Questões de Concurso Público Prefeitura de Ervália - MG 2019 para Professor - Inglês
Foram encontradas 35 questões
Analise as condutas a seguir.
I. Recusar fé aos documentos públicos.
II. Criar distinções entre brasileiros ou preferências entre eles.
III. Instituir tributos sobre a propriedade predial e territorial urbana.
Segundo o que estabelece a Lei Orgânica do município de Ervália, é(são) vedada(s) ao município a(s) conduta(s)
Um servidor público da administração pública do município de Ervália é colocado em disponibilidade.
Na hipótese, é correto afirmar que o servidor
Analise o caso hipotético a seguir.
Servidor público ocupante de um determinado cargo em comissão da administração pública do Poder Executivo do município de Ervália, Antônio é nomeado para ter exercício interinamente em outro cargo em comissão na mesma esfera administrativa.
A partir da análise da hipótese, é correto afirmar:
Considere as seguintes afirmativas sobre o Poder Legislativo do município de Ervália.
I. Os vereadores são eleitos pelo sistema proporcional como representantes do povo.
II. Cada Legislatura terá a duração de quatro anos, compreendendo oito sessões legislativas ordinárias.
III. Os vereadores são invioláveis no exercício do mandato e na circunscrição do estado de Minas Gerais por suas opiniões, palavras e votos.
Segundo o que prevê a Lei Orgânica do município de Ervália, está(ão) correta(s) a(s) afirmativa(s) do(s) item(ns)
Analise o caso hipotético a seguir.
Aprovado em um concurso público, Pedro encontra-se em estágio probatório na administração pública do Poder Executivo do município de Ervália.
Considerando o que dispõe o estatuto do servidor público do referido município, assinale a alternativa incorreta.
TEXT TWO:
After so long a pause that Marcia felt sure whoever it was must have gone away, the front doorbell rang again, a courteously brief ‘still waiting.’
It would be a neighbor child on the way home from school with a handful of basketball tickets. Or an agent tardily taking orders for cheap and gaudy Christmas cards.
The trip down to the door would be laborious. Doctor Bowen had wanted her to avoid the stairs as much as possible from now on. But the diffident summons sounded very plaintive in its competition with the savage swish of sleet against the windows.
Raising herself heavily on her elbows, Marcia tried to squeeze a prompt decision out of her tousled blonde head with the tips of slim fingers. The mirror of the vanity table ventured a comforting comment on the girlish cornflower fringe that Paul always said brought out the blue in her eyes. She pressed her palms hard on the yellow curls, debating whether to make the effort. In any event she would have to go down soon, for the luncheon table was standing exactly as they had left it, and Paul would be returning in half an hour.
Edging clumsily to the side of the bed, she sat up, momentarily swept with vertigo, and fumbled with her stockinged toes for the shapeless slippers in which she had awkwardly paddled about through two previous campaigns in behalf of humanity’s perpetuity. When done with them, this time, Marcia expected to throw the slippers away.
Roberta eagerly reached up both chubby arms and bounced ecstatically at the approach of the outstretched hands. Wellie scrambled up out of his blocks and detonated an ominously sloppy sneeze.
Marcia said “Please don’t tell me you’ve been taking cold again.”
Wellie denied the accusation with a vigorous shake of his head, whooped hoarsely, and began slowly pacing the intermittent clatter of their procession down he dingy stairway, the flat of his small hand squeaking on the cold rail of the ugly yellow banister.
The bulky figure of a woman was silhouetted on the frosted glass panels of the street door. Wellie, with a wobbly index finger in his nose, halted to reconnoiter as they neared the bottom of the stairs, and his mother gave him a gentle push forward. They were in the front hall now, Marcia irresolutely considering whether to brave the blizzard. Wallie decided this matter by inquiring who it was in a penetrating treble, reinforcing his desire to know by twisting the knob with ineffective hands. Marcia shifted Roberta into the crook of her other arm and opened the door to a breath-taking swirl of stinging snow, the first real storm of the season.
DOUGLAS, Lloyd C. White Banners. New York: P. F. Collier &
Son Corporation, 1936.
TEXT TWO:
After so long a pause that Marcia felt sure whoever it was must have gone away, the front doorbell rang again, a courteously brief ‘still waiting.’
It would be a neighbor child on the way home from school with a handful of basketball tickets. Or an agent tardily taking orders for cheap and gaudy Christmas cards.
The trip down to the door would be laborious. Doctor Bowen had wanted her to avoid the stairs as much as possible from now on. But the diffident summons sounded very plaintive in its competition with the savage swish of sleet against the windows.
Raising herself heavily on her elbows, Marcia tried to squeeze a prompt decision out of her tousled blonde head with the tips of slim fingers. The mirror of the vanity table ventured a comforting comment on the girlish cornflower fringe that Paul always said brought out the blue in her eyes. She pressed her palms hard on the yellow curls, debating whether to make the effort. In any event she would have to go down soon, for the luncheon table was standing exactly as they had left it, and Paul would be returning in half an hour.
Edging clumsily to the side of the bed, she sat up, momentarily swept with vertigo, and fumbled with her stockinged toes for the shapeless slippers in which she had awkwardly paddled about through two previous campaigns in behalf of humanity’s perpetuity. When done with them, this time, Marcia expected to throw the slippers away.
Roberta eagerly reached up both chubby arms and bounced ecstatically at the approach of the outstretched hands. Wellie scrambled up out of his blocks and detonated an ominously sloppy sneeze.
Marcia said “Please don’t tell me you’ve been taking cold again.”
Wellie denied the accusation with a vigorous shake of his head, whooped hoarsely, and began slowly pacing the intermittent clatter of their procession down he dingy stairway, the flat of his small hand squeaking on the cold rail of the ugly yellow banister.
The bulky figure of a woman was silhouetted on the frosted glass panels of the street door. Wellie, with a wobbly index finger in his nose, halted to reconnoiter as they neared the bottom of the stairs, and his mother gave him a gentle push forward. They were in the front hall now, Marcia irresolutely considering whether to brave the blizzard. Wallie decided this matter by inquiring who it was in a penetrating treble, reinforcing his desire to know by twisting the knob with ineffective hands. Marcia shifted Roberta into the crook of her other arm and opened the door to a breath-taking swirl of stinging snow, the first real storm of the season.
DOUGLAS, Lloyd C. White Banners. New York: P. F. Collier &
Son Corporation, 1936.
TEXT TWO:
After so long a pause that Marcia felt sure whoever it was must have gone away, the front doorbell rang again, a courteously brief ‘still waiting.’
It would be a neighbor child on the way home from school with a handful of basketball tickets. Or an agent tardily taking orders for cheap and gaudy Christmas cards.
The trip down to the door would be laborious. Doctor Bowen had wanted her to avoid the stairs as much as possible from now on. But the diffident summons sounded very plaintive in its competition with the savage swish of sleet against the windows.
Raising herself heavily on her elbows, Marcia tried to squeeze a prompt decision out of her tousled blonde head with the tips of slim fingers. The mirror of the vanity table ventured a comforting comment on the girlish cornflower fringe that Paul always said brought out the blue in her eyes. She pressed her palms hard on the yellow curls, debating whether to make the effort. In any event she would have to go down soon, for the luncheon table was standing exactly as they had left it, and Paul would be returning in half an hour.
Edging clumsily to the side of the bed, she sat up, momentarily swept with vertigo, and fumbled with her stockinged toes for the shapeless slippers in which she had awkwardly paddled about through two previous campaigns in behalf of humanity’s perpetuity. When done with them, this time, Marcia expected to throw the slippers away.
Roberta eagerly reached up both chubby arms and bounced ecstatically at the approach of the outstretched hands. Wellie scrambled up out of his blocks and detonated an ominously sloppy sneeze.
Marcia said “Please don’t tell me you’ve been taking cold again.”
Wellie denied the accusation with a vigorous shake of his head, whooped hoarsely, and began slowly pacing the intermittent clatter of their procession down he dingy stairway, the flat of his small hand squeaking on the cold rail of the ugly yellow banister.
The bulky figure of a woman was silhouetted on the frosted glass panels of the street door. Wellie, with a wobbly index finger in his nose, halted to reconnoiter as they neared the bottom of the stairs, and his mother gave him a gentle push forward. They were in the front hall now, Marcia irresolutely considering whether to brave the blizzard. Wallie decided this matter by inquiring who it was in a penetrating treble, reinforcing his desire to know by twisting the knob with ineffective hands. Marcia shifted Roberta into the crook of her other arm and opened the door to a breath-taking swirl of stinging snow, the first real storm of the season.
DOUGLAS, Lloyd C. White Banners. New York: P. F. Collier &
Son Corporation, 1936.
TEXT TWO:
After so long a pause that Marcia felt sure whoever it was must have gone away, the front doorbell rang again, a courteously brief ‘still waiting.’
It would be a neighbor child on the way home from school with a handful of basketball tickets. Or an agent tardily taking orders for cheap and gaudy Christmas cards.
The trip down to the door would be laborious. Doctor Bowen had wanted her to avoid the stairs as much as possible from now on. But the diffident summons sounded very plaintive in its competition with the savage swish of sleet against the windows.
Raising herself heavily on her elbows, Marcia tried to squeeze a prompt decision out of her tousled blonde head with the tips of slim fingers. The mirror of the vanity table ventured a comforting comment on the girlish cornflower fringe that Paul always said brought out the blue in her eyes. She pressed her palms hard on the yellow curls, debating whether to make the effort. In any event she would have to go down soon, for the luncheon table was standing exactly as they had left it, and Paul would be returning in half an hour.
Edging clumsily to the side of the bed, she sat up, momentarily swept with vertigo, and fumbled with her stockinged toes for the shapeless slippers in which she had awkwardly paddled about through two previous campaigns in behalf of humanity’s perpetuity. When done with them, this time, Marcia expected to throw the slippers away.
Roberta eagerly reached up both chubby arms and bounced ecstatically at the approach of the outstretched hands. Wellie scrambled up out of his blocks and detonated an ominously sloppy sneeze.
Marcia said “Please don’t tell me you’ve been taking cold again.”
Wellie denied the accusation with a vigorous shake of his head, whooped hoarsely, and began slowly pacing the intermittent clatter of their procession down he dingy stairway, the flat of his small hand squeaking on the cold rail of the ugly yellow banister.
The bulky figure of a woman was silhouetted on the frosted glass panels of the street door. Wellie, with a wobbly index finger in his nose, halted to reconnoiter as they neared the bottom of the stairs, and his mother gave him a gentle push forward. They were in the front hall now, Marcia irresolutely considering whether to brave the blizzard. Wallie decided this matter by inquiring who it was in a penetrating treble, reinforcing his desire to know by twisting the knob with ineffective hands. Marcia shifted Roberta into the crook of her other arm and opened the door to a breath-taking swirl of stinging snow, the first real storm of the season.
DOUGLAS, Lloyd C. White Banners. New York: P. F. Collier &
Son Corporation, 1936.
TEXT TWO:
After so long a pause that Marcia felt sure whoever it was must have gone away, the front doorbell rang again, a courteously brief ‘still waiting.’
It would be a neighbor child on the way home from school with a handful of basketball tickets. Or an agent tardily taking orders for cheap and gaudy Christmas cards.
The trip down to the door would be laborious. Doctor Bowen had wanted her to avoid the stairs as much as possible from now on. But the diffident summons sounded very plaintive in its competition with the savage swish of sleet against the windows.
Raising herself heavily on her elbows, Marcia tried to squeeze a prompt decision out of her tousled blonde head with the tips of slim fingers. The mirror of the vanity table ventured a comforting comment on the girlish cornflower fringe that Paul always said brought out the blue in her eyes. She pressed her palms hard on the yellow curls, debating whether to make the effort. In any event she would have to go down soon, for the luncheon table was standing exactly as they had left it, and Paul would be returning in half an hour.
Edging clumsily to the side of the bed, she sat up, momentarily swept with vertigo, and fumbled with her stockinged toes for the shapeless slippers in which she had awkwardly paddled about through two previous campaigns in behalf of humanity’s perpetuity. When done with them, this time, Marcia expected to throw the slippers away.
Roberta eagerly reached up both chubby arms and bounced ecstatically at the approach of the outstretched hands. Wellie scrambled up out of his blocks and detonated an ominously sloppy sneeze.
Marcia said “Please don’t tell me you’ve been taking cold again.”
Wellie denied the accusation with a vigorous shake of his head, whooped hoarsely, and began slowly pacing the intermittent clatter of their procession down he dingy stairway, the flat of his small hand squeaking on the cold rail of the ugly yellow banister.
The bulky figure of a woman was silhouetted on the frosted glass panels of the street door. Wellie, with a wobbly index finger in his nose, halted to reconnoiter as they neared the bottom of the stairs, and his mother gave him a gentle push forward. They were in the front hall now, Marcia irresolutely considering whether to brave the blizzard. Wallie decided this matter by inquiring who it was in a penetrating treble, reinforcing his desire to know by twisting the knob with ineffective hands. Marcia shifted Roberta into the crook of her other arm and opened the door to a breath-taking swirl of stinging snow, the first real storm of the season.
DOUGLAS, Lloyd C. White Banners. New York: P. F. Collier &
Son Corporation, 1936.
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