Questões de Inglês

Instrução: A questão estão relacionadas ao texto abaixo.

“Mistrust all enterprises that require new
clothes,” says EM Forster in A Room With a
View, adapting a quote ........ Henry David
Thoreau. What a spoilsport. With the
[05] acquisition of new and unusual kit comes the
chance to become someone fresher, sexier or,
at the very least, someone who is prepared to
give yellow a go.
The reason we are so desperate to buy or
[10] borrow new clothes, says the academic and
broadcaster Shahidha Bari in her clever, subtle
book, is because they appear to bestow ........
us a charm and intellect that we can’t quite
muster for ourselves. Yet the moment we
[15] acquire that new coat or those new trousers,
we realise that nothing much has changed at
all. For no matter how fancy we look on the
surface, ........we still come with metaphorical
trailing threads and odd socks.
[20] Bari wants us to think not so much about what
clothes say as how they make us feel. Take the
suit. The one that she has in mind is worn by
Cary Grant in North by Northwest (1959).
Designed by Grant’s Savile Row tailor, Kilgour,
[25] French and Stanley, this suit combines a
ventless jacket with high-waisted, forward
pleated trousers. It is a suit (or suits – during
the five month shoot Grant got through eight
replicas, since hanging from Mount Rushmore by
[30] your fingertips involves a certain wear and tear)
that is simultaneously authoritative and
insouciant.
_____ the appeal of the suit is that it doesn’t
look as if it’s trying too hard, Bari is convinced
[35] that beneath that sheeny worsted surface, it is
doing important work. She is good at dresses
too. By rights, of course, they have no business
being in any modern woman’s wardrobe.
Nearly a hundred years after it became
[40] acceptable for “advanced” females to wear
“divided skirts” ........ the tennis court, why
would anyone voluntarily shimmy themselves
into a garment designed to cling to one’s body
while simultaneously restricting its movement?
[45] Bari is particularly good on how a dress looks
while on a hanger – like a second skin waiting
for flesh and blood to make it live. It is this
sense of the dress as an alternative self that
makes it so potent, far more charged, say, than
[50] well-cut trousers or Merino jumpers: “This
dress – not a poem, not a painting but a dress

– is something, maybe even all things, that we
are not.” Which is why it is the item most likely
to be languishing, unworn, at the back of the
[55] wardrobe, waiting for the moment when we
feel good enough – thin enough, feminine
enough, just enough enough – to put it on.

Adaptado de https://www.3quarksdaily.com/3quarks daily/2019/06/dressed-by-shahidha-bari-andthe-pocket-two-books-on-thesecret-life-ofclothes.html. Acesso em: 19 jul. 2019.

Instrução: A questão estão relacionadas ao texto abaixo.

“Mistrust all enterprises that require new
clothes,” says EM Forster in A Room With a
View, adapting a quote ........ Henry David
Thoreau. What a spoilsport. With the
[05] acquisition of new and unusual kit comes the
chance to become someone fresher, sexier or,
at the very least, someone who is prepared to
give yellow a go.
The reason we are so desperate to buy or
[10] borrow new clothes, says the academic and
broadcaster Shahidha Bari in her clever, subtle
book, is because they appear to bestow ........
us a charm and intellect that we can’t quite
muster for ourselves. Yet the moment we
[15] acquire that new coat or those new trousers,
we realise that nothing much has changed at
all. For no matter how fancy we look on the
surface, ........we still come with metaphorical
trailing threads and odd socks.
[20] Bari wants us to think not so much about what
clothes say as how they make us feel. Take the
suit. The one that she has in mind is worn by
Cary Grant in North by Northwest (1959).
Designed by Grant’s Savile Row tailor, Kilgour,
[25] French and Stanley, this suit combines a
ventless jacket with high-waisted, forward
pleated trousers. It is a suit (or suits – during
the five month shoot Grant got through eight
replicas, since hanging from Mount Rushmore by
[30] your fingertips involves a certain wear and tear)
that is simultaneously authoritative and
insouciant.
_____ the appeal of the suit is that it doesn’t
look as if it’s trying too hard, Bari is convinced
[35] that beneath that sheeny worsted surface, it is
doing important work. She is good at dresses
too. By rights, of course, they have no business
being in any modern woman’s wardrobe.
Nearly a hundred years after it became
[40] acceptable for “advanced” females to wear
“divided skirts” ........ the tennis court, why
would anyone voluntarily shimmy themselves
into a garment designed to cling to one’s body
while simultaneously restricting its movement?
[45] Bari is particularly good on how a dress looks
while on a hanger – like a second skin waiting
for flesh and blood to make it live. It is this
sense of the dress as an alternative self that
makes it so potent, far more charged, say, than
[50] well-cut trousers or Merino jumpers: “This
dress – not a poem, not a painting but a dress

– is something, maybe even all things, that we
are not.” Which is why it is the item most likely
to be languishing, unworn, at the back of the
[55] wardrobe, waiting for the moment when we
feel good enough – thin enough, feminine
enough, just enough enough – to put it on.

Adaptado de https://www.3quarksdaily.com/3quarks daily/2019/06/dressed-by-shahidha-bari-andthe-pocket-two-books-on-thesecret-life-ofclothes.html. Acesso em: 19 jul. 2019.

Instrução: A questão está relacionada ao texto abaixo.

Juliet had a book open on her lap, but she was
not reading. She did not take her eyes from
what was going by. She was alone in a double
seat and there was an empty double seat
[05] across from her. This was the space in which
her bed was made up at night. The porter was
busy at the moment, dismantling the car’s
nighttime arrangements. In some places, the
dark-green zippered shrouds still hung down to
[10] the floor. There was the smell of that cloth, like
tent cloth, and a slight smell of nightclothes
and toilets. A blast of fresh winter air was felt
whenever anyone opened the doors at either
end of the car. The last people were going to
[15] breakfast, other people coming back.
There were tracks in the snow, small animal
tracks. Strings of beads, looping, vanishing.
Juliet was twenty-one years old and already
the possessor of a B.A. and an M.A. in classics.
[20] She was working on her Ph.D. thesis in
Toronto, but had decided to take some time
out to teach Latin at a private girls’ school in
Vancouver. She had no training as a teacher,
but an unexpected vacancy at half-term had
[25] made the school willing to hire her. Probably
no one else had answered the ad. The salary
was less than any qualified teacher would be
likely to accept. But Juliet was happy to be
earning any money at all, after her years on
[30] stingy scholarships.
She was a tall girl, fair-skinned and fine-boned,
with light-brown hair that would not retain a
bouffant style, even when sprayed. She had
the look of an alert schoolgirl: head held high,
[35] a neat rounded chin, wide thin-lipped mouth,
snub nose, bright eyes, and a forehead that
was often flushed with effort or appreciation.
Her professors were delighted with her — they
were grateful these days for anybody who took
[40] up ancient languages, and particularly for
someone so gifted — but they were worried as
well. The problem was that she was a girl. If
she got married — which might happen, as she
was not bad-looking for a scholarship girl, not
[45] bad-looking at all — she would waste all her
hard work and theirs. And if she did not get
married, her life would probably become bleak
and isolated — she would lose out on
promotions to men (who needed them more,
[50] since they had families to support). Either way,

she would not be able to defend the oddity of
her choice, to defy what people would see as
the irrelevance, or dreariness, of classics, to
slough off that prejudice the way a man could.
[55] Odd choices were simply easier for men, most
of whom would still find women glad to marry
them. Not so the other way around.

Adaptado de: MUNRO, Alice. Chance. In: Runaway. London: Vintage, 2013. p. 52-53.

Instrução: A questão está relacionada ao texto abaixo.

Juliet had a book open on her lap, but she was
not reading. She did not take her eyes from
what was going by. She was alone in a double
seat and there was an empty double seat
[05] across from her. This was the space in which
her bed was made up at night. The porter was
busy at the moment, dismantling the car’s
nighttime arrangements. In some places, the
dark-green zippered shrouds still hung down to
[10] the floor. There was the smell of that cloth, like
tent cloth, and a slight smell of nightclothes
and toilets. A blast of fresh winter air was felt
whenever anyone opened the doors at either
end of the car. The last people were going to
[15] breakfast, other people coming back.
There were tracks in the snow, small animal
tracks. Strings of beads, looping, vanishing.
Juliet was twenty-one years old and already
the possessor of a B.A. and an M.A. in classics.
[20] She was working on her Ph.D. thesis in
Toronto, but had decided to take some time
out to teach Latin at a private girls’ school in
Vancouver. She had no training as a teacher,
but an unexpected vacancy at half-term had
[25] made the school willing to hire her. Probably
no one else had answered the ad. The salary
was less than any qualified teacher would be
likely to accept. But Juliet was happy to be
earning any money at all, after her years on
[30] stingy scholarships.
She was a tall girl, fair-skinned and fine-boned,
with light-brown hair that would not retain a
bouffant style, even when sprayed. She had
the look of an alert schoolgirl: head held high,
[35] a neat rounded chin, wide thin-lipped mouth,
snub nose, bright eyes, and a forehead that
was often flushed with effort or appreciation.
Her professors were delighted with her — they
were grateful these days for anybody who took
[40] up ancient languages, and particularly for
someone so gifted — but they were worried as
well. The problem was that she was a girl. If
she got married — which might happen, as she
was not bad-looking for a scholarship girl, not
[45] bad-looking at all — she would waste all her
hard work and theirs. And if she did not get
married, her life would probably become bleak
and isolated — she would lose out on
promotions to men (who needed them more,
[50] since they had families to support). Either way,

she would not be able to defend the oddity of
her choice, to defy what people would see as
the irrelevance, or dreariness, of classics, to
slough off that prejudice the way a man could.
[55] Odd choices were simply easier for men, most
of whom would still find women glad to marry
them. Not so the other way around.

Adaptado de: MUNRO, Alice. Chance. In: Runaway. London: Vintage, 2013. p. 52-53.

Instrução: A questão está relacionada ao texto abaixo.

Juliet had a book open on her lap, but she was
not reading. She did not take her eyes from
what was going by. She was alone in a double
seat and there was an empty double seat
[05] across from her. This was the space in which
her bed was made up at night. The porter was
busy at the moment, dismantling the car’s
nighttime arrangements. In some places, the
dark-green zippered shrouds still hung down to
[10] the floor. There was the smell of that cloth, like
tent cloth, and a slight smell of nightclothes
and toilets. A blast of fresh winter air was felt
whenever anyone opened the doors at either
end of the car. The last people were going to
[15] breakfast, other people coming back.
There were tracks in the snow, small animal
tracks. Strings of beads, looping, vanishing.
Juliet was twenty-one years old and already
the possessor of a B.A. and an M.A. in classics.
[20] She was working on her Ph.D. thesis in
Toronto, but had decided to take some time
out to teach Latin at a private girls’ school in
Vancouver. She had no training as a teacher,
but an unexpected vacancy at half-term had
[25] made the school willing to hire her. Probably
no one else had answered the ad. The salary
was less than any qualified teacher would be
likely to accept. But Juliet was happy to be
earning any money at all, after her years on
[30] stingy scholarships.
She was a tall girl, fair-skinned and fine-boned,
with light-brown hair that would not retain a
bouffant style, even when sprayed. She had
the look of an alert schoolgirl: head held high,
[35] a neat rounded chin, wide thin-lipped mouth,
snub nose, bright eyes, and a forehead that
was often flushed with effort or appreciation.
Her professors were delighted with her — they
were grateful these days for anybody who took
[40] up ancient languages, and particularly for
someone so gifted — but they were worried as
well. The problem was that she was a girl. If
she got married — which might happen, as she
was not bad-looking for a scholarship girl, not
[45] bad-looking at all — she would waste all her
hard work and theirs. And if she did not get
married, her life would probably become bleak
and isolated — she would lose out on
promotions to men (who needed them more,
[50] since they had families to support). Either way,

she would not be able to defend the oddity of
her choice, to defy what people would see as
the irrelevance, or dreariness, of classics, to
slough off that prejudice the way a man could.
[55] Odd choices were simply easier for men, most
of whom would still find women glad to marry
them. Not so the other way around.

Adaptado de: MUNRO, Alice. Chance. In: Runaway. London: Vintage, 2013. p. 52-53.

Instrução: A questão está relacionada ao texto abaixo.

Juliet had a book open on her lap, but she was
not reading. She did not take her eyes from
what was going by. She was alone in a double
seat and there was an empty double seat
[05] across from her. This was the space in which
her bed was made up at night. The porter was
busy at the moment, dismantling the car’s
nighttime arrangements. In some places, the
dark-green zippered shrouds still hung down to
[10] the floor. There was the smell of that cloth, like
tent cloth, and a slight smell of nightclothes
and toilets. A blast of fresh winter air was felt
whenever anyone opened the doors at either
end of the car. The last people were going to
[15] breakfast, other people coming back.
There were tracks in the snow, small animal
tracks. Strings of beads, looping, vanishing.
Juliet was twenty-one years old and already
the possessor of a B.A. and an M.A. in classics.
[20] She was working on her Ph.D. thesis in
Toronto, but had decided to take some time
out to teach Latin at a private girls’ school in
Vancouver. She had no training as a teacher,
but an unexpected vacancy at half-term had
[25] made the school willing to hire her. Probably
no one else had answered the ad. The salary
was less than any qualified teacher would be
likely to accept. But Juliet was happy to be
earning any money at all, after her years on
[30] stingy scholarships.
She was a tall girl, fair-skinned and fine-boned,
with light-brown hair that would not retain a
bouffant style, even when sprayed. She had
the look of an alert schoolgirl: head held high,
[35] a neat rounded chin, wide thin-lipped mouth,
snub nose, bright eyes, and a forehead that
was often flushed with effort or appreciation.
Her professors were delighted with her — they
were grateful these days for anybody who took
[40] up ancient languages, and particularly for
someone so gifted — but they were worried as
well. The problem was that she was a girl. If
she got married — which might happen, as she
was not bad-looking for a scholarship girl, not
[45] bad-looking at all — she would waste all her
hard work and theirs. And if she did not get
married, her life would probably become bleak
and isolated — she would lose out on
promotions to men (who needed them more,
[50] since they had families to support). Either way,

she would not be able to defend the oddity of
her choice, to defy what people would see as
the irrelevance, or dreariness, of classics, to
slough off that prejudice the way a man could.
[55] Odd choices were simply easier for men, most
of whom would still find women glad to marry
them. Not so the other way around.

Adaptado de: MUNRO, Alice. Chance. In: Runaway. London: Vintage, 2013. p. 52-53.