Passage #31-34
　　It sounded like something in a book and it did not make Mary feel cheerful. A house with a hundred rooms, nearly all shut up and with their doors locked--a house on the edge of a moor--   31   --sounded dreary. A man with a crooked back who shut himself up also! She stared out of the window with her lips pinched together, and it seemed quite
natural that the rain should have begun to pour down in gray slanting lines and splash and stream down the window-panes.   32   she might have made things cheerful by being something like her own mother and by running in and out and going to parties as she had done in frocks "full of lace." But she was not there anymore.
　　"You needn't expect to see him, because ten to one you won't," said Mrs. Medlock. "And you mustn't expect that there will be people to talk to you. You'll have to play about and look after yourself. You'll be told what rooms you can go into and what rooms you're to keep out of. There're gardens enough. But when you're in the house don't go wandering and poking about. Mr. Craven won't have it."
　　"I shall not want to go poking about," said sour little Mary and just as suddenly as she had begun to be rather sorry for Mr. Archibald Craven she began to cease to be sorry and to think he was unpleasant enough   33   .
　　And she turned her face toward the streaming panes of the window of the railway carriage and gazed out at the gray rain-storm which looked   34   . She watched it so long and steadily that the grayness grew heavier and heavier before her eyes and she fell asleep.

(A) as if it would go on forever and ever
(B) to deserve all that had happened to him
(C) what so ever a moor was
(D) If the pretty wife had been alive

 

mother's farewell kiss, a touch in her throat when the cars clacked by the flour mill where her father worked by the day, a pathetic sigh   37   , and the threads which bound her so lightly to girlhood and home were irretrievably broken. To be sure there was always the next station, where one might descend and return. There was the great city, bound more closely by these very trains which came up daily. Columbia City was not so very far away, even once she was in Chicago. What, pray, is a few hours—a few hundred miles? She looked at the little slip bearing her sister's address and wondered. She gazed at the green landscape, now passing in swift review,   38   .

#35-38 Phrase Bank 

(A) until her swifter thoughts replaced its impression with vague conjectures of what Chicago might be 

(B) containing her ticket, a scrap of paper with her sister's address in Van Buren Street 

(C) full of the illusions of ignorance and youth 

(D) as the familiar green environs of the village passed in review