Part Iii Essay

Part Iii Essay-88
On June 19th, 2019, the New York State Regents examination for English Language Arts (ELA 11) was given to thousands of students. Little children ran among them, swooping and laughing; little boys with big white silk bows under their chins, little girls, little French dolls, dressed up in velvet and lace. Who could believe the sky at the back wasn't painted?

On June 19th, 2019, the New York State Regents examination for English Language Arts (ELA 11) was given to thousands of students. Little children ran among them, swooping and laughing; little boys with big white silk bows under their chins, little girls, little French dolls, dressed up in velvet and lace. Who could believe the sky at the back wasn't painted?

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Not only was the passage outdated but important information from the text was left out, which many found difficulty in indicating a central idea. She had become really quite expert, she thought, at listening as though she didn't listen, at sitting in other people's lives just for a minute while they talked round her. An Englishman and his wife, he wearing a dreadful Panama hat and she button boots. Other people sat on the benches and green chairs, but they were nearly always the same, Sunday after Sunday, and—Miss Brill had often noticed—there was something funny about nearly all of them. Two peasant women with funny straw hats passed, gravely, leading beautiful smoke-coloured donkeys. A beautiful woman came along and dropped her bunch of violets, and a little boy ran after to hand them to her, and she took them and threw them away as if they'd been poisoned. Miss Brill didn't know whether to admire that or not! How strange she'd never thought of it like that before! She had got quite used to the frail head on the cotton pillow, the hollowed eyes, the open mouth and the high pinched nose.

The New York Education Department needs to review this exam and see the issue that many had that day. And she'd gone on the whole time about how she ought to wear spectacles; she knew she needed them; but that it was no good getting any; they'd be sure to break and they'd never keep on. He'd suggested everything—gold rims, the kind that curved round your ears, little pads inside the bridge. They were odd, silent, nearly all old, and from the way they stared they looked as though they'd just come from dark little rooms or even—even cupboards! And now an ermine toque and a gentleman in grey met just in front of her. But as Miss Brill wondered, the ermine toque turned, raised her hand as though she'd seen some one else, much nicer, just over there, and pattered away. And yet it explained why she made such a point of starting from home at just the same time each week—so as not to be late for the performance—and it also explained why she had quite a queer, shy feeling at telling her English pupils how she spent her Sunday afternoons. If he'd been dead she mightn't have noticed for weeks; she wouldn't have minded.

To and fro, in front of the flower-beds and the band rotunda, the couples and groups paraded, stopped to talk, to greet, to buy a handful of flowers from the old beggar who had his tray fixed to the railings.

She described where she'd been—everywhere, here, there, along by the sea. But even the band seemed to know what she was feeling and played more softly, played tenderly, and the drum beat, "The Brute!

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