not glance up. “Don’t you know what time it is? Hurry up and change. It’s nearly dinner time.”

Without a word the boy went into the hotel, trailing a somewhat subdued dog after him on the end of a string. His mother stared after him for a moment, with an expression half puzzled, half exasperated. Then she gave a smiling little shrug of the shoulders and went into the hotel after the boy.

I picked my bag up and went downstairs for a drink.

STEWART, Mary. Madam, will you talk?. Hodder and

Stoughton: Coronet Books, 1977, p. 5-14 (Edited).

Why did the narrator guess the blonde woman was French? Because:

A

she recognized the woman’s accent.

B

she spoke to the boy in English.

C

she wore a cream coloured dress.

D

the woman was the boy’s mother.

Você errou! Resposta:

Acesse Comentários para encontrar explicações sobre a solução da questão.

Parabéns! Você acertou!

Aprenda mais ensinando outros alunos ao comentar esta questão.

Q1118364

Ano: 2018 Banca: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) Órgão: Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG Prova: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) - 2018 - Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG - Professor - Inglês |

Q1118364 Inglês

Texto associado

INSTRUCTIONS: This test comprises fifteen questions taken from the text below. Read the text carefully and then mark the alternatives that answer the questions or complete the sentences presented after it.

The whole affair began so very quietly. When I wrote, that summer, and asked my friend Louise if she would come with me on a car trip to Provence, I had no idea that I might be issuing an invitation to danger. And when we arrived one afternoon, after a hot but leisurely journey, at the enchanting little walled city of Avignon, we felt in that mood of pleasant weariness mingled with anticipation which marks, I believe, the beginning of every normal holiday.

I even sang to myself as I put the car away, and when I found they had given me a room with a balcony. And when, later on, the cat jumped on to my balcony, there was still nothing to indicate that this was the beginning of the whole strange, uneasy, tangled business. Or rather, not the beginning, but my own cue, the point where I came in. And, though the part I was to play in the tragedy was to break and re-form the pattern of my whole life, yet it was a very minor part, little more than a walk on in the last act. For most of the play had been played already; there had been love and lust and revenge and fear and murder – all the blood-tragedy – and now the killer, with blood enough on his hands, was waiting in the wings for the lights to go up again, on the last kill that would bring the final curtain down.

Louise is tall and fair and plump, with long legs, a pleasant voice, and beautiful hands. She is an artist, has no temperament to speak of, and is unutterably and incurably lazy. Before my marriage to Johnny Selbourne, I had taught at the Alice Private School for Girls in the West Midlands. Louise was still Art Mistress there, and owed her continued health and sanity to the habit of removing herself out of the trouble zone.

When Louise had gone to her own room, I washed, changed into a white frock with a wide blue belt, and did my face and hair very slowly. It was still hot, and the late sun’s rays fell obliquely across the balcony, through the half-opened shutter, in a shaft of copper-gold. Motionless, the shadows of the thin leaves traced a pattern across it as delicate and precise as a Chinese painting on silk, the image of the tree, brushed in like that by the sun, had a grace that the tree itself gave no hint of, for it was merely one of the nameless spindly affairs, parched and dustladen, that struggled up towards the sky from their pots in the hotel out below.

The courtyard was empty: people were still resting, or changing, or, if they were the mad English, walking out in the afternoon sun. A white-painted trellis wall separated the court on one side from the street, and beyond it people, mules, cars, occasionally even buses, moved about their business up and down the narrow thoroughfare. But inside the vine-covered trellis it was very still and peaceful.

Then fate took a hand. The first cue I had of it was the violent shaking of the shadows on the balcony. Then the ginger cat shot on to my balcony and sent down on her assailant the look to end all looks, and sat calmly down to wash. From below a rush and a volley of barking explained everything.

Then came a crash, and the sound of running feet.

The courtyard, formerly so empty and peaceful, seemed all of a sudden remarkably full of a boy and a large, nondescript dog. The latter, with his earnest gaze still on the balcony, was leaping futilely up and down, pouring out rage, hatred and excitement, while the boy tried with one hand to catch and quell him and with the other to lift one of the tables which had been knocked on to its side. It was, luckily, not one of those which had been set for dinner.

The boy looked up and saw me. He straightened, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and grinned.

“My French isn’t terribly good,” I said. “Do you speak English?”

He looked immensely pleased.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I am English,” he admitted. ”My name’s David,” he said. “David Shelley.”

Well, I was into the play.

I judged him to be about thirteen – who was lucky enough to be enjoying a holiday in the South of France.

Before I could speak again we were interrupted by a woman who came in through the vine-trellis, from the street. She was, I guessed, thirty-five. She was also blonde, tall, and quite the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The simple cream dress she wore must have been one of Dior’s favourite dreams, and the bill for it her husband’s nightmare.

She did not see me at all, which again was perfectly natural. She paused a moment when she saw the boy and the dog, then came forward with a kind of eyecompelling glance which would have turned heads in Piccadilly on a wet Monday morning.

She paused and spoke. Her voice was pleasant, her English perfect, but her accent was that of a Frenchwoman.

“David.”

No reply.

“Mon fils... “

Her son? He did not glance up. “Don’t you know what time it is? Hurry up and change. It’s nearly dinner time.”

Without a word the boy went into the hotel, trailing a somewhat subdued dog after him on the end of a string. His mother stared after him for a moment, with an expression half puzzled, half exasperated. Then she gave a smiling little shrug of the shoulders and went into the hotel after the boy.

I picked my bag up and went downstairs for a drink.

STEWART, Mary. Madam, will you talk?. Hodder and

Stoughton: Coronet Books, 1977, p. 5-14 (Edited).

The reason the blonde woman’s dress, according to the narrator, was Dior’s favourite dream and the bill the husband’s nightmare is that:

A

it had the colour to match the woman’s hair.

B

it was very beautiful and very expensive.

C

the bill for it had not been paid yet.

D

the woman wore it as a provocation to her husband.

Você errou! Resposta:

Acesse Comentários para encontrar explicações sobre a solução da questão.

Parabéns! Você acertou!

Aprenda mais ensinando outros alunos ao comentar esta questão.

Q1118363

Ano: 2018 Banca: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) Órgão: Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG Prova: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) - 2018 - Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG - Professor - Inglês |

Q1118363 Inglês

Texto associado

INSTRUCTIONS: This test comprises fifteen questions taken from the text below. Read the text carefully and then mark the alternatives that answer the questions or complete the sentences presented after it.

The whole affair began so very quietly. When I wrote, that summer, and asked my friend Louise if she would come with me on a car trip to Provence, I had no idea that I might be issuing an invitation to danger. And when we arrived one afternoon, after a hot but leisurely journey, at the enchanting little walled city of Avignon, we felt in that mood of pleasant weariness mingled with anticipation which marks, I believe, the beginning of every normal holiday.

I even sang to myself as I put the car away, and when I found they had given me a room with a balcony. And when, later on, the cat jumped on to my balcony, there was still nothing to indicate that this was the beginning of the whole strange, uneasy, tangled business. Or rather, not the beginning, but my own cue, the point where I came in. And, though the part I was to play in the tragedy was to break and re-form the pattern of my whole life, yet it was a very minor part, little more than a walk on in the last act. For most of the play had been played already; there had been love and lust and revenge and fear and murder – all the blood-tragedy – and now the killer, with blood enough on his hands, was waiting in the wings for the lights to go up again, on the last kill that would bring the final curtain down.

Louise is tall and fair and plump, with long legs, a pleasant voice, and beautiful hands. She is an artist, has no temperament to speak of, and is unutterably and incurably lazy. Before my marriage to Johnny Selbourne, I had taught at the Alice Private School for Girls in the West Midlands. Louise was still Art Mistress there, and owed her continued health and sanity to the habit of removing herself out of the trouble zone.

When Louise had gone to her own room, I washed, changed into a white frock with a wide blue belt, and did my face and hair very slowly. It was still hot, and the late sun’s rays fell obliquely across the balcony, through the half-opened shutter, in a shaft of copper-gold. Motionless, the shadows of the thin leaves traced a pattern across it as delicate and precise as a Chinese painting on silk, the image of the tree, brushed in like that by the sun, had a grace that the tree itself gave no hint of, for it was merely one of the nameless spindly affairs, parched and dustladen, that struggled up towards the sky from their pots in the hotel out below.

The courtyard was empty: people were still resting, or changing, or, if they were the mad English, walking out in the afternoon sun. A white-painted trellis wall separated the court on one side from the street, and beyond it people, mules, cars, occasionally even buses, moved about their business up and down the narrow thoroughfare. But inside the vine-covered trellis it was very still and peaceful.

Then fate took a hand. The first cue I had of it was the violent shaking of the shadows on the balcony. Then the ginger cat shot on to my balcony and sent down on her assailant the look to end all looks, and sat calmly down to wash. From below a rush and a volley of barking explained everything.

Then came a crash, and the sound of running feet.

The courtyard, formerly so empty and peaceful, seemed all of a sudden remarkably full of a boy and a large, nondescript dog. The latter, with his earnest gaze still on the balcony, was leaping futilely up and down, pouring out rage, hatred and excitement, while the boy tried with one hand to catch and quell him and with the other to lift one of the tables which had been knocked on to its side. It was, luckily, not one of those which had been set for dinner.

The boy looked up and saw me. He straightened, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and grinned.

“My French isn’t terribly good,” I said. “Do you speak English?”

He looked immensely pleased.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I am English,” he admitted. ”My name’s David,” he said. “David Shelley.”

Well, I was into the play.

I judged him to be about thirteen – who was lucky enough to be enjoying a holiday in the South of France.

Before I could speak again we were interrupted by a woman who came in through the vine-trellis, from the street. She was, I guessed, thirty-five. She was also blonde, tall, and quite the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The simple cream dress she wore must have been one of Dior’s favourite dreams, and the bill for it her husband’s nightmare.

She did not see me at all, which again was perfectly natural. She paused a moment when she saw the boy and the dog, then came forward with a kind of eyecompelling glance which would have turned heads in Piccadilly on a wet Monday morning.

She paused and spoke. Her voice was pleasant, her English perfect, but her accent was that of a Frenchwoman.

“David.”

No reply.

“Mon fils... “

Her son? He did not glance up. “Don’t you know what time it is? Hurry up and change. It’s nearly dinner time.”

Without a word the boy went into the hotel, trailing a somewhat subdued dog after him on the end of a string. His mother stared after him for a moment, with an expression half puzzled, half exasperated. Then she gave a smiling little shrug of the shoulders and went into the hotel after the boy.

I picked my bag up and went downstairs for a drink.

STEWART, Mary. Madam, will you talk?. Hodder and

Stoughton: Coronet Books, 1977, p. 5-14 (Edited).

The narrator looked at the boy and thought:

A

he should be able to control his unruly dog.

B

he was about 13 years old and very lucky.

C

he was very untidy in his dirty clothes.

D

she would like to have a boy just like him.

Você errou! Resposta:

Acesse Comentários para encontrar explicações sobre a solução da questão.

Parabéns! Você acertou!

Aprenda mais ensinando outros alunos ao comentar esta questão.

Q1118362

Ano: 2018 Banca: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) Órgão: Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG Prova: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) - 2018 - Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG - Professor - Inglês |

Q1118362 Inglês

Texto associado

INSTRUCTIONS: This test comprises fifteen questions taken from the text below. Read the text carefully and then mark the alternatives that answer the questions or complete the sentences presented after it.

The whole affair began so very quietly. When I wrote, that summer, and asked my friend Louise if she would come with me on a car trip to Provence, I had no idea that I might be issuing an invitation to danger. And when we arrived one afternoon, after a hot but leisurely journey, at the enchanting little walled city of Avignon, we felt in that mood of pleasant weariness mingled with anticipation which marks, I believe, the beginning of every normal holiday.

I even sang to myself as I put the car away, and when I found they had given me a room with a balcony. And when, later on, the cat jumped on to my balcony, there was still nothing to indicate that this was the beginning of the whole strange, uneasy, tangled business. Or rather, not the beginning, but my own cue, the point where I came in. And, though the part I was to play in the tragedy was to break and re-form the pattern of my whole life, yet it was a very minor part, little more than a walk on in the last act. For most of the play had been played already; there had been love and lust and revenge and fear and murder – all the blood-tragedy – and now the killer, with blood enough on his hands, was waiting in the wings for the lights to go up again, on the last kill that would bring the final curtain down.

Louise is tall and fair and plump, with long legs, a pleasant voice, and beautiful hands. She is an artist, has no temperament to speak of, and is unutterably and incurably lazy. Before my marriage to Johnny Selbourne, I had taught at the Alice Private School for Girls in the West Midlands. Louise was still Art Mistress there, and owed her continued health and sanity to the habit of removing herself out of the trouble zone.

When Louise had gone to her own room, I washed, changed into a white frock with a wide blue belt, and did my face and hair very slowly. It was still hot, and the late sun’s rays fell obliquely across the balcony, through the half-opened shutter, in a shaft of copper-gold. Motionless, the shadows of the thin leaves traced a pattern across it as delicate and precise as a Chinese painting on silk, the image of the tree, brushed in like that by the sun, had a grace that the tree itself gave no hint of, for it was merely one of the nameless spindly affairs, parched and dustladen, that struggled up towards the sky from their pots in the hotel out below.

The courtyard was empty: people were still resting, or changing, or, if they were the mad English, walking out in the afternoon sun. A white-painted trellis wall separated the court on one side from the street, and beyond it people, mules, cars, occasionally even buses, moved about their business up and down the narrow thoroughfare. But inside the vine-covered trellis it was very still and peaceful.

Then fate took a hand. The first cue I had of it was the violent shaking of the shadows on the balcony. Then the ginger cat shot on to my balcony and sent down on her assailant the look to end all looks, and sat calmly down to wash. From below a rush and a volley of barking explained everything.

Then came a crash, and the sound of running feet.

The courtyard, formerly so empty and peaceful, seemed all of a sudden remarkably full of a boy and a large, nondescript dog. The latter, with his earnest gaze still on the balcony, was leaping futilely up and down, pouring out rage, hatred and excitement, while the boy tried with one hand to catch and quell him and with the other to lift one of the tables which had been knocked on to its side. It was, luckily, not one of those which had been set for dinner.

The boy looked up and saw me. He straightened, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and grinned.

“My French isn’t terribly good,” I said. “Do you speak English?”

He looked immensely pleased.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I am English,” he admitted. ”My name’s David,” he said. “David Shelley.”

Well, I was into the play.

I judged him to be about thirteen – who was lucky enough to be enjoying a holiday in the South of France.

Before I could speak again we were interrupted by a woman who came in through the vine-trellis, from the street. She was, I guessed, thirty-five. She was also blonde, tall, and quite the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The simple cream dress she wore must have been one of Dior’s favourite dreams, and the bill for it her husband’s nightmare.

She did not see me at all, which again was perfectly natural. She paused a moment when she saw the boy and the dog, then came forward with a kind of eyecompelling glance which would have turned heads in Piccadilly on a wet Monday morning.

She paused and spoke. Her voice was pleasant, her English perfect, but her accent was that of a Frenchwoman.

“David.”

No reply.

“Mon fils... “

Her son? He did not glance up. “Don’t you know what time it is? Hurry up and change. It’s nearly dinner time.”

Without a word the boy went into the hotel, trailing a somewhat subdued dog after him on the end of a string. His mother stared after him for a moment, with an expression half puzzled, half exasperated. Then she gave a smiling little shrug of the shoulders and went into the hotel after the boy.

I picked my bag up and went downstairs for a drink.

STEWART, Mary. Madam, will you talk?. Hodder and

Stoughton: Coronet Books, 1977, p. 5-14 (Edited).

According to the excerpt of the text, the story will include

A

a killing.

B

a theatre play.

C

a flight

D

a love story.

Você errou! Resposta:

Acesse Comentários para encontrar explicações sobre a solução da questão.

Parabéns! Você acertou!

Aprenda mais ensinando outros alunos ao comentar esta questão.

Q1118361

Ano: 2018 Banca: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) Órgão: Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG Prova: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) - 2018 - Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG - Professor - Inglês |

Q1118361 Inglês

Texto associado

INSTRUCTIONS: This test comprises fifteen questions taken from the text below. Read the text carefully and then mark the alternatives that answer the questions or complete the sentences presented after it.

The whole affair began so very quietly. When I wrote, that summer, and asked my friend Louise if she would come with me on a car trip to Provence, I had no idea that I might be issuing an invitation to danger. And when we arrived one afternoon, after a hot but leisurely journey, at the enchanting little walled city of Avignon, we felt in that mood of pleasant weariness mingled with anticipation which marks, I believe, the beginning of every normal holiday.

I even sang to myself as I put the car away, and when I found they had given me a room with a balcony. And when, later on, the cat jumped on to my balcony, there was still nothing to indicate that this was the beginning of the whole strange, uneasy, tangled business. Or rather, not the beginning, but my own cue, the point where I came in. And, though the part I was to play in the tragedy was to break and re-form the pattern of my whole life, yet it was a very minor part, little more than a walk on in the last act. For most of the play had been played already; there had been love and lust and revenge and fear and murder – all the blood-tragedy – and now the killer, with blood enough on his hands, was waiting in the wings for the lights to go up again, on the last kill that would bring the final curtain down.

Louise is tall and fair and plump, with long legs, a pleasant voice, and beautiful hands. She is an artist, has no temperament to speak of, and is unutterably and incurably lazy. Before my marriage to Johnny Selbourne, I had taught at the Alice Private School for Girls in the West Midlands. Louise was still Art Mistress there, and owed her continued health and sanity to the habit of removing herself out of the trouble zone.

When Louise had gone to her own room, I washed, changed into a white frock with a wide blue belt, and did my face and hair very slowly. It was still hot, and the late sun’s rays fell obliquely across the balcony, through the half-opened shutter, in a shaft of copper-gold. Motionless, the shadows of the thin leaves traced a pattern across it as delicate and precise as a Chinese painting on silk, the image of the tree, brushed in like that by the sun, had a grace that the tree itself gave no hint of, for it was merely one of the nameless spindly affairs, parched and dustladen, that struggled up towards the sky from their pots in the hotel out below.

The courtyard was empty: people were still resting, or changing, or, if they were the mad English, walking out in the afternoon sun. A white-painted trellis wall separated the court on one side from the street, and beyond it people, mules, cars, occasionally even buses, moved about their business up and down the narrow thoroughfare. But inside the vine-covered trellis it was very still and peaceful.

Then fate took a hand. The first cue I had of it was the violent shaking of the shadows on the balcony. Then the ginger cat shot on to my balcony and sent down on her assailant the look to end all looks, and sat calmly down to wash. From below a rush and a volley of barking explained everything.

Then came a crash, and the sound of running feet.

The courtyard, formerly so empty and peaceful, seemed all of a sudden remarkably full of a boy and a large, nondescript dog. The latter, with his earnest gaze still on the balcony, was leaping futilely up and down, pouring out rage, hatred and excitement, while the boy tried with one hand to catch and quell him and with the other to lift one of the tables which had been knocked on to its side. It was, luckily, not one of those which had been set for dinner.

The boy looked up and saw me. He straightened, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and grinned.

“My French isn’t terribly good,” I said. “Do you speak English?”

He looked immensely pleased.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I am English,” he admitted. ”My name’s David,” he said. “David Shelley.”

Well, I was into the play.

I judged him to be about thirteen – who was lucky enough to be enjoying a holiday in the South of France.

Before I could speak again we were interrupted by a woman who came in through the vine-trellis, from the street. She was, I guessed, thirty-five. She was also blonde, tall, and quite the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The simple cream dress she wore must have been one of Dior’s favourite dreams, and the bill for it her husband’s nightmare.

She did not see me at all, which again was perfectly natural. She paused a moment when she saw the boy and the dog, then came forward with a kind of eyecompelling glance which would have turned heads in Piccadilly on a wet Monday morning.

She paused and spoke. Her voice was pleasant, her English perfect, but her accent was that of a Frenchwoman.

“David.”

No reply.

“Mon fils... “

Her son? He did not glance up. “Don’t you know what time it is? Hurry up and change. It’s nearly dinner time.”

Without a word the boy went into the hotel, trailing a somewhat subdued dog after him on the end of a string. His mother stared after him for a moment, with an expression half puzzled, half exasperated. Then she gave a smiling little shrug of the shoulders and went into the hotel after the boy.

I picked my bag up and went downstairs for a drink.

STEWART, Mary. Madam, will you talk?. Hodder and

Stoughton: Coronet Books, 1977, p. 5-14 (Edited).

All adjectives below apply to the narrator’s friend Louise, EXCEPT:

A

artistical.

B

fair and plump.

C

hard working.

D

long-legged.

Você errou! Resposta:

Acesse Comentários para encontrar explicações sobre a solução da questão.

Parabéns! Você acertou!

Aprenda mais ensinando outros alunos ao comentar esta questão.

Q1118360

Ano: 2018 Banca: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) Órgão: Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG Prova: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) - 2018 - Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG - Professor - Inglês |

Q1118360 Inglês

Texto associado

INSTRUCTIONS: This test comprises fifteen questions taken from the text below. Read the text carefully and then mark the alternatives that answer the questions or complete the sentences presented after it.

The whole affair began so very quietly. When I wrote, that summer, and asked my friend Louise if she would come with me on a car trip to Provence, I had no idea that I might be issuing an invitation to danger. And when we arrived one afternoon, after a hot but leisurely journey, at the enchanting little walled city of Avignon, we felt in that mood of pleasant weariness mingled with anticipation which marks, I believe, the beginning of every normal holiday.

I even sang to myself as I put the car away, and when I found they had given me a room with a balcony. And when, later on, the cat jumped on to my balcony, there was still nothing to indicate that this was the beginning of the whole strange, uneasy, tangled business. Or rather, not the beginning, but my own cue, the point where I came in. And, though the part I was to play in the tragedy was to break and re-form the pattern of my whole life, yet it was a very minor part, little more than a walk on in the last act. For most of the play had been played already; there had been love and lust and revenge and fear and murder – all the blood-tragedy – and now the killer, with blood enough on his hands, was waiting in the wings for the lights to go up again, on the last kill that would bring the final curtain down.

Louise is tall and fair and plump, with long legs, a pleasant voice, and beautiful hands. She is an artist, has no temperament to speak of, and is unutterably and incurably lazy. Before my marriage to Johnny Selbourne, I had taught at the Alice Private School for Girls in the West Midlands. Louise was still Art Mistress there, and owed her continued health and sanity to the habit of removing herself out of the trouble zone.

When Louise had gone to her own room, I washed, changed into a white frock with a wide blue belt, and did my face and hair very slowly. It was still hot, and the late sun’s rays fell obliquely across the balcony, through the half-opened shutter, in a shaft of copper-gold. Motionless, the shadows of the thin leaves traced a pattern across it as delicate and precise as a Chinese painting on silk, the image of the tree, brushed in like that by the sun, had a grace that the tree itself gave no hint of, for it was merely one of the nameless spindly affairs, parched and dustladen, that struggled up towards the sky from their pots in the hotel out below.

The courtyard was empty: people were still resting, or changing, or, if they were the mad English, walking out in the afternoon sun. A white-painted trellis wall separated the court on one side from the street, and beyond it people, mules, cars, occasionally even buses, moved about their business up and down the narrow thoroughfare. But inside the vine-covered trellis it was very still and peaceful.

Then fate took a hand. The first cue I had of it was the violent shaking of the shadows on the balcony. Then the ginger cat shot on to my balcony and sent down on her assailant the look to end all looks, and sat calmly down to wash. From below a rush and a volley of barking explained everything.

Then came a crash, and the sound of running feet.

The courtyard, formerly so empty and peaceful, seemed all of a sudden remarkably full of a boy and a large, nondescript dog. The latter, with his earnest gaze still on the balcony, was leaping futilely up and down, pouring out rage, hatred and excitement, while the boy tried with one hand to catch and quell him and with the other to lift one of the tables which had been knocked on to its side. It was, luckily, not one of those which had been set for dinner.

The boy looked up and saw me. He straightened, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and grinned.

“My French isn’t terribly good,” I said. “Do you speak English?”

He looked immensely pleased.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I am English,” he admitted. ”My name’s David,” he said. “David Shelley.”

Well, I was into the play.

I judged him to be about thirteen – who was lucky enough to be enjoying a holiday in the South of France.

Before I could speak again we were interrupted by a woman who came in through the vine-trellis, from the street. She was, I guessed, thirty-five. She was also blonde, tall, and quite the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The simple cream dress she wore must have been one of Dior’s favourite dreams, and the bill for it her husband’s nightmare.

She did not see me at all, which again was perfectly natural. She paused a moment when she saw the boy and the dog, then came forward with a kind of eyecompelling glance which would have turned heads in Piccadilly on a wet Monday morning.

She paused and spoke. Her voice was pleasant, her English perfect, but her accent was that of a Frenchwoman.

“David.”

No reply.

“Mon fils... “

Her son? He did not glance up. “Don’t you know what time it is? Hurry up and change. It’s nearly dinner time.”

Without a word the boy went into the hotel, trailing a somewhat subdued dog after him on the end of a string. His mother stared after him for a moment, with an expression half puzzled, half exasperated. Then she gave a smiling little shrug of the shoulders and went into the hotel after the boy.

I picked my bag up and went downstairs for a drink.

STEWART, Mary. Madam, will you talk?. Hodder and

Stoughton: Coronet Books, 1977, p. 5-14 (Edited).

The narrative shows that the narrator was expecting to:

A

be mixed in a dangerous adventure.

B

be an actor in a theatre play

C

have a very agreeable holiday trip.

D

meet a French boy and his dog.

Você errou! Resposta:

Acesse Comentários para encontrar explicações sobre a solução da questão.

Parabéns! Você acertou!

Aprenda mais ensinando outros alunos ao comentar esta questão.

Q1118359

Ano: 2018 Banca: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) Órgão: Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG Prova: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) - 2018 - Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG - Professor - Inglês |

Q1118359 Inglês

Texto associado

INSTRUCTIONS: This test comprises fifteen questions taken from the text below. Read the text carefully and then mark the alternatives that answer the questions or complete the sentences presented after it.

The whole affair began so very quietly. When I wrote, that summer, and asked my friend Louise if she would come with me on a car trip to Provence, I had no idea that I might be issuing an invitation to danger. And when we arrived one afternoon, after a hot but leisurely journey, at the enchanting little walled city of Avignon, we felt in that mood of pleasant weariness mingled with anticipation which marks, I believe, the beginning of every normal holiday.

I even sang to myself as I put the car away, and when I found they had given me a room with a balcony. And when, later on, the cat jumped on to my balcony, there was still nothing to indicate that this was the beginning of the whole strange, uneasy, tangled business. Or rather, not the beginning, but my own cue, the point where I came in. And, though the part I was to play in the tragedy was to break and re-form the pattern of my whole life, yet it was a very minor part, little more than a walk on in the last act. For most of the play had been played already; there had been love and lust and revenge and fear and murder – all the blood-tragedy – and now the killer, with blood enough on his hands, was waiting in the wings for the lights to go up again, on the last kill that would bring the final curtain down.

Louise is tall and fair and plump, with long legs, a pleasant voice, and beautiful hands. She is an artist, has no temperament to speak of, and is unutterably and incurably lazy. Before my marriage to Johnny Selbourne, I had taught at the Alice Private School for Girls in the West Midlands. Louise was still Art Mistress there, and owed her continued health and sanity to the habit of removing herself out of the trouble zone.

When Louise had gone to her own room, I washed, changed into a white frock with a wide blue belt, and did my face and hair very slowly. It was still hot, and the late sun’s rays fell obliquely across the balcony, through the half-opened shutter, in a shaft of copper-gold. Motionless, the shadows of the thin leaves traced a pattern across it as delicate and precise as a Chinese painting on silk, the image of the tree, brushed in like that by the sun, had a grace that the tree itself gave no hint of, for it was merely one of the nameless spindly affairs, parched and dustladen, that struggled up towards the sky from their pots in the hotel out below.

The courtyard was empty: people were still resting, or changing, or, if they were the mad English, walking out in the afternoon sun. A white-painted trellis wall separated the court on one side from the street, and beyond it people, mules, cars, occasionally even buses, moved about their business up and down the narrow thoroughfare. But inside the vine-covered trellis it was very still and peaceful.

Then fate took a hand. The first cue I had of it was the violent shaking of the shadows on the balcony. Then the ginger cat shot on to my balcony and sent down on her assailant the look to end all looks, and sat calmly down to wash. From below a rush and a volley of barking explained everything.

Then came a crash, and the sound of running feet.

The courtyard, formerly so empty and peaceful, seemed all of a sudden remarkably full of a boy and a large, nondescript dog. The latter, with his earnest gaze still on the balcony, was leaping futilely up and down, pouring out rage, hatred and excitement, while the boy tried with one hand to catch and quell him and with the other to lift one of the tables which had been knocked on to its side. It was, luckily, not one of those which had been set for dinner.

The boy looked up and saw me. He straightened, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and grinned.

“My French isn’t terribly good,” I said. “Do you speak English?”

He looked immensely pleased.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I am English,” he admitted. ”My name’s David,” he said. “David Shelley.”

Well, I was into the play.

I judged him to be about thirteen – who was lucky enough to be enjoying a holiday in the South of France.

Before I could speak again we were interrupted by a woman who came in through the vine-trellis, from the street. She was, I guessed, thirty-five. She was also blonde, tall, and quite the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The simple cream dress she wore must have been one of Dior’s favourite dreams, and the bill for it her husband’s nightmare.

She did not see me at all, which again was perfectly natural. She paused a moment when she saw the boy and the dog, then came forward with a kind of eyecompelling glance which would have turned heads in Piccadilly on a wet Monday morning.

She paused and spoke. Her voice was pleasant, her English perfect, but her accent was that of a Frenchwoman.

“David.”

No reply.

“Mon fils... “

Her son? He did not glance up. “Don’t you know what time it is? Hurry up and change. It’s nearly dinner time.”

Without a word the boy went into the hotel, trailing a somewhat subdued dog after him on the end of a string. His mother stared after him for a moment, with an expression half puzzled, half exasperated. Then she gave a smiling little shrug of the shoulders and went into the hotel after the boy.

I picked my bag up and went downstairs for a drink.

STEWART, Mary. Madam, will you talk?. Hodder and

Stoughton: Coronet Books, 1977, p. 5-14 (Edited).

We, readers of the text, know that the narrator is a woman because:

A

her friend Louise has a separate room in the hotel.

B

she has a woman friend in her holiday trip.

C

she says she had married a Johnny Selbourne.

D

she talks about the role she will play in the tragedy.

Você errou! Resposta:

Acesse Comentários para encontrar explicações sobre a solução da questão.

Parabéns! Você acertou!

Aprenda mais ensinando outros alunos ao comentar esta questão.

Q1118358

Ano: 2018 Banca: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) Órgão: Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG Prova: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) - 2018 - Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG - Professor - Inglês |

Q1118358 Inglês

Texto associado

INSTRUCTIONS: This test comprises fifteen questions taken from the text below. Read the text carefully and then mark the alternatives that answer the questions or complete the sentences presented after it.

The whole affair began so very quietly. When I wrote, that summer, and asked my friend Louise if she would come with me on a car trip to Provence, I had no idea that I might be issuing an invitation to danger. And when we arrived one afternoon, after a hot but leisurely journey, at the enchanting little walled city of Avignon, we felt in that mood of pleasant weariness mingled with anticipation which marks, I believe, the beginning of every normal holiday.

I even sang to myself as I put the car away, and when I found they had given me a room with a balcony. And when, later on, the cat jumped on to my balcony, there was still nothing to indicate that this was the beginning of the whole strange, uneasy, tangled business. Or rather, not the beginning, but my own cue, the point where I came in. And, though the part I was to play in the tragedy was to break and re-form the pattern of my whole life, yet it was a very minor part, little more than a walk on in the last act. For most of the play had been played already; there had been love and lust and revenge and fear and murder – all the blood-tragedy – and now the killer, with blood enough on his hands, was waiting in the wings for the lights to go up again, on the last kill that would bring the final curtain down.

Louise is tall and fair and plump, with long legs, a pleasant voice, and beautiful hands. She is an artist, has no temperament to speak of, and is unutterably and incurably lazy. Before my marriage to Johnny Selbourne, I had taught at the Alice Private School for Girls in the West Midlands. Louise was still Art Mistress there, and owed her continued health and sanity to the habit of removing herself out of the trouble zone.

When Louise had gone to her own room, I washed, changed into a white frock with a wide blue belt, and did my face and hair very slowly. It was still hot, and the late sun’s rays fell obliquely across the balcony, through the half-opened shutter, in a shaft of copper-gold. Motionless, the shadows of the thin leaves traced a pattern across it as delicate and precise as a Chinese painting on silk, the image of the tree, brushed in like that by the sun, had a grace that the tree itself gave no hint of, for it was merely one of the nameless spindly affairs, parched and dustladen, that struggled up towards the sky from their pots in the hotel out below.

The courtyard was empty: people were still resting, or changing, or, if they were the mad English, walking out in the afternoon sun. A white-painted trellis wall separated the court on one side from the street, and beyond it people, mules, cars, occasionally even buses, moved about their business up and down the narrow thoroughfare. But inside the vine-covered trellis it was very still and peaceful.

Then fate took a hand. The first cue I had of it was the violent shaking of the shadows on the balcony. Then the ginger cat shot on to my balcony and sent down on her assailant the look to end all looks, and sat calmly down to wash. From below a rush and a volley of barking explained everything.

Then came a crash, and the sound of running feet.

The courtyard, formerly so empty and peaceful, seemed all of a sudden remarkably full of a boy and a large, nondescript dog. The latter, with his earnest gaze still on the balcony, was leaping futilely up and down, pouring out rage, hatred and excitement, while the boy tried with one hand to catch and quell him and with the other to lift one of the tables which had been knocked on to its side. It was, luckily, not one of those which had been set for dinner.

The boy looked up and saw me. He straightened, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and grinned.

“My French isn’t terribly good,” I said. “Do you speak English?”

He looked immensely pleased.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I am English,” he admitted. ”My name’s David,” he said. “David Shelley.”

Well, I was into the play.

I judged him to be about thirteen – who was lucky enough to be enjoying a holiday in the South of France.

Before I could speak again we were interrupted by a woman who came in through the vine-trellis, from the street. She was, I guessed, thirty-five. She was also blonde, tall, and quite the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The simple cream dress she wore must have been one of Dior’s favourite dreams, and the bill for it her husband’s nightmare.

She did not see me at all, which again was perfectly natural. She paused a moment when she saw the boy and the dog, then came forward with a kind of eyecompelling glance which would have turned heads in Piccadilly on a wet Monday morning.

She paused and spoke. Her voice was pleasant, her English perfect, but her accent was that of a Frenchwoman.

“David.”

No reply.

“Mon fils... “

Her son? He did not glance up. “Don’t you know what time it is? Hurry up and change. It’s nearly dinner time.”

Without a word the boy went into the hotel, trailing a somewhat subdued dog after him on the end of a string. His mother stared after him for a moment, with an expression half puzzled, half exasperated. Then she gave a smiling little shrug of the shoulders and went into the hotel after the boy.

I picked my bag up and went downstairs for a drink.

STEWART, Mary. Madam, will you talk?. Hodder and

Stoughton: Coronet Books, 1977, p. 5-14 (Edited).

The narrator is comparing the story she is about to tell to:

A

a lifetime.

B

a play.

C

a school.

D

a short story.

Você errou! Resposta:

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Q1118357

Ano: 2018 Banca: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) Órgão: Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG Prova: FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos) - 2018 - Prefeitura de Pará de Minas - MG - Professor - Inglês |

Q1118357 Inglês

Texto associado

INSTRUCTIONS: This test comprises fifteen questions taken from the text below. Read the text carefully and then mark the alternatives that answer the questions or complete the sentences presented after it.

The whole affair began so very quietly. When I wrote, that summer, and asked my friend Louise if she would come with me on a car trip to Provence, I had no idea that I might be issuing an invitation to danger. And when we arrived one afternoon, after a hot but leisurely journey, at the enchanting little walled city of Avignon, we felt in that mood of pleasant weariness mingled with anticipation which marks, I believe, the beginning of every normal holiday.

I even sang to myself as I put the car away, and when I found they had given me a room with a balcony. And when, later on, the cat jumped on to my balcony, there was still nothing to indicate that this was the beginning of the whole strange, uneasy, tangled business. Or rather, not the beginning, but my own cue, the point where I came in. And, though the part I was to play in the tragedy was to break and re-form the pattern of my whole life, yet it was a very minor part, little more than a walk on in the last act. For most of the play had been played already; there had been love and lust and revenge and fear and murder – all the blood-tragedy – and now the killer, with blood enough on his hands, was waiting in the wings for the lights to go up again, on the last kill that would bring the final curtain down.

Louise is tall and fair and plump, with long legs, a pleasant voice, and beautiful hands. She is an artist, has no temperament to speak of, and is unutterably and incurably lazy. Before my marriage to Johnny Selbourne, I had taught at the Alice Private School for Girls in the West Midlands. Louise was still Art Mistress there, and owed her continued health and sanity to the habit of removing herself out of the trouble zone.

When Louise had gone to her own room, I washed, changed into a white frock with a wide blue belt, and did my face and hair very slowly. It was still hot, and the late sun’s rays fell obliquely across the balcony, through the half-opened shutter, in a shaft of copper-gold. Motionless, the shadows of the thin leaves traced a pattern across it as delicate and precise as a Chinese painting on silk, the image of the tree, brushed in like that by the sun, had a grace that the tree itself gave no hint of, for it was merely one of the nameless spindly affairs, parched and dustladen, that struggled up towards the sky from their pots in the hotel out below.

The courtyard was empty: people were still resting, or changing, or, if they were the mad English, walking out in the afternoon sun. A white-painted trellis wall separated the court on one side from the street, and beyond it people, mules, cars, occasionally even buses, moved about their business up and down the narrow thoroughfare. But inside the vine-covered trellis it was very still and peaceful.

Then fate took a hand. The first cue I had of it was the violent shaking of the shadows on the balcony. Then the ginger cat shot on to my balcony and sent down on her assailant the look to end all looks, and sat calmly down to wash. From below a rush and a volley of barking explained everything.

Then came a crash, and the sound of running feet.

The courtyard, formerly so empty and peaceful, seemed all of a sudden remarkably full of a boy and a large, nondescript dog. The latter, with his earnest gaze still on the balcony, was leaping futilely up and down, pouring out rage, hatred and excitement, while the boy tried with one hand to catch and quell him and with the other to lift one of the tables which had been knocked on to its side. It was, luckily, not one of those which had been set for dinner.

The boy looked up and saw me. He straightened, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and grinned.

“My French isn’t terribly good,” I said. “Do you speak English?”

He looked immensely pleased.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I am English,” he admitted. ”My name’s David,” he said. “David Shelley.”

Well, I was into the play.

I judged him to be about thirteen – who was lucky enough to be enjoying a holiday in the South of France.

Before I could speak again we were interrupted by a woman who came in through the vine-trellis, from the street. She was, I guessed, thirty-five. She was also blonde, tall, and quite the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The simple cream dress she wore must have been one of Dior’s favourite dreams, and the bill for it her husband’s nightmare.

She did not see me at all, which again was perfectly natural. She paused a moment when she saw the boy and the dog, then came forward with a kind of eyecompelling glance which would have turned heads in Piccadilly on a wet Monday morning.

She paused and spoke. Her voice was pleasant, her English perfect, but her accent was that of a Frenchwoman.

“David.”

No reply.

“Mon fils... “

Her son? He did not glance up. “Don’t you know what time it is? Hurry up and change. It’s nearly dinner time.”

Without a word the boy went into the hotel, trailing a somewhat subdued dog after him on the end of a string. His mother stared after him for a moment, with an expression half puzzled, half exasperated. Then she gave a smiling little shrug of the shoulders and went into the hotel after the boy.

I picked my bag up and went downstairs for a drink.

STEWART, Mary. Madam, will you talk?. Hodder and

Stoughton: Coronet Books, 1977, p. 5-14 (Edited).

The story is supposed to be about:

A

a girl with his son.

B

a play on a theatre.

C

a summer holiday.

D

an afternoon on the beach.

Você errou! Resposta:

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Q1117556

Ano: 2016 Banca: IDECAN Órgão: Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG Prova: IDECAN - 2016 - Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG - Professor PII - Inglês |

Q1117556 Inglês

Analyse the cartoon within an educational context to answer.

Imagem associada para resolução da questão

The humor is conveyed by the fact that

A

all of the candidates are really fussy and somewhat spooky.

B

the assessment process is meant to be candidate centered.

C

there will never be such a sort of evaluation system proposal.

D

candidates are not prone to participate since they’re illiterate.

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Q1117555

Ano: 2016 Banca: IDECAN Órgão: Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG Prova: IDECAN - 2016 - Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG - Professor PII - Inglês |

Q1117555 Inglês

According to Robinson (1999), an ESP course distinguished feature is

A

expansion of technology.

B

designing course training.

C

seeing English as product.

D

be based on needs analysis.

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Q1117554

Ano: 2016 Banca: IDECAN Órgão: Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG Prova: IDECAN - 2016 - Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG - Professor PII - Inglês |

Q1117554 Inglês

One of the disadvantages that approaches display when compared to methods is

A

clear-cut teacher’s role.

B

their broadbrush nature.

C

their very accurate claims.

D

explicit instructional design.

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Q1117553

Ano: 2016 Banca: IDECAN Órgão: Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG Prova: IDECAN - 2016 - Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG - Professor PII - Inglês |

Q1117553 Inglês

Task-Based Language Teaching (TLBT) refers to an approach based on the use of tasks as the core unit of planning and instruction in language teaching. A wide variety of realia can be used as resources for TLBT. Choose the item which describes a task type that is realia based.

A

Oral practice of each utterance of a dialogue segment is made aiming at presenting it to the entire class in pairs.

B

Students prepare a three-minute oral speech on a topic of their choice, they might not use body language during the speech.

C

Students proofread their own compositions, making corrections on capitalization, punctuation, spelling, and other structural aspects.

D

After watching an unknown soap opera episode, students list characters and their possible relationships to other characters in the episode.

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Q1117552

Ano: 2016 Banca: IDECAN Órgão: Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG Prova: IDECAN - 2016 - Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG - Professor PII - Inglês |

Q1117552 Inglês

“Neither Bob nor his sister Aileen borrows money to anyone, under any circumstances.”

A B C D

Choose the inconsistent item and its corresponding correction.

A

Or.

B

From.

C

Nobody.

D

No.

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Q1117551

Ano: 2016 Banca: IDECAN Órgão: Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG Prova: IDECAN - 2016 - Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG - Professor PII - Inglês |

Q1117551 Inglês

“Hank: I know it’s a long shot, but why don’t you ask for a raise?”

“Karl: You’re right. I’ll do it.”

What does Hank mean?

A

Karl will surely get the intended raise.

B

It’s improbable that Karl will get a raise.

C

Karl’ll have to wait long to get the raise.

D

It’s not likely that Karl will get promoted.

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Q1117550

Ano: 2016 Banca: IDECAN Órgão: Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG Prova: IDECAN - 2016 - Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG - Professor PII - Inglês |

Q1117550 Inglês

Texto associado

It’s been a long time since attending school consisted of hauling in a large pile of books and sitting still looking at the teacher all day. Students these days are online, connected and digitally savvy. But are we making the most of this? One Hertfordshire school certainly is.

Back in 2013, Hobletts Manor Junior School in Hemel Hempstead received its Oftsed report. Though it was very good, the report suggested the school could be outstanding if its pupils were able to use their ICT skills in more subjects. At the time, the school had a similar IT setup to most other UK primary schools: one ICT suite with limited pupil access. This, says head teacher Sally Short, made it difficult to embed technology across the curriculum in the ways they would like. But with the help of the school’s ICT coordinator and year 4 teacher Alice Baker, the local authority and PC World Business, Mrs Short came up with a shortlist of requirements to bring the school and its teaching style properly into the digital age.

From ordering to installation, the process took just four weeks and at the end of it the school had a whole host of innovative tech, including an interactive 70inch Smart table, which works like a giant iPad. Miss Baker devised an interactive activity about the Egyptians and, she says, things like this have made a huge difference to learning. Because more than one person can interact with the Smart table, Mrs Short says her own teaching style has changed: “Before, lessons were purely teacher-led. It’s opening doors we didn’t even know existed and having an amazing impact.” The students were also each given their own Windows 8-enabled tablet; one child was so excited about this that he even burst into tears. The digital natives needed just one session to experiment and they were off. Miss Baker laughs: “They even teach me how to use the kit sometimes.” It might seem as though increased technology decreases concentration but, says Miss Baker, “Pupils are so much more engaged when they’re using the tablets, even if they’re just checking their answers on them.”

The tech has also allowed the children to be more independent in their learning, but there are security measures in place to ensure Miss Baker has control over content and activity. Miss Baker has Acer Class Management software installed on her tablet. This allows her to see what all the students are doing on their tablets, and also enables her to share slideshows and websites. Handily, she can even lock their screens. At the same time, the entire school network has been upgraded. Pupils and teachers can now access a Wi-Fi connection in the outdoor learning area and there are plans afoot to allow them to use their tech in the nearby woodland and garden. The school is carefully monitoring the impact of the new technology, and has been making careful comparisons on the students’ progress. The teachers hope, too, that the tech will have a positive impact on attendance as students become increasingly engaged in lessons. “Following the installation, we surveyed pupils to gauge their perceptions on technology,” says Miss Baker, “Pupils who have been able to take advantage of the tools provided by PC World Business said that they felt technology was really important and that they will use it when they grow up. Perhaps most importantly, all the students in the class agreed that the technology has helped them learn.”

(Available in: www.telegraph.co.uk. Adapted.)

“… didn’t even know existed and having an amazing impact. The students were also each given their own Windows 8-enabled tablet;…” (L 15-16)

In the active voice “The students were also given their own Windows 8-enabled tablet” becomes:

A

The students’d also be given their own Windows 8-enabled tablet.

B

Someone also gave students their own Windows 8-enabled tablet.

C

Their own Windows 8 enabled tablet had been given the students.

D

Someone’d also given students their own Windows 8-enabled tablet.

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Q1117549

Ano: 2016 Banca: IDECAN Órgão: Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG Prova: IDECAN - 2016 - Prefeitura de Simonésia - MG - Professor PII - Inglês |

Q1117549 Inglês

Texto associado

It’s been a long time since attending school consisted of hauling in a large pile of books and sitting still looking at the teacher all day. Students these days are online, connected and digitally savvy. But are we making the most of this? One Hertfordshire school certainly is.

Back in 2013, Hobletts Manor Junior School in Hemel Hempstead received its Oftsed report. Though it was very good, the report suggested the school could be outstanding if its pupils were able to use their ICT skills in more subjects. At the time, the school had a similar IT setup to most other UK primary schools: one ICT suite with limited pupil access. This, says head teacher Sally Short, made it difficult to embed technology across the curriculum in the ways they would like. But with the help of the school’s ICT coordinator and year 4 teacher Alice Baker, the local authority and PC World Business, Mrs Short came up with a shortlist of requirements to bring the school and its teaching style properly into the digital age.

From ordering to installation, the process took just four weeks and at the end of it the school had a whole host of innovative tech, including an interactive 70inch Smart table, which works like a giant iPad. Miss Baker devised an interactive activity about the Egyptians and, she says, things like this have made a huge difference to learning. Because more than one person can interact with the Smart table, Mrs Short says her own teaching style has changed: “Before, lessons were purely teacher-led. It’s opening doors we didn’t even know existed and having an amazing impact.” The students were also each given their own Windows 8-enabled tablet; one child was so excited about this that he even burst into tears. The digital natives needed just one session to experiment and they were off. Miss Baker laughs: “They even teach me how to use the kit sometimes.” It might seem as though increased technology decreases concentration but, says Miss Baker, “Pupils are so much more engaged when they’re using the tablets, even if they’re just checking their answers on them.”

The tech has also allowed the children to be more independent in their learning, but there are security measures in place to ensure Miss Baker has control over content and activity. Miss Baker has Acer Class Management software installed on her tablet. This allows her to see what all the students are doing on their tablets, and also enables her to share slideshows and websites. Handily, she can even lock their screens. At the same time, the entire school network has been upgraded. Pupils and teachers can now access a Wi-Fi connection in the outdoor learning area and there are plans afoot to allow them to use their tech in the nearby woodland and garden. The school is carefully monitoring the impact of the new technology, and has been making careful comparisons on the students’ progress. The teachers hope, too, that the tech will have a positive impact on attendance as students become increasingly engaged in lessons. “Following the installation, we surveyed pupils to gauge their perceptions on technology,” says Miss Baker, “Pupils who have been able to take advantage of the tools provided by PC World Business said that they felt technology was really important and that they will use it when they grow up. Perhaps most importantly, all the students in the class agreed that the technology has helped them learn.”

(Available in: www.telegraph.co.uk. Adapted.)

As to its use in the text, LEARNING (L 13) follows the same pattern of

A

learning (L 25).

B

ordering (L 11).

C

checking (L 19).

D

outstanding (L 05).

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A APROVAÇÃO É DE QUEM NÃO ESPERA

A APROVAÇÃO É DE QUEM NÃO ESPERA

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