Why was Katie’s life in danger on March 25, 1911?

She was trapped on the ninth floor of a burning building.

She was going to be put in jail for voting

Why didn’t Katie go to school?

She had to work. Her family needed the money

What made working in the Triangle factory dangerous?

Workers were packed closely together. And there were only two staircases leading to the street.

Why did Katie have a hard time trying to escape the fire?

There had never been a fire drill at Triangle. No one knew what to do

The fire had started on the top of the building

The fire was only in the staircases

What did Katie have to do to get to safety?

Katie jumped onto the elevator and grabbed the cable that ran up through the elevator car.

She scaled the side of the building

She slid down the laundry chute

What changed as a result of the Triangle factory fire?

Laws were passed to make factories and offices safer.

Factories were not required to lock the doors

Factory workers were not allowed to have lunch breaks

Factory workers could take two days a week off

Out of the Flames | Quizalize

Out of the Flames test- Storyworks

The Story of Ramayana by Maharshi Valmiki Long ago, Dasharatha, the wise king of Ayodhya of Sarayu, India had three wives. Though the King had three wives, he didn’t have any children with them. The Chief priest Vasishta advised the king to make fire sacrifice to obtain a blessing from the gods. After the gods were pleased, one of them appeared out of the flame and handed him a pot full of nectar. The god told the king to share the nectar with his three queens namely Kausalya, Kaikeye, and Sumitra. While the nectar had been shared, the three queens gave birth to sons: Kausalya had Rama; Kaikeye had Bharatha; and Sumitra had twins Lakshmana and Shatrughna. A sage took the boys out to train them in archery. In a neighboring city, the ruler's daughter was named Sita. When it was time for Sita to choose her bridegroom, at a ceremony called a Swayamvara, the princes were asked to string a giant bow. No one else could even lift the bow, but as Rama bent it, he did not only string it but also broke it into two. Sita indicated that she chose Rama as her husband by putting a garland around his neck. The disappointed suitors were watching. 6 CO_Q3_English8_Module 4 King Dasharatha, Rama's father, decided it was time to give his throne to his eldest son Rama and retired to the forest to seek moksha. Everyone seems pleased. This plan fulfilled the rules of dharma because an eldest son should rule and, if a son can take over one's responsibilities, one's last years may be spent in a search for moksha. In addition, everyone loved Rama. However, Rama's stepmother, the king's second wife, was not pleased. She wanted her son, Bharata, to rule. Because of an oath Dasharatha had made to her years before, she got the king to agree to banish Rama for fourteen years and to crown Bharata even though the king, on bended knee, begged her not to demand such things. Broken-hearted, the devastated king could not face Rama with the news that Kaikeyi must tell him. Rama, always obedient, was as content to go into banishment in the forest as to be crowned king. Sita convinced Rama that she would always be at his side and his brother Lakshmana also begged to accompany them. Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana set out to the forest. Bharata, whose mother's evil plot had won him the throne, was very upset when he found out what had happened. Not for a moment he did consider breaking the rules of dharma and becoming king in Rama's place. He went to Rama's forest retreat and begged Rama to return and rule, but Rama refused. "We must obey father," Rama says. Bharata then took Rama's sandals saying, "I will put these on the throne, and every day I shall place the fruits of my work at the feet of my Lord." Embracing Rama, he took the sandals and returned to Ayodhya. Years passed and Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana were very happy in the forest. Rama and Lakshmana destroyed the rakshasas (evil creatures) who disturbed the sages in their meditations. One day a rakshasa princess named Shurpanakha tried to seduce Rama, and Lakshmana wounded her and drove her away. She returned to her brother Ravana, the ten-headed ruler of Lanka (Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon), and told her brother, who is always attracted to beautiful women, about lovely Sita. Ravana devised a plan to abduct Sita. He sent a magical golden deer which Sita desired Rama to hunt. A long time had passed, but Rama didn’t return. Thus, Lakshmana went off to find his brother. Before leaving Sita, Lakshmana drew a protective circle around Sita and warned her that she would be safe if she would stay within the circle. As they went off, Ravana, who could change his shape, appeared as a holy man begging alms. The moment Sita stepped outside the circle to give him food, Ravana grabbed her and carried her off to his kingdom in Lanka. Rama was broken-hearted when he returned to the empty hut and could not find Sita. A band of monkeys led by Hanuman offered to help him find Sita. Ravana carried Sita to his palace in Lanka, but he could not force her to be his wife. So, he put her in a grove and alternately sweet-talked her and threatened her in an attempt to get her to agree to marry him. Sita would not even look at him but thought only of her beloved Rama. Hanuman, the general of the monkey band could fly since his father was the wind, and he flew to Lanka and found Sita in the grove, comforted her, and told her Rama would come soon and save her. 7 CO_Q3_English8_Module 4 Ravana's men captured Hanuman, and Ravana ordered them to wrap Hanuman's tail in cloth and to set it on fire. With his tail burning, Hanuman hopped from house-top to house-top, setting Lanka a fire. He then flew back to Rama to tell him where Sita was. Rama, Lakshmana, and the monkey army built a causeway from the tip of India crossing over to Lanka. A mighty battle took place. Rama killed several of Ravana's brothers and then Rama confronted ten-headed Ravana. Rama finally killed Ravana and freed Sita. After Sita gained her freedom from Ravana, she proved her purity through the trial by fire. Then, they returned to Ayodhya and Rama became the king. As Rama became the king, he ruled Ayodhya with Ramrajya - an ideal time when everyone does his or her duties and responsibilities

She went by the name of Belisa Crepusculario, not because she had been baptized with that name or given it by her mother, but because she herself had searched until she found the poetry of "beauty" and "twilight" and cloaked herself in it. She made her living selling words. She journeyed through the country from the high cold mountains to the burning coasts, stopping at fairs and in markets where she set up four poles covered by a canvas awning under which she took refuge from the sun and rain to minister to her customers. She did not have to peddle her merchandise because from having wandered far and near, everyone knew who she was. Some people waited for her from one year to the next, and when she appeared in the village with her bundle beneath her arm, they would form a line in front of her stall. Her prices were fair. For five centavos she delivered verses from memory, for seven she improved the quality of dreams, for nine she wrote love letters, for twelve she invented insults for irreconcilable enemies. She also sold stories, not fantasies but long, true stories she recited at one telling, never skipping a word. This is how she carried news from one town to another. People paid her to add a line or two: our son was born, so-and-so died, our children got married, the crops burned in the field. Wherever she went a small crowd gathered around to listen as she began to speak, and that was how they learned about each others' doings, about distant relatives, about what was going on in the civil war. To anyone who paid her fifty centavos in trade, she gave the gift of a secret word to drive away melancholy. It was not the same word for everyone, naturally, because that would have been collective dece it. Each person received his or her own word, with the assurance that no one else would use it that way in this universe or the Beyond. Belisa Crepusculario had been born into a family so poor they did not even have names to give their children. She came into the world and grew up in an inhospitable land where some years the rains became avalanches of water that bore everything away before them and others when not a drop fell from the sky and the sun swelled to fill the horizon and the world became a desert. Until she was twelve, Belisa had no occupation or virtue other than having withstood hunger and the exhaustion of centuries. During one interminable drought, it fell to her to bury four younger brothers and sisters, when she realized that her turn was next, she decided to set out across the 2 plains in the direction of the sea, in hopes that she might trick death along the way. The land was eroded, split with deep cracks, strewn with rocks, fossils of trees and thorny bushes, and skeletons of animals bleached by the sun. From time to time she ran into families who, like her, were heading south, following the mirage of water. Some had begun the march carrying their belongings on their back or in small carts, but they could barely move their own bones, and after a while they had to abandon their possessions. They dragged themselves along painfully, their skin turned to lizard hide and their eyes burned by the reverberating glare. Belisa greeted them with a wave as she passed, but she did not stop, because she had no strength to waste in acts of compassion. Many people fell by the wayside, but she was so stubborn that she survived to cross through that hell and at long last reach the first trickles of water, fine, almost invisible threads that fed spindly vegetation and farther down widened into small streams and marshes. Belisa Crepusculario saved her life and in the process accidentally discovered writing. In a village near the coast, the wind blew a page of newspaper at her feet. She picked up the brittle yellow paper and stood a long while looking at it, unable to determine its purpose, until curiosity overcame her shyness. She walked over to a man who was washing his horse in the muddy pool where she had quenched her thirst. "What is this?" she asked. "The sports page of the newspaper," the man replied, concealing his surprise at her ignorance. The answer astounded the girl, but she did not want to seem rude, so she merely inquired about the significance of the fly tracks scattered across the page. "Those are words, child. Here it says that Fulgencio Barba knocked out El Negro Tiznao in the third round." That was the day Belisa Crepusculario found out that words make their way in the world without a master, and that anyone with a little cleverness can appropriate them and do business with them. She made a quick assessment of her situation and concluded that aside from becoming a prostitute or working as a servant in the kitchens of the rich there were few occupations she was qualified for. It seemed to her that selling words would be an honorable alternative. From that moment on, she worked at that profession, and was never tempted by any other. At the beginning, she offered her merchandise unaware that words could be written outside of newspapers. When she learned otherwise, she calculated the infinite possibilities of her trade and with her savings paid a priest twenty pesos to teach her to read and write, with her three 3 remaining coins she bought a dictionary. She poured over it from A to Z and then threw it into the sea, because it was not her intention to defraud her customers with packaged words. One August morning several years later, Belisa Crepusculario was sitting in her tent in the middle of a plaza, surrounded by the uproar of market day, selling legal arguments to an old man who had been trying for sixteen years to get his pension. Suddenly she heard yelling and thudding hoofbeats. She looked up from her writing and saw, first, a cloud of dust, and then a band of horsemen come galloping into the plaza. They were the Colonel's men, sent under orders of El Mulato, a giant known throughout the land for the speed of his knife and his loyalty to his chief. Both the Colonel and El Mulato had spent their lives fighting in the civil war, and their names were ineradicably linked to devastation and calamity. The rebels swept into town like a stampeding herd, wrapped in noise, bathed in sweat, and leaving a hurricane of fear in their trail. Chickens took wing, dogs ran for their lives, women and children scurried out of sight, until the only living soul left in the market was Belisa Crepusculario. She had never seen El Mulato and was surprised to see him walking toward her. "I'm looking for you," he shouted, pointing his coiled whip at her, even before the words were out, two men rushed her -- knocking over her canopy and shattering her inkwell -- bound her hand and foot, and threw her like a sea bag across the rump of El Mulato's mount. Then they thundered off toward the hills. Hours later, just as Belisa Crepusculario was near death, her heart ground to sand by the pounding of the horse, they stopped, and four strong hands set her down. She tried to stand on her feet and hold her head high, but her strength failed her and she slumped to the ground, sinking into a confused dream. She awakened several hours later to the murmur of night in the camp, but before she had time to sort out the sounds, she opened her eyes and found herself staring into the impatient glare of El Mulato, kneeling beside her. "Well, woman, at last you've come to," he said. To speed her to her senses, he tipped his canteen and offered her a sip of liquor laced with gunpowder. She demanded to know the reason for such rough treatment, and El Mulato explained that the Colonel needed her services. He allowed her to splash water on her face, and then led her to the far end of the camp where the most feared man in all the land was lazing in a hammock strung between two trees. She could not see his face, because he lay in the deceptive shadow of the leaves and the indelible shadow of all his years as a bandit, but she imagined from the way his 4 gigantic aide addressed him with such humility that he must have a very menacing expression. She was surprised by the Colonel's voice, as soft and well-modulated as a professor's. "Are you the woman who sells words?" he asked. "At your service," she stammered, peering into the dark and trying to see him better. The Colonel stood up, and turned straight toward her. She saw dark skin and the eyes of a ferocious puma, and she knew immediately that she was standing before the loneliest man in the world. "I want to be President," he announced. The Colonel was weary of riding across that godforsaken land, waging useless wars and suffering defeats that no subterfuge could transform into victories. For years he had been sleeping in the open air, bitten by mosquitoes, eating iguanas and snake soup, but those minor inconveniences were not why he wanted to change his destiny. What truly troubled him was the terror he saw in people's eyes. He longed to ride into a town beneath a triumphal arch with bright flags and flowers everywhere, he wanted to be cheered, and be given newly laid eggs and freshly baked bread. Men fled at the sight of him, children trembled, and women miscarried from fright, he had had enough, and so he had decided to become President. El Mulato had suggested that they ride to the capital, gallop up to the Palace, and take over the government, the way they had taken so many other things without anyone's permission. The Colonel, however, did not want to be just another tyrant, there had been enough of those before him and, besides, if he did that, he would never win people's hearts. It was his aspiration to win the popular vote in the December elections. "To do that, I have to talk like a candidate. Can you sell me the words for a speech?" the Colonel asked Belisa Crepusculario. She had accepted many assignments, but none like this. She did not dare refuse, fearing that El Mulato would shoot her between the eyes, or worse still, that the Colonel would burst into tears. There was more to it than that, however, she felt the urge to help him because she felt a throbbing warmth beneath her skin, a powerful desire to touch that man, to fondle him, to clasp him in her arms. All night and a good part of the following day, Belisa Crepusculario searched her repertory for words adequate for a presidential speech, closely watched by El Mulato, who could not take his eyes from her firm wanderer's legs and virginal breasts. She discarded harsh, cold words, words 5 that were too flowery, words worn from abuse, words that offered improbable promises, untruthful and confusing words, until all she had left were words sure to touch the minds of men and women's intuition. Calling upon the knowledge she had purchased from the priest for twenty pesos, she wrote the speech on a sheet of paper and then signaled El Mulato to untie the rope that bound her ankles to a tree. He led her once more to the Colonel, and again she felt the throbbing anxiety that had seized her when she first saw him. She handed him the paper and waited while he looked at it, holding it gingerly between thumbs and fingertips. "What the shit does this say," he asked finally. "Don't you know how to read?" "War's what I know," he replied. She read the speech aloud. She read it three times, so her client could engrave it on his memory. When she finished, she saw the emotion in the faces of the soldiers who had gathered round to listen, and saw that the Colonel's eyes glittered with enthusiasm, convinced that with those words the presidential chair would be his. "If after they've heard it three times, the boys are still standing there with their mouths hanging open, it must mean the thing's damn good, Colonel" was El Mulato's approval. "All right, woman. How much do I owe you?" the leader asked. "One peso, Colonel." "That's not much," he said, opening the pouch he wore at his belt, heavy with proceeds from the last foray. "The peso entitles you to a bonus. I'm going to give you two secret words," said Belisa Crepusculario. "What for?" She explained that for every fifty centavos a client paid, she gave him the gift of a word for his exclusive use. The Colonel shrugged. He had no interest at all in her offer, but he did not want to be impolite to someone who had served him so well. She walked slowly to the leather stool where he was sitting, and bent down to give him her gift. The man smelled the scent of a mountain cat issuing from the woman, a fiery heat radiating from her hips, he heard the terrible whisper of her hair, and a breath of sweetmint murmured into his ear the two secret words that were his alone. "They are yours, Colonel," she said as she stepped back. "You may use them as much as you 6 please." El Mulato accompanied Belisa to the roadside, his eyes as entreating as a stray dog's, but when he reached out to touch her, he was stopped by an avalanche of words he had never heard before; believing them to be an irrevocable curse, the flame of his desire was extinguished. During the months of September, October, and November the Colonel delivered his speech so many times that had it not been crafted from glowing and durable words it would have turned to ash as he spoke. He travelled up and down and across the country, riding into cities with a triumphal air, stopping in even the most forgotten villages where only the dump heap betrayed a human presence, to convince his fellow citizens to vote for him. While he spoke from a platform erected in the middle of the plaza, El Mulato and his men handed out sweets and painted his name on all the walls in gold frost. No one paid the least attention to those advertising ploys; they were dazzled by the clarity of the Colonel's proposals and the poetic lucidity of his arguments, infected by his powerful wish to right the wrongs of history, happy for the first time in their lives. When the Candidate had finished his speech, his soldiers would fire their pistols into the air and set off firecrackers, and when finally they rode off, they left behind a wake of hope that lingered for days on the air, like the splendid memory of a comet's tail. Soon the Colonel was the favorite. No one had ever witnessed such a phenomenon: a man who surfaced from the civil war, covered with scars and speaking like a professor, a man whose fame spread to every corner of the land and captured the nation's heart. The press focused their attention on him. Newspapermen came from far away to interview him and repeat his phrases, and the number of his followers and enemies continued to grow. "We're doing great, Colonel," said El Mulato, after twelve successful weeks of campaigning. But the Candidate did not hear. He was repeating his secret words, as he did more and more obsessively. He said them when he was mellow with nostalgia; he murmured them in his sleep; he carried them with him on horseback; he thought them before delivering his famous speech; and he caught himself savoring them in his leisure time. And every time he thought of those two words, he thought of Belisa Crepusculario, and his senses were inflamed with the memory of her feral scent, her fiery heat, the whisper of her hair, and her sweetmint breath in his ear, until he began to go around like a sleepwalker, and his men realized that he might die before he ever sat in the presidential chair. "What's got hold of you, Colonel," El Mulato asked so often that finally one day his chief broke 7 down and told him the source of his befuddlement: those two words that were buried like two daggers in his gut. "Tell me what they are and maybe they'll lose their magic," his faithful aide suggested. "I can't tell them, they're for me alone," the Colonel replied. Saddened by watching his chief decline like a man with a death sentence on his head, El Mulato slung his rifle over his shoulder and set out to find Belisa Crepusculario. He followed her trail through all that vast country, until he found her in a village in the far south, sitting under her tent reciting her rosary of news. He planted himself, spraddle-legged, before her, weapon in hand. "You! You're coming with me," he ordered. She had been waiting. She picked up her inkwell, folded the canvas of her small stall, arranged her shawl around her shoulders, and without a word took her place behind El Mulato's saddle. They did not exchange so much as a word in all the trip; El Mulato's desire for her had turned into rage, and only his fear of her tongue prevented his cutting her to shreds with his whip. Nor was he inclined to tell her that the Colonel was in a fog, and that a spell whispered into his ear had done what years of battle had not been able to do. Three days later they arrived at the encampment, and immediately, in view of all the troops, El Mulato led his prisoner before the Candidate. "I brought this witch here so you can give her back her words, Colonel," El Mulato said, pointing the barrel of his rifle at the woman's head. "And then she can give you back your manhood." The Colonel and Belisa Crepusculario stared at each other, measuring one another from a distance. The men knew then that their leader would never undo the witchcraft of those accursed words, because the whole world could see the voracious-puma eyes soften as the woman walked to him and took his hand in hers. Copyright © 1989 by Isabel Allende From The Stories of Eva Luna, Translated by Margaret Sayers Peden

1. Flammable materials, like alcohol, should never be dispensed or used near A. an open door. B. an open flame. C. another student. D. a sink. 2. If a laboratory fire erupts, immediately A. notify your instructor. B. run for the fire extinguisher. C. throw water on the fire. D. open the windows. 3. Approved eye protection devices (such as goggles) are worn in the laboratory A. to avoid eye strain. B. to improve your vision. C. only if you don’t have corrective glasses. D. any time chemicals, heat or glassware are used. 4. If you wear contact lenses in the school laboratory, A. take them out before starting the lab. B. you do not have to wear protective goggles. C. advise your science instructor that you wear contact lenses. D. keep the information to yourself. 5. If you do not understand a direction or part of a lab procedure, you should A. figure it out as you do the lab. B. try several methods until something works. C. ask the instructor before proceeding. D. skip it and go on to the next part. 6. After completing an experiment, all chemical wastes should be A. left at your lab station for the next class. B. disposed of according to your instructor’s directions. C. dumped in the sink. D. taken home. 7. If a lab experiment is not completed, you should A. discuss the issue with your instructor. B. sneak in after school and work alone. C. come in during lunch and finish while eating lunch. D. make up some results. 8. You are heating a substance in a test tube. Always point the open end of the tube A. toward yourself. B. toward your lab partner. C. toward another classmate. D. away from all people. Science Laboratory Safety teSt 9. You are heating a piece of glass and now want to pick it up. You should A. use a rag or paper towels. B. pick up the end that looks cooler. C. use tongs. D. pour cold water on it. 10. You have been injured in the laboratory (cut, burn, etc.). First you should A. visit the school nurse after class. B. see a doctor after school. C. tell the science instructor at once. D. apply first aid yourself. 11. When gathering glassware and equipment for an experiment, you should A. read all directions carefully to know what equipment is necessary. B. examine all glassware to check for chips or cracks. C. clean any glassware that appears dirty. D. All of the above. 12. You want to place a piece of glass tubing into a rubber stopper after the tubing has been fire polished and cooled. This is best done by A. lubricating the tubing with water or glycerin. B. using a towel or cotton gloves for protection. C. twisting the tubing and stopper carefully. D. all of the above. 13. Personal eyeglasses provide as much protection as A. a face shield. B. safety glasses. C. splashproof chemical goggles. D. none of the above. 14. Long hair in the laboratory must be A. cut short. B. held away from the experiment with one hand. C. always neatly groomed. D. tied back or kept entirely out of the way with a hair band, hairpins, or other confining device. 15. In a laboratory, the following should not be worn. A. loose clothing. B. dangling jewelry. C. sandals. D. all of the above. 16. The following footwear is best in the laboratory. A. sandals B. open-toed shoes C. closed-toed shoes D. shoes appropriate for the weather3 © 2017 Flinn Scientific, Inc. All Rights Reserved. 17. Horseplay or practical jokes in the laboratory are A. always against the rules. B. okay. C. not dangerous. D. okay if you are working alone. 18. If a piece of equipment is not working properly, stop, turn it off, and tell A. the custodian. B. your lab partner. C. your best friend in the class. D. the science instructor. 19. If an acid is splashed on your skin, wash at once with A. soap. B. oil. C. weak base. D. plenty of water. 20. When you finish working with chemicals, biological specimens, and other lab substances, always A. treat your hands with skin lotion. B. wash your hands thoroughly with soap and water. C. wipe your hands on a towel. D. wipe your hands on your clothes. True—False T F 22. ■ ■ Hot glass looks the same as cold glass. 23. ■ ■ All chemicals in the lab are to be considered dangerous. 24. ■ ■ Return all unused chemicals to their original containers. 25. ■ ■ Work areas should be kept clean and tidy. 26. ■ ■ Pipets are used to measure and dispense small amounts of liquids. You should draw the liquid into the pipet using your mouth. 27. ■ ■ Laboratory work can be started immediately upon entering the laboratory even if the instructor is not yet present. 28. ■ ■ Never remove chemicals or other equipment from the laboratory. T F 29. ■ ■ Chipped or cracked glassware is okay to use. 30. ■ ■ Read all procedures thoroughly before entering the laboratory. 31. ■ ■ All unauthorized experiments are prohibited. 32. ■ ■ You are allowed to enter the chemical preparation/storage area any time you need to get an item. 33. ■ ■ Laboratory aprons should be worn during all lab activities. 34. ■ ■ It’s okay to pick up broken glass with your bare hands as long as the glass is placed in the trash. 35. ■ ■ Never leave a lit burner unattended. 21. Draw a diagram of your science room and label the locations of the following: ■ Fire Blanket ■ Fire Extinguisher(s) ■ Exits ■ Eyewash Station ■ Emergency Shower ■ Closest Fire Alarm Station ■ Waste Disposal Container(s)4 © 2017 Flinn Scientific, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Name: ________________________________________________ Date: ______________________________________________ 1. Flammable materials, like alcohol, should never be dispensed or used near A. an open door. B. an open flame. C. another student. D. a sink. 2. If a laboratory fire erupts, immediately A. notify your instructor. B. run for the fire extinguisher. C. throw water on the fire. D. open the windows. 3. Approved eye protection devices (such as goggles) are worn in the laboratory A. to avoid eye strain. B. to improve your vision. C. only if you don’t have corrective glasses. D. any time chemicals, heat or glassware are used. 4. If you wear contact lenses in the school laboratory, A. take them out before starting the lab. B. you do not have to wear protective goggles. C. advise your science instructor that you wear contact lenses. D. keep the information to yourself. 5. If you do not understand a direction or part of a lab procedure, you should A. figure it out as you do the lab. B. try several methods until something works. C. ask the instructor before proceeding. D. skip it and go on to the next part. 6. After completing an experiment, all chemical wastes should be A. left at your lab station for the next class. B. disposed of according to your instructor’s directions. C. dumped in the sink. D. taken home. 7. If a lab experiment is not completed, you should A. discuss the issue with your instructor. B. sneak in after school and work alone. C. come in during lunch and finish while eating lunch. D. make up some results. 8. You are heating a substance in a test tube. Always point the open end of the tube A. toward yourself. B. toward your lab partner. C. toward another classmate. D. away from all people. Science Laboratory Safety teSt 9. You are heating a piece of glass and now want to pick it up. You should A. use a rag or paper towels. B. pick up the end that looks cooler. C. use tongs. D. pour cold water on it. 10. You have been injured in the laboratory (cut, burn, etc.). First you should A. visit the school nurse after class. B. see a doctor after school. C. tell the science instructor at once. D. apply first aid yourself. 11. When gathering glassware and equipment for an experiment, you should A. read all directions carefully to know what equipment is necessary. B. examine all glassware to check for chips or cracks. C. clean any glassware that appears dirty. D. All of the above. 12. You want to place a piece of glass tubing into a rubber stopper after the tubing has been fire polished and cooled. This is best done by A. lubricating the tubing with water or glycerin. B. using a towel or cotton gloves for protection. C. twisting the tubing and stopper carefully. D. all of the above. 13. Personal eyeglasses provide as much protection as A. a face shield. B. safety glasses. C. splashproof chemical goggles. D. none of the above. 14. Long hair in the laboratory must be A. cut short. B. held away from the experiment with one hand. C. always neatly groomed. D. tied back or kept entirely out of the way with a hair band, hairpins, or other confining device. 15. In a laboratory, the following should not be worn. A. loose clothing. B. dangling jewelry. C. sandals. D. all of the above. 16. The following footwear is best in the laboratory. A. sandals B. open-toed shoes C. closed-toed shoes D. shoes appropriate for the weather5 © 2017 Flinn Scientific, Inc. All Rights Reserved. 17. Horseplay or practical jokes in the laboratory are A. always against the rules. B. okay. C. not dangerous. D. okay if you are working alone. 18. If a piece of equipment is not working properly, stop, turn it off, and tell A. the custodian. B. your lab partner. C. your best friend in the class. D. the science instructor. 19. If an acid is splashed on your skin, wash at once with A. soap. B. oil. C. weak base. D. plenty of water. 20. When you finish working with chemicals, biological specimens, and other lab substances, always A. treat your hands with skin lotion. B. wash your hands thoroughly with soap and water. C. wipe your hands on a towel. D. wipe your hands on your clothes. 21. Draw a diagram of your science room and label the locations of the following: ■ Fire Blanket ■ Fire Extinguisher(s) ■ Exits ■ Eyewash Station ■ Emergency Shower ■ Closest Fire Alarm Station ■ Waste Disposal Container(s) True—False T F 22. ■ ■ Hot glass looks the same as cold glass. 23. ■ ■ All chemicals in the lab are to be considered dangerous. 24. ■ ■ Return all unused chemicals to their original containers. 25. ■ ■ Work areas should be kept clean and tidy. 26. ■ ■ Pipets are used to measure and dispense small amounts of liquids. You should draw the liquid into the pipet using your mouth. 27. ■ ■ Laboratory work can be started immediately upon entering the laboratory even if the instructor is not yet present. 28. ■ ■ Never remove chemicals or other equipment from the laboratory. T F 29. ■ ■ Chipped or cracked glassware is okay to use. 30. ■ ■ Read all procedures thoroughly before entering the laboratory. 31. ■ ■ All unauthorized experiments are prohibited. 32. ■ ■ You are allowed to enter the chemical preparation/storage area any time you need to get an item. 33. ■ ■ Laboratory aprons should be worn during all lab activities. 34. ■ ■ It’s okay to pick up broken glass with your bare hands as long as the glass is placed in the trash. 35. ■ ■ Never leave a lit burner unattended.

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

Create questions based on the following text Not long ago, I grabbed breakfast at a hotel in southern Spain. The only cereal available was a local version of frosted corn flakes, so I readied myself to enjoy a bowl of my childhood favorite. But my sweet indulgence wasn't what I'd expected: The cereal milk was heated — apparently standard in this part of Spain — and my poor frosted flakes immediately turned to mush. Not so grrrrrrreat. Soggy flakes or not, I find breakfast to be a fun part of my travel day, especially because the experience varies so much from one country's breakfast table to the next. The farther north you go in Europe, the heartier the breakfasts. The heaviest is the traditional British "fry." Also known as a "Plate of Cardiac Arrest," the fry is a fundamental part of the bed-and-breakfast experience, and is generally included in your room price. A standard fry comes with cereal or porridge, a fried egg, Canadian-style bacon or sausage (and sometimes mackerel or haggis), a grilled tomato, sautéed mushrooms, baked beans, and fried bread or toast. This protein-stuffed meal can tide me over until dinner. You'll quickly figure out which parts of the fry you like. Your host will likely ask you up front which breakfast items you actually like, rather than serve you the whole shebang and risk having to throw out uneaten food. The Scandinavian breakfasts buffet is the perennial favorite for the "most food on the table" award. It pays to take advantage of breakfast smorgasbords when you can. For about $20 (a cheap meal in these parts), you can dig into an all-you-can-eat extravaganza of fresh bread, cheeses, yogurt, cereal, boiled eggs, herring, cold cuts, and coffee or tea. In place of cereal and milk, Scandinavians like to pour thick yogurt over their granola. Throughout the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and most points east of there, expect a more modest buffet — but still plenty of options (rolls, bread, jam, cold cuts, cheeses, fruit, yogurt, and cereal). In these countries, there's a good chance of finding hard-boiled eggs, but scrambled or fried eggs are relatively rare. In Poland, track down jajecznica, the local wake-up call of eggs scrambled with kielbasa sausage, served with a side of potato pancakes. The breakfast of choice in Russia is oladi, pancakes perfectly fried to be crisp on the outside but soft in the middle, then topped with sour cream, honey, or berries. Germans have an endearing habit of greeting others in the breakfast room with a slow and dour "Morgen" ("Morning" — short for "good morning"), though they have plenty to be happy about. Breakfast is usually included, and offers hearty fuel for the day: ham, eggs, cheese, bread, rolls, and pots of coffee. In Switzerland, don't miss an opportunity to try Bircher Muesli, a healthful mix of oats, nuts, yogurt, and fruit that tastes far more delicious than it looks. If breakfast is optional, take a walk to the nearest bakery — every German, Austrian, and Swiss town has at least a few bakeries offering a world of enticing varieties of bread and pastries, baked fresh every morning. As you move south and west (France, Italy, Spain, and Portugal), skimpier "continental" breakfasts are the norm. You'll mostly likely get a roll with marmalade or jam, occasionally a slice of ham or cheese, and coffee or tea. The good news? These little breakfasts compel you to sample regional favorites: In Spain, look for chocolate con churros (fritters served with a thick, warm chocolate drink), pan con tomate (a toasted baguette rubbed with fresh garlic and ripe tomato), or a tortilla española (a hearty slice of potato omelet). Italian breakfasts are particularly tiny, but the delicious red orange juice you get is made from Sicilian blood oranges. And you can buy a delightful toasted sandwich from a corner bar anywhere, anytime in Italy to make up for the minuscule breakfast. In France, locals just grab a warm croissant and coffee on the way to work. Queue up with the French and consider the yummy options: croissants studded with raisins, packed with crushed almonds, or filled with chocolate or cream. If you expect breakfast to be too sparse, plan ahead to supplement it with a piece of fruit and a wrapped chunk of cheese from a local market. Being a juice man, I keep a liter box of OJ in my room for a morning eye-opener. Coffee drinkers know that breakfast is the only cheap time to caffeinate yourself. Some hotels will serve you a bottomless cup of a rich brew only with breakfast. After that, the cups acquire bottoms and refills will cost you. Juice is generally available at breakfast, but in Mediterranean countries, you have to ask…and you'll probably be charged. In many countries, breakfast is included in your hotel bill, though if you make prior arrangements with the hotelier, you may be able to skip breakfast and pay a lower price for the room. If breakfast costs extra, it's often optional, and you can usually save money and gain atmosphere by buying coffee and a roll or croissant at the café down the street or by brunching picnic-style in the park. When deciding whether to request breakfast, consider your timing; if you need to get an early start, skip the breakfast — few hotel breakfasts are worth waiting around for. Come to the European breakfast table with an adventurous spirit. I'm a big-breakfast traditionalist at home, but when I feel the urge for an American breakfast in Europe, I beat it to death with a hard roll.

Not long ago, I grabbed breakfast at a hotel in southern Spain. The only cereal available was a local version of frosted corn flakes, so I readied myself to enjoy a bowl of my childhood favorite. But my sweet indulgence wasn't what I'd expected: The cereal milk was heated — apparently standard in this part of Spain — and my poor frosted flakes immediately turned to mush. Not so grrrrrrreat. Soggy flakes or not, I find breakfast to be a fun part of my travel day, especially because the experience varies so much from one country's breakfast table to the next. The farther north you go in Europe, the heartier the breakfasts. The heaviest is the traditional British "fry." Also known as a "Plate of Cardiac Arrest," the fry is a fundamental part of the bed-and-breakfast experience, and is generally included in your room price. A standard fry comes with cereal or porridge, a fried egg, Canadian-style bacon or sausage (and sometimes mackerel or haggis), a grilled tomato, sautéed mushrooms, baked beans, and fried bread or toast. This protein-stuffed meal can tide me over until dinner. You'll quickly figure out which parts of the fry you like. Your host will likely ask you up front which breakfast items you actually like, rather than serve you the whole shebang and risk having to throw out uneaten food. The Scandinavian breakfasts buffet is the perennial favorite for the "most food on the table" award. It pays to take advantage of breakfast smorgasbords when you can. For about $20 (a cheap meal in these parts), you can dig into an all-you-can-eat extravaganza of fresh bread, cheeses, yogurt, cereal, boiled eggs, herring, cold cuts, and coffee or tea. In place of cereal and milk, Scandinavians like to pour thick yogurt over their granola. Throughout the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and most points east of there, expect a more modest buffet — but still plenty of options (rolls, bread, jam, cold cuts, cheeses, fruit, yogurt, and cereal). In these countries, there's a good chance of finding hard-boiled eggs, but scrambled or fried eggs are relatively rare. In Poland, track down jajecznica, the local wake-up call of eggs scrambled with kielbasa sausage, served with a side of potato pancakes. The breakfast of choice in Russia is oladi, pancakes perfectly fried to be crisp on the outside but soft in the middle, then topped with sour cream, honey, or berries. Germans have an endearing habit of greeting others in the breakfast room with a slow and dour "Morgen" ("Morning" — short for "good morning"), though they have plenty to be happy about. Breakfast is usually included, and offers hearty fuel for the day: ham, eggs, cheese, bread, rolls, and pots of coffee. In Switzerland, don't miss an opportunity to try Bircher Muesli, a healthful mix of oats, nuts, yogurt, and fruit that tastes far more delicious than it looks. If breakfast is optional, take a walk to the nearest bakery — every German, Austrian, and Swiss town has at least a few bakeries offering a world of enticing varieties of bread and pastries, baked fresh every morning. As you move south and west (France, Italy, Spain, and Portugal), skimpier "continental" breakfasts are the norm. You'll mostly likely get a roll with marmalade or jam, occasionally a slice of ham or cheese, and coffee or tea. The good news? These little breakfasts compel you to sample regional favorites: In Spain, look for chocolate con churros (fritters served with a thick, warm chocolate drink), pan con tomate (a toasted baguette rubbed with fresh garlic and ripe tomato), or a tortilla española (a hearty slice of potato omelet). Italian breakfasts are particularly tiny, but the delicious red orange juice you get is made from Sicilian blood oranges. And you can buy a delightful toasted sandwich from a corner bar anywhere, anytime in Italy to make up for the minuscule breakfast. In France, locals just grab a warm croissant and coffee on the way to work. Queue up with the French and consider the yummy options: croissants studded with raisins, packed with crushed almonds, or filled with chocolate or cream. If you expect breakfast to be too sparse, plan ahead to supplement it with a piece of fruit and a wrapped chunk of cheese from a local market. Being a juice man, I keep a liter box of OJ in my room for a morning eye-opener. Coffee drinkers know that breakfast is the only cheap time to caffeinate yourself. Some hotels will serve you a bottomless cup of a rich brew only with breakfast. After that, the cups acquire bottoms and refills will cost you. Juice is generally available at breakfast, but in Mediterranean countries, you have to ask…and you'll probably be charged. In many countries, breakfast is included in your hotel bill, though if you make prior arrangements with the hotelier, you may be able to skip breakfast and pay a lower price for the room. If breakfast costs extra, it's often optional, and you can usually save money and gain atmosphere by buying coffee and a roll or croissant at the café down the street or by brunching picnic-style in the park. When deciding whether to request breakfast, consider your timing; if you need to get an early start, skip the breakfast — few hotel breakfasts are worth waiting around for. Come to the European breakfast table with an adventurous spirit. I'm a big-breakfast traditionalist at home, but when I feel the urge for an American breakfast in Europe, I beat it to death with a hard roll. Can you make 5 questions based on the text

Rigid Non-Metallic Conduit (PVC) Non-metallic conduits are electrical materials which are manufactured to be resistant to moisture and chemical atmosphere. They are also manufactured to be flame retardant or not easily burned. They are resistant to impact and crushing. They do not easily get out shape by the heat. These conduits are classified according to the materials they are made of. The most common ones are asbestos cement conduit, polyvinyl chloride, conduit and high density polyethylene conduit.

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