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SAT SAT-Critical-Reading Exam Syllabus Topics:

SAT Section One : Critical Reading Sample Questions:

Question 1

In the year 1860, the reputation of Doctor Wybrow as a London physician reached its highest point. It was
re ported on good authority that he was in receipt of one of the largest incomes derived from the practice
of medicine in modern times.
One afternoon, towards the close of the London season, the doctor had just taken his luncheon after a
specially hard morning's work in his consulting-room, and with a formidable list of visits to patients at their
own houses to fill up the rest of his day--when the servant announced that a lady wished to speak to him.
"Who is she?" the Doctor asked. "A stranger?" "Yes, sir."
"I see no strangers out of consulting-hours. Tell her what the hours are, and send her away." "I have told
her, sir."
"Well?"
"And she won't go."
"Won't go?" The doctor smiled as he repeated the words. He was a humorist in his way; and there was an
absurd side to the situation which rather amused him. "Has this obstinate lady given you her name?" he
inquired.
"No, sir. She refused to give any name--she said she wouldn't keep you five minutes, and the matter was
too important to wait till to-morrow. There she is in the consulting-room; and how to get her out again is
more than I know."
Doctor Wybrow considered for a moment. His knowledge of women (professionally speaking) rested on
the ripe experience of more than thirty years; he had met with them in all their varieties--especially the
variety which knows nothing of the value of time, and never hesitates at sheltering itself behind the
privileges of its sex. A glance at his watch informed him that he must soon begin his rounds among the
patients who were waiting for him at their own houses. He decided forthwith on taking the only wise
course that was open under the circumstances. In other words, he decided on taking to flight.
"Is the carriage at the door?" he asked. "Yes, sir."
"Very well. Open the house-door for me without making any noise, and leave the lady in undisturbed
possession of the consulting-room. When she gets tired of waiting, you know what to tell her. If she asks
when I am expected to return, say that I dine at my club, and spend the evening at the theatre. Now then,
softly, Thomas! If your shoes creak, I am a lost man."
Why does the decision made by the physician strike the reader as unusual?

A. It is unusual because we know that a woman would take her time and that, unless the physician were
to be considered rude, he would have to hear her complete story.
B. It is unusual that an unidentified patient would attend the consultation room and refuse to leave when
told the physician could not see them.
C. Since the physician did not know the seriousness or the nature of the situation with the stranger, it
seems strange that he didn't at least find out.
D. It is not normally the case that physicians find themselves in a position of helping one at the expense of
another.
E. It seems incongruent that a physician whose job consists of listening to patients suggesting that the
only wise course is to run away.

Question 2

Scott Fitzgerald was a prominent American writer of the twentieth century. This passage comes from one
of his short stories and tells the story of a young John Unger leaving home for boarding school.
John T. Unger came from a family that had been well known in Hades a small town on the Mississippi
River for several generations. John's father had held the amateur golf championship through many a
heated contest; Mrs. Unger was known "from hot-box to hot-bed," as the local phrase went, for her
political addresses; and young John T. Unger, who had just turned sixteen, had danced all the latest
dances from New York before he put on long trousers.
And now, for a certain time, he was to be away from home That respect for a New England education
which is the bane of all provincial places, which drains them yearly of their most promising young men,
had seized upon his parents.
Nothing would suit them but that he should go to St. Midas's School near Boston--Hades was too small to
hold their darling and gifted son. Now in Hades--as you know if you ever have been there the names of
the more fashionable preparatory schools and colleges mean very little. The inhabitants have been so
long out of the world that, though they make a show of keeping up-to-date in dress and manners and
literature, they depend to a great extent on hearsay, and a function that in Hades would be considered
elaborate would doubtless be hailed by a Chicago beef-princess as "perhaps a little tacky." John T. Unger
was on the eve of departure. Mrs. Unger, with maternal fatuity, packed his trunks full of linen suits and
electric fans, and Mr. Unger presented his son with an asbestos pocket-book stuffed with money.
"Remember, you are always welcome here," he said. "You can be sure, boy, that we'll keep the home
fires burning." "I know," answered John huskily.
"Don't forget who you are and where you come from," continued his father proudly, "and you can do
nothing to harm you. You are an Unger--from Hades."
So the old man and the young shook hands, and John walked away with tears streaming from his eyes.
Ten minutes later he had passed outside the city limits and he stopped to glance back for the last time.
Over the gates the old-fashioned Victorian motto seemed strangely attractive to him. His father had tried
time and time again to have it changed to something with a little more push and verve about it, such as
"Hades--Your Opportunity," or else a plain "Welcome" sign set over a hearty handshake pricked out in
electric lights. The old motto was a little depressing, Mr. Unger had thought--but now.
So John took his look and then set his face resolutely toward his destination. And, as he turned away, the
lights of Hades against the sky seemed full of a warm and passionate beauty.
The tone of sentence "their darling and gifted son" can best be described as

A. sincere.
B. dismayed.
C. compassionate.
D. sardonic.
E. understated.

Question 3

But the Dust-Bin was going down then, and your father took but little, excepting from a liquid point of view.
Your mother's object in those visits was of a house-keeping character, and you was set on to whistle your
father out. Sometimes he came out, but generally not. Come or not come, however, all that part of his
existence which was unconnected with open Waitering was kept a close secret, and was acknowledged
by your mother to be a close secret, and you and your mother flitted about the court, close secrets both of
you, and would scarcely have confessed under torture that you know your father, or that your father had
any name than Dick (which wasn't his name, though he was never known by any other), or that he had
kith or kin or chick or child.
Perhaps the attraction of this mystery, combined with your father's having a damp compartment, to
himself, behind a leaky cistern, at the Dust Bin, a sort of a cellar compartment, with a sink in it, and a smell,
and a plate-rack, and a bottle-rack, and three windows that didn't match each other or anything else, and
no daylight, caused your young mind to feel convinced that you must grow up to be a Waiter too; but you
did feel convinced of it, and so did all your brothers, down to your sister. Every one of you felt convinced
that you was born to the Waitering.
At this stage of your career, what was your feelings one day when your father came home to your mother
in open broad daylight, of itself an act of Madness on the part of a Waiter, and took to his bed (leastwise,
your mother and family's bed), with the statement that his eyes were devilled kidneys. Physicians being in
vain, your father expired, after repeating at intervals for a day and a night, when gleams of reason and old
business fitfully illuminated his being, "Two and two is five. And three is sixpence." Interred in the
parochial department of the neighbouring churchyard, and accompanied to the grave by as many Waiters
of long standing as could spare the morning time from their soiled glasses (namely, one), your bereaved
form was attired in a white neckankecher [sic], and you was took on from motives of benevolence at The
George and Gridiron, theatrical and supper. Here, supporting nature on what you found in the
plates(which was as it happened, and but too often thoughtlessly, immersed in mustard), and on what you
found in the glasses (which rarely went beyond driblets and lemon), by night you dropped asleep standing,
till you was cuffed awake, and by day was set to polishing every individual article in the coffee-room. Your
couch being sawdust; your counterpane being ashes of cigars. Here, frequently hiding a heavy heart
under the smart tie of your white neck ankecher (or correctly speaking lower down and more to the left),
you picked up the rudiments of knowledge from an extra, by the name of Bishops, and by calling plate-
washer, and gradually elevating your mind with chalk on the back of the corner-box partition, until such
time as you used the inkstand when it was out of hand, attained to manhood, and to be the Waiter that
you find yourself.
I could wish here to offer a few respectful words on behalf of the calling so long the calling of myself and
family, and the public interest in which is but too often very limited. We are not generally understood. No,
we are not. Allowance enough is not made for us. For, say that we ever show a little drooping listlessness
of spirits, or what might be termed indifference or apathy. Put it to yourself what would your own state of
mind be, if you was one of an enormous family every member of which except you was always greedy,
and in a hurry. Put it to yourself that you was regularly replete with animal food at the slack hours of one in
the day and again at nine p.m., and that the repleter [sic] you was, the more voracious all your
fellow-creatures came in. Put it to yourself that it was your business, when your digestion was well on, to
take a personal interest and sympathy in a hundred gentlemen fresh and fresh (say, for the sake of
argument, only a hundred), whose imaginations was given up to grease and fat and gravy and melted
butter, and abandoned to questioning you about cuts of this, and dishes of that, each of 'em going on as if
him and you and the bill of fare was alone in the world.
All of the following may indicate why the author states the father coming home is an "act of Madness" in
2 nd paragraph EXCEPT:

A. it is broad daylight and not a visit under the shroud of darkness.
B. it is feasible that he will cause the son to lose his job.
C. it is during the day when he should be working.
D. it is likely someone will find out who he really is.
E. he risks exposing that he has a wife and family.

Question 4

Herbert had none of the social graces; he was appallingly ----.

A. uncouth
B. unlimbered
C. unfettered
D. uncluttered
E. underrated

Question 5

Sir Giles's irritating reserve, not even excused by a word of apology, reached the limits of his endurance.
He respectfully protested. "I regret to find, sir," he said, "that I have lost my place in my employer's
estimation. The man to whom you confide the superintendence of your clerks and the transaction of your
business has, I venture to think, some claim (under the present circumstances) to be trusted." The banker
was now offended on his side.
"I readily admit your claim," he answered, "when you are sitting at your desk in my office. But, even in
these days of strikes, co-operations, and bank holidays, an employer has one privilege left--he has not
ceased to be a Man, and he has not forfeited a man's right to keep his own secrets. I fail to see anything in
my conduct which has given you just reason to complain." Dennis, rebuked, made his bow in silence, and
withdrew.
Did these acts of humility mean that he submitted? They meant exactly the contrary. He had made up his
mind that Sir Giles Mountjoy's motives should, sooner or later, cease to be mysteries to Sir Giles
Mountjoy's clerk.
In context, the words "irritating reserve" in first paragraph is best represented by the word

A. level of resistance
B. tolerance.
C. perturbation.
D. anguish.
E. patience.

Solutions: