Questões de Inglês

Irena Sendler

    Irena Sendler, who has died in a Warsaw hospital at the age of 98, was one of the heroes of the
Nazi occupation ____ Poland. As a member of Zegota, the Council for Providing Aid to the Jews, an
organisation set up by the Polish underground state and financed by the Polish government-in-exile in
London, she succeeded ____ saving around 2,500 Jewish children in the Warsaw ghetto ____ certain
[05] death in the Nazi extermination camps.

    Born in Otwock, a resort town near Warsaw much frequented by Jews before the war, Sendler was
the only daughter of a doctor, Stanislaw Krzyzanowski, known for his sympathetic approach towards his
Jewish neighbours. Unusually for a Catholic child, Sendler was allowed to play with Jewish children as she
grew up. She studied Polish literature and became active in the Polish Socialist party. At the time of the
[10] Nazi invasion of Poland in 1939, she was also working as a social care nurse for the Warsaw city welfare
department.

    During the Nazi occupation, conditions for the Jews in Warsaw deteriorated dramatically as more than
400,000 people were confined in the city’s ghetto, an area of perhaps four square kilometres, which was
then, in 1940, sealed off. Sendler was involved in providing assistance to those in need, and in December
[15] 1942 – soon after the deportation of Jews had begun to the Treblinka death camp – she became head of
the children’s department of Zegota. She was motivated, above all, by her sense of social justice and her
feelings of obligation to her Jewish friends. 

    When the German authorities decided finally to liquidate the Warsaw ghetto in 1943, Sendler was
one of a group of around 20 Zegota members who organised the evacuation of children, placing them in
[20] Polish families, orphanages and convents. She was able to move around the ghetto legally, disguised as
a public-health nurse responsible for investigating a suspected typhus epidemic. Sometimes, the children
were hidden in a lorry driven by a fellow conspirator, Antoni Dzbrowski. A mechanic reportedly hid babies
in his toolbox. At other times, they were given sleeping draughts and transported to what was known as
the “Aryan” side – outside the ghetto – in baskets, or chests in ambulances or streetcars. German officials
[25] were told they had died of typhus.

     The escaping children were provided with false identities, and many of those who remained in Poland
were taught Christian prayers, so they would blend into the community more easily. But their real names
and details of their families were written down in code and buried in jam jars, which were dug up after the
war. This meant that once the conflict was over the children were able to discover who they really were.

 [30]   In October 1943, at the height of this rescue operation, Sendler was arrested by the Gestapo. She was
brutally tortured in the notorious Pawiak prison and sentenced to death. But she never revealed details of
her contacts and, by bribing her guards, other members of Zegota were able to obtain her release. 

    After Poland’s liberation in 1945, Sendler returned to the Warsaw welfare department, co-founding an
orphanage and an old people’s home and organising a service to deal with women and children in need.
[35] She stayed in contact with some of the children she had rescued, many of whom eventually found their
way to Palestine. 

     There was little recognition for Sendler’s work in Poland in the immediate aftermath of the war, but in
1965 she was awarded the title of “Righteous Among the Nations” by the Yad Vashem Holocaust memorial
centre in Jerusalem, and in 1991 was granted honorary citizenship by the state of Israel. In 2006 she
[40] was nominated for the Nobel peace prize by an American teacher, Norman Conrad, whose students had
written a play and made a documentary film about her, entitled Life in a Jar. Her Polish awards included
the Jan Karski award for moral courage (named after a Polish resistance fighter), the Order of the White
Eagle and honorary citizenship of Warsaw. In 2006, a biography of her appeared in Germany and Poland.

    The greatness of Sendler’s achievements was widely accepted. According to Elzbieta Ficowska, one
[45] of those saved as a five-month-old baby in July 1942 and now the wife of a leading Polish poet: “It took a
miracle to save a Jewish child. Sendler saved not only us, but also our children and grandchildren and the
generations to come”. 

She died on the same day as a ceremony naming a Warsaw school, Gymnasium Nº 23, in her honour.

Disponível em: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2008/may/14/secondworldwar.poland. Acesso em: 16 ago. 18. (Adaptado.)

Hearts and Hands

by O. Henry

    At Denver there was an influx of passengers into the coaches on the eastbound B. & M. Express.
In one coach there sat a very pretty young woman dressed in elegant taste and surrounded by all the
luxurious comforts of an experienced traveler. Among the newcomers were two men, one of handsome
presence with a bold, frank countenance and manner; the other a ruffled, glum-faced person, heavily built
and roughly dressed. The two were handcuffed together.

     As they passed down the aisle of the coach the only vacant seat was a reversed one facing the
attractive young woman. Here the linked couple seated themselves. The young woman’s glance fell upon
them with a distant, swift disinterest; then with a lovely smile brightening her countenance and a tender
pink tingeing her round cheeks, she held out a little gray-gloved hand. When she spoke her voice, full,
sweet, and deliberate, proclaimed that its owner was accustomed to speak and be heard.

    “Well, Mr. Easton, if you will make me speak first, I suppose I must. Don’t you ever recognize old
friends when you meet them in the West?”

    The younger man roused himself sharply at the sound of her voice, seemed to struggle with a slight
embarrassment which he threw off instantly, and then clasped her fingers with his left hand.

    “It’s Miss Fairchild,” he said, with a smile. “I’ll ask you to excuse the other hand; it’s otherwise engaged
just at present.”

    He slightly raised his right hand, bound at the wrist by the shining “bracelet” to the left one of his
companion. The glad look in the girl’s eyes slowly changed to a bewildered horror. The glow faded from
her cheeks. Her lips parted in a vague, relaxing distress. Easton, with a little laugh, as if amused, was
about to speak again when the other forestalled him. The glum-faced man had been watching the girl’s
countenance with veiled glances from his keen, shrewd eyes.

     “You’ll excuse me for speaking, miss, but, I see you’re acquainted with the marshal here. If you’ll ask
him to speak a word for me when we get to the pen he’ll do it, and it’ll make things easier for me there.
He’s taking me to Leavenworth prison. It’s seven years for counterfeiting.” 

     “Oh!” said the girl, with a deep breath and returning color. “So that is what you are doing out here? A
marshal!”

    “My dear Miss Fairchild,” said Easton, calmly, “I had to do something. Money has a way of taking wings
unto itself, and you know it takes money to keep step with our crowd in Washington. I saw this opening in
the West, and – well, a marshalship isn’t quite as high a position as that of ambassador, but...”

    “The ambassador,” said the girl, warmly, “doesn’t call any more. He needn’t ever have done so. You
ought to know that. And so now you are one of these dashing Western heroes, and you ride and shoot and
go into all kinds of dangers. That’s different from the Washington life. You have been missed from the old
crowd.”

     The girl’s eyes, fascinated, went back, widening a little, to rest upon the glittering handcuffs.

     “Don’t you worry about them, miss”, said the other man. “All marshals handcuff themselves to their
prisoners to keep them from getting ________. Mr. Easton knows his business.”

    “Will we see you again soon in Washington?” asked the girl.

    “Not soon, I think,” said Easton. “My butterfly days are over, I fear.”

     “I love the West,” said the girl irrelevantly. Her eyes were shining softly. She looked away out the car
window. She began to speak truly and simply without the gloss of style and manner: “Mamma and I spent
the summer in Denver. She went home a week ago because father was slightly ill. I could live and be
happy in the West. I think the air agrees with me. Money isn’t everything. But people always misunderstand
things and remain stupid”.

     “Say, Mr. Marshal”, growled the glum-faced man.”This isn’t quite fair. I’m needing a drink, and haven’t
had a smoke all day. Haven’t you talked long enough? Take me in the smoker now, won’t you? I’m half
dead for a pipe.”

     The bound travelers rose to their feet. Easton with the same slow smile on his face.

     “I can’t deny a petition for tobacco,” he said, lightly, “It’s the one friend of the unfortunate. Good-bye,
Miss Fairchild. Duty calls, you know.” He held out his hand for a farewell.

    “It’s too bad you are not going East,” she said, reclothing herself with manner and style. “But you must
go to Leavenworth, I suppose?”

    Yes,” said Easton, “I must go on to Leavenworth”.
    The two men sidled down the aisle into the smoker.
    The two passengers in a seat nearby had heard most of the conversation. Said one of them:
    “That marshal’s a good sort of chap. Some of these Western fellows are all right.”
    “Pretty young to hold an office like that, isn’t he?” asked the other.

    “Young!” exclaimed the first speaker, “why – Oh! didn’t you catch on? Say – did you ever know an
officer to handcuff a prisoner to his right hand?”

Disponível em: https://americanliterature.com/author/o-henry/short-story/hearts-and-hands. Acesso em: 12 abr. 2019. (Parcial e adaptado.)

Hearts and Hands

by O. Henry

    At Denver there was an influx of passengers into the coaches on the eastbound B. & M. Express.
In one coach there sat a very pretty young woman dressed in elegant taste and surrounded by all the
luxurious comforts of an experienced traveler. Among the newcomers were two men, one of handsome
presence with a bold, frank countenance and manner; the other a ruffled, glum-faced person, heavily built
and roughly dressed. The two were handcuffed together.

     As they passed down the aisle of the coach the only vacant seat was a reversed one facing the
attractive young woman. Here the linked couple seated themselves. The young woman’s glance fell upon
them with a distant, swift disinterest; then with a lovely smile brightening her countenance and a tender
pink tingeing her round cheeks, she held out a little gray-gloved hand. When she spoke her voice, full,
sweet, and deliberate, proclaimed that its owner was accustomed to speak and be heard.

    “Well, Mr. Easton, if you will make me speak first, I suppose I must. Don’t you ever recognize old
friends when you meet them in the West?”

    The younger man roused himself sharply at the sound of her voice, seemed to struggle with a slight
embarrassment which he threw off instantly, and then clasped her fingers with his left hand.

    “It’s Miss Fairchild,” he said, with a smile. “I’ll ask you to excuse the other hand; it’s otherwise engaged
just at present.”

    He slightly raised his right hand, bound at the wrist by the shining “bracelet” to the left one of his
companion. The glad look in the girl’s eyes slowly changed to a bewildered horror. The glow faded from
her cheeks. Her lips parted in a vague, relaxing distress. Easton, with a little laugh, as if amused, was
about to speak again when the other forestalled him. The glum-faced man had been watching the girl’s
countenance with veiled glances from his keen, shrewd eyes.

     “You’ll excuse me for speaking, miss, but, I see you’re acquainted with the marshal here. If you’ll ask
him to speak a word for me when we get to the pen he’ll do it, and it’ll make things easier for me there.
He’s taking me to Leavenworth prison. It’s seven years for counterfeiting.” 

     “Oh!” said the girl, with a deep breath and returning color. “So that is what you are doing out here? A
marshal!”

    “My dear Miss Fairchild,” said Easton, calmly, “I had to do something. Money has a way of taking wings
unto itself, and you know it takes money to keep step with our crowd in Washington. I saw this opening in
the West, and – well, a marshalship isn’t quite as high a position as that of ambassador, but...”

    “The ambassador,” said the girl, warmly, “doesn’t call any more. He needn’t ever have done so. You
ought to know that. And so now you are one of these dashing Western heroes, and you ride and shoot and
go into all kinds of dangers. That’s different from the Washington life. You have been missed from the old
crowd.”

     The girl’s eyes, fascinated, went back, widening a little, to rest upon the glittering handcuffs.

     “Don’t you worry about them, miss”, said the other man. “All marshals handcuff themselves to their
prisoners to keep them from getting ________. Mr. Easton knows his business.”

    “Will we see you again soon in Washington?” asked the girl.

    “Not soon, I think,” said Easton. “My butterfly days are over, I fear.”

     “I love the West,” said the girl irrelevantly. Her eyes were shining softly. She looked away out the car
window. She began to speak truly and simply without the gloss of style and manner: “Mamma and I spent
the summer in Denver. She went home a week ago because father was slightly ill. I could live and be
happy in the West. I think the air agrees with me. Money isn’t everything. But people always misunderstand
things and remain stupid”.

     “Say, Mr. Marshal”, growled the glum-faced man.”This isn’t quite fair. I’m needing a drink, and haven’t
had a smoke all day. Haven’t you talked long enough? Take me in the smoker now, won’t you? I’m half
dead for a pipe.”

     The bound travelers rose to their feet. Easton with the same slow smile on his face.

     “I can’t deny a petition for tobacco,” he said, lightly, “It’s the one friend of the unfortunate. Good-bye,
Miss Fairchild. Duty calls, you know.” He held out his hand for a farewell.

    “It’s too bad you are not going East,” she said, reclothing herself with manner and style. “But you must
go to Leavenworth, I suppose?”

    Yes,” said Easton, “I must go on to Leavenworth”.
    The two men sidled down the aisle into the smoker.
    The two passengers in a seat nearby had heard most of the conversation. Said one of them:
    “That marshal’s a good sort of chap. Some of these Western fellows are all right.”
    “Pretty young to hold an office like that, isn’t he?” asked the other.

    “Young!” exclaimed the first speaker, “why – Oh! didn’t you catch on? Say – did you ever know an
officer to handcuff a prisoner to his right hand?”

Disponível em: https://americanliterature.com/author/o-henry/short-story/hearts-and-hands. Acesso em: 12 abr. 2019. (Parcial e adaptado.)

Hearts and Hands

by O. Henry

    At Denver there was an influx of passengers into the coaches on the eastbound B. & M. Express.
In one coach there sat a very pretty young woman dressed in elegant taste and surrounded by all the
luxurious comforts of an experienced traveler. Among the newcomers were two men, one of handsome
presence with a bold, frank countenance and manner; the other a ruffled, glum-faced person, heavily built
and roughly dressed. The two were handcuffed together.

     As they passed down the aisle of the coach the only vacant seat was a reversed one facing the
attractive young woman. Here the linked couple seated themselves. The young woman’s glance fell upon
them with a distant, swift disinterest; then with a lovely smile brightening her countenance and a tender
pink tingeing her round cheeks, she held out a little gray-gloved hand. When she spoke her voice, full,
sweet, and deliberate, proclaimed that its owner was accustomed to speak and be heard.

    “Well, Mr. Easton, if you will make me speak first, I suppose I must. Don’t you ever recognize old
friends when you meet them in the West?”

    The younger man roused himself sharply at the sound of her voice, seemed to struggle with a slight
embarrassment which he threw off instantly, and then clasped her fingers with his left hand.

    “It’s Miss Fairchild,” he said, with a smile. “I’ll ask you to excuse the other hand; it’s otherwise engaged
just at present.”

    He slightly raised his right hand, bound at the wrist by the shining “bracelet” to the left one of his
companion. The glad look in the girl’s eyes slowly changed to a bewildered horror. The glow faded from
her cheeks. Her lips parted in a vague, relaxing distress. Easton, with a little laugh, as if amused, was
about to speak again when the other forestalled him. The glum-faced man had been watching the girl’s
countenance with veiled glances from his keen, shrewd eyes.

     “You’ll excuse me for speaking, miss, but, I see you’re acquainted with the marshal here. If you’ll ask
him to speak a word for me when we get to the pen he’ll do it, and it’ll make things easier for me there.
He’s taking me to Leavenworth prison. It’s seven years for counterfeiting.” 

     “Oh!” said the girl, with a deep breath and returning color. “So that is what you are doing out here? A
marshal!”

    “My dear Miss Fairchild,” said Easton, calmly, “I had to do something. Money has a way of taking wings
unto itself, and you know it takes money to keep step with our crowd in Washington. I saw this opening in
the West, and – well, a marshalship isn’t quite as high a position as that of ambassador, but...”

    “The ambassador,” said the girl, warmly, “doesn’t call any more. He needn’t ever have done so. You
ought to know that. And so now you are one of these dashing Western heroes, and you ride and shoot and
go into all kinds of dangers. That’s different from the Washington life. You have been missed from the old
crowd.”

     The girl’s eyes, fascinated, went back, widening a little, to rest upon the glittering handcuffs.

     “Don’t you worry about them, miss”, said the other man. “All marshals handcuff themselves to their
prisoners to keep them from getting ________. Mr. Easton knows his business.”

    “Will we see you again soon in Washington?” asked the girl.

    “Not soon, I think,” said Easton. “My butterfly days are over, I fear.”

     “I love the West,” said the girl irrelevantly. Her eyes were shining softly. She looked away out the car
window. She began to speak truly and simply without the gloss of style and manner: “Mamma and I spent
the summer in Denver. She went home a week ago because father was slightly ill. I could live and be
happy in the West. I think the air agrees with me. Money isn’t everything. But people always misunderstand
things and remain stupid”.

     “Say, Mr. Marshal”, growled the glum-faced man.”This isn’t quite fair. I’m needing a drink, and haven’t
had a smoke all day. Haven’t you talked long enough? Take me in the smoker now, won’t you? I’m half
dead for a pipe.”

     The bound travelers rose to their feet. Easton with the same slow smile on his face.

     “I can’t deny a petition for tobacco,” he said, lightly, “It’s the one friend of the unfortunate. Good-bye,
Miss Fairchild. Duty calls, you know.” He held out his hand for a farewell.

    “It’s too bad you are not going East,” she said, reclothing herself with manner and style. “But you must
go to Leavenworth, I suppose?”

    Yes,” said Easton, “I must go on to Leavenworth”.
    The two men sidled down the aisle into the smoker.
    The two passengers in a seat nearby had heard most of the conversation. Said one of them:
    “That marshal’s a good sort of chap. Some of these Western fellows are all right.”
    “Pretty young to hold an office like that, isn’t he?” asked the other.

    “Young!” exclaimed the first speaker, “why – Oh! didn’t you catch on? Say – did you ever know an
officer to handcuff a prisoner to his right hand?”

Disponível em: https://americanliterature.com/author/o-henry/short-story/hearts-and-hands. Acesso em: 12 abr. 2019. (Parcial e adaptado.)

Hearts and Hands

by O. Henry

    At Denver there was an influx of passengers into the coaches on the eastbound B. & M. Express.
In one coach there sat a very pretty young woman dressed in elegant taste and surrounded by all the
luxurious comforts of an experienced traveler. Among the newcomers were two men, one of handsome
presence with a bold, frank countenance and manner; the other a ruffled, glum-faced person, heavily built
and roughly dressed. The two were handcuffed together.

     As they passed down the aisle of the coach the only vacant seat was a reversed one facing the
attractive young woman. Here the linked couple seated themselves. The young woman’s glance fell upon
them with a distant, swift disinterest; then with a lovely smile brightening her countenance and a tender
pink tingeing her round cheeks, she held out a little gray-gloved hand. When she spoke her voice, full,
sweet, and deliberate, proclaimed that its owner was accustomed to speak and be heard.

    “Well, Mr. Easton, if you will make me speak first, I suppose I must. Don’t you ever recognize old
friends when you meet them in the West?”

    The younger man roused himself sharply at the sound of her voice, seemed to struggle with a slight
embarrassment which he threw off instantly, and then clasped her fingers with his left hand.

    “It’s Miss Fairchild,” he said, with a smile. “I’ll ask you to excuse the other hand; it’s otherwise engaged
just at present.”

    He slightly raised his right hand, bound at the wrist by the shining “bracelet” to the left one of his
companion. The glad look in the girl’s eyes slowly changed to a bewildered horror. The glow faded from
her cheeks. Her lips parted in a vague, relaxing distress. Easton, with a little laugh, as if amused, was
about to speak again when the other forestalled him. The glum-faced man had been watching the girl’s
countenance with veiled glances from his keen, shrewd eyes.

     “You’ll excuse me for speaking, miss, but, I see you’re acquainted with the marshal here. If you’ll ask
him to speak a word for me when we get to the pen he’ll do it, and it’ll make things easier for me there.
He’s taking me to Leavenworth prison. It’s seven years for counterfeiting.” 

     “Oh!” said the girl, with a deep breath and returning color. “So that is what you are doing out here? A
marshal!”

    “My dear Miss Fairchild,” said Easton, calmly, “I had to do something. Money has a way of taking wings
unto itself, and you know it takes money to keep step with our crowd in Washington. I saw this opening in
the West, and – well, a marshalship isn’t quite as high a position as that of ambassador, but...”

    “The ambassador,” said the girl, warmly, “doesn’t call any more. He needn’t ever have done so. You
ought to know that. And so now you are one of these dashing Western heroes, and you ride and shoot and
go into all kinds of dangers. That’s different from the Washington life. You have been missed from the old
crowd.”

     The girl’s eyes, fascinated, went back, widening a little, to rest upon the glittering handcuffs.

     “Don’t you worry about them, miss”, said the other man. “All marshals handcuff themselves to their
prisoners to keep them from getting ________. Mr. Easton knows his business.”

    “Will we see you again soon in Washington?” asked the girl.

    “Not soon, I think,” said Easton. “My butterfly days are over, I fear.”

     “I love the West,” said the girl irrelevantly. Her eyes were shining softly. She looked away out the car
window. She began to speak truly and simply without the gloss of style and manner: “Mamma and I spent
the summer in Denver. She went home a week ago because father was slightly ill. I could live and be
happy in the West. I think the air agrees with me. Money isn’t everything. But people always misunderstand
things and remain stupid”.

     “Say, Mr. Marshal”, growled the glum-faced man.”This isn’t quite fair. I’m needing a drink, and haven’t
had a smoke all day. Haven’t you talked long enough? Take me in the smoker now, won’t you? I’m half
dead for a pipe.”

     The bound travelers rose to their feet. Easton with the same slow smile on his face.

     “I can’t deny a petition for tobacco,” he said, lightly, “It’s the one friend of the unfortunate. Good-bye,
Miss Fairchild. Duty calls, you know.” He held out his hand for a farewell.

    “It’s too bad you are not going East,” she said, reclothing herself with manner and style. “But you must
go to Leavenworth, I suppose?”

    Yes,” said Easton, “I must go on to Leavenworth”.
    The two men sidled down the aisle into the smoker.
    The two passengers in a seat nearby had heard most of the conversation. Said one of them:
    “That marshal’s a good sort of chap. Some of these Western fellows are all right.”
    “Pretty young to hold an office like that, isn’t he?” asked the other.

    “Young!” exclaimed the first speaker, “why – Oh! didn’t you catch on? Say – did you ever know an
officer to handcuff a prisoner to his right hand?”

Disponível em: https://americanliterature.com/author/o-henry/short-story/hearts-and-hands. Acesso em: 12 abr. 2019. (Parcial e adaptado.)

Adolescents: health risks and solutions

Around 1.2 billion people, or 1 in 6 of the world‘s population, are adolescents aged 10 to 19. Most are healthy, but there is still substantial premature death, illness, and injury among adolescents. Illnesses can hinder their ability to grow and develop to their full potential. Alcohol or tobacco use, lack of physical activity, unprotected sex and/or exposure to violence can jeopardize not only their current health, but also their health as adults, and even the health of their future children.

Promoting healthy behaviors during adolescence, and taking steps to better protect young people from health risks are critical for the prevention of health problems in adulthood, and for countries‘ future health and ability to develop and thrive.

Key facts

• Estimated 1.2 million adolescents died in 2015, over 3000 every day, mostly from preventable or treatable causes.
• Road traffic injuries were the leading cause of death in 2015. Other major causes of adolescent deaths include lower