Excerpt from Winesburg, Ohio: Departure Sherwood Anderson 1919 [1]It was April, and the young tree leaves were just coming out of their buds when Young George Willard arose at four in the morning. The maple trees along the residence streets in Winesburg have winged seeds, and when the wind blows, they whirl crazily about, filling the air and making a carpet underfoot. George came downstairs into the hotel office carrying a brown leather bag. His trunk was packed for departure — he had packed and repacked it more times than he cared to admit. Since two o’clock he had been awake thinking of the journey he was about to take and wondering what he would find at the end of his journey. George crept out into the silent, deserted main street and found the east pink with the dawn and long streaks of light climbing into the sky — a few stars still shone. Beyond the last house on Trunion Pike in Winesburg, there is a great expanse of open fields planted with berries and small fruits. In the late afternoon in the hot summers, when the road and the fields are covered with dust, a smoky haze envelopes the great flat basin of land. To look across it is like looking out across the sea. In the spring, when the land is green, the effect is somewhat different: The land becomes a wide green billiards table1 on which tiny human insects toiled up and down. All through his childhood and adolescence, George Willard had been in the habit of walking on Trunion Pike, regardless of the time or weather. He had been in the midst of the great open place on winter nights when it was covered with snow and only the moon looked down at him; he had been there in the fall when bleak winds blew, and on summer evenings when the air vibrated with the song of insects. On this April morning, he wanted to go there again to walk once more in the silence. He walked to where the road dipped down by a little stream two miles from town and then turned and walked silently back again. When he got to Main Street, clerks were sweeping the sidewalks before the stores and greeted him. “Hey, George. How does it feel to be going away?” they asked amiably. [5]The westbound train leaves Winesburg at seven forty-five in the morning, with Mr. Little as the conductor. His train runs from Cleveland to Chicago and New York in what railroad circles call an “easy run,” since every evening he returns home to his family. He knows the people in the towns along his railroad better than a city man knows the people who live in his apartment building. George came down the little incline from the New Willard House at seven o’clock, Tom Willard carrying his bag. The son had become taller than the father. On the station platform, more than a dozen people waited about and everyone wanted to shake the young man’s hand. Even Will Henderson, who often slept past nine, had gotten out of bed for the occasion. Gertrude Wilmot, a tall thin woman of fifty who worked in the Winesburg post office, came along the station platform. She had never before paid any attention to George, but now, she stopped and put out her hand. In two words she voiced what everyone felt: “Good luck.” When the train came into the station, George was relieved to escape the attention and scampered hurriedly aboard. Mr. Little punched his ticket, grinned, and, although he knew George well and knew on what adventure he was just setting out, made no comment. Mr. Little had seen a thousand George Willards go out of their towns to the city. George glanced up and down the car to be sure no one was looking, then took out his pocketbook and counted his money. His mind was occupied with a desire not to appear green. The last words his father had said to him concerned the matter of his behavior when he got to the city. “Be a sharp one,” Tom Willard had said. “Keep your eyes on your money, and don’t let anyone think you’re a greenhorn.”2 [10]After George counted his money, he looked out of the window and was surprised to see that the train was still in Winesburg. The young man, about to embark on the adventure of life, began to think. Nothing terribly big or dramatic preoccupied his thoughts, like his departure from Winesburg and the uncertainty of his future life in the city. He thought of little things, such as a tall woman, beautifully gowned, who had once stayed at his father’s hotel, Butch Wheeler, the lamp lighter of Winesburg, hurrying through the streets on a summer evening and holding a torch in his hand, Helen White at the post office, putting a stamp on an envelope. The young man’s mind was carried away by his growing passion for dreams. He closed his eyes, leaned back in the car seat, and allowed his mind to wander freely. He stayed that way for a long time, and when he roused himself and again looked out of the car window, the town of Winesburg had disappeared and his life there had become but a background on which to paint the dreams of his adult life. Question 3 In paragraph 3, the author compares humans to "insects" to highlight — A. how much he dislikes the people in Winesburg. B. how much the population has increased in Winesburg. C. how small the people appear in comparison to the land. D. how quickly the people work to harvest fruit from the fields.

asked by _behindyou_

16 days ago

4 views

0

0

1 answer

The correct answer is C. how small the people appear in comparison to the land.

The comparison of humans to "tiny human insects" emphasizes their smallness relative to the vast expanse of the fields, highlighting the insignificance of individual humans against the backdrop of nature.

answered by GPT-4o mini

0

0

Question

Excerpt from Winesburg, Ohio: Departure Sherwood Anderson 1919 [1]It was April, and the young tree leaves were just coming out of their buds when Young George Willard arose at four in the morning. The maple trees along the residence streets in Winesburg have winged seeds, and when the wind blows, they whirl crazily about, filling the air and making a carpet underfoot. George came downstairs into the hotel office carrying a brown leather bag. His trunk was packed for departure — he had packed and repacked it more times than he cared to admit. Since two o’clock he had been awake thinking of the journey he was about to take and wondering what he would find at the end of his journey. George crept out into the silent, deserted main street and found the east pink with the dawn and long streaks of light climbing into the sky — a few stars still shone. Beyond the last house on Trunion Pike in Winesburg, there is a great expanse of open fields planted with berries and small fruits. In the late afternoon in the hot summers, when the road and the fields are covered with dust, a smoky haze envelopes the great flat basin of land. To look across it is like looking out across the sea. In the spring, when the land is green, the effect is somewhat different: The land becomes a wide green billiards table1 on which tiny human insects toiled up and down. All through his childhood and adolescence, George Willard had been in the habit of walking on Trunion Pike, regardless of the time or weather. He had been in the midst of the great open place on winter nights when it was covered with snow and only the moon looked down at him; he had been there in the fall when bleak winds blew, and on summer evenings when the air vibrated with the song of insects. On this April morning, he wanted to go there again to walk once more in the silence. He walked to where the road dipped down by a little stream two miles from town and then turned and walked silently back again. When he got to Main Street, clerks were sweeping the sidewalks before the stores and greeted him. “Hey, George. How does it feel to be going away?” they asked amiably. [5]The westbound train leaves Winesburg at seven forty-five in the morning, with Mr. Little as the conductor. His train runs from Cleveland to Chicago and New York in what railroad circles call an “easy run,” since every evening he returns home to his family. He knows the people in the towns along his railroad better than a city man knows the people who live in his apartment building. George came down the little incline from the New Willard House at seven o’clock, Tom Willard carrying his bag. The son had become taller than the father. On the station platform, more than a dozen people waited about and everyone wanted to shake the young man’s hand. Even Will Henderson, who often slept past nine, had gotten out of bed for the occasion. Gertrude Wilmot, a tall thin woman of fifty who worked in the Winesburg post office, came along the station platform. She had never before paid any attention to George, but now, she stopped and put out her hand. In two words she voiced what everyone felt: “Good luck.” When the train came into the station, George was relieved to escape the attention and scampered hurriedly aboard. Mr. Little punched his ticket, grinned, and, although he knew George well and knew on what adventure he was just setting out, made no comment. Mr. Little had seen a thousand George Willards go out of their towns to the city. George glanced up and down the car to be sure no one was looking, then took out his pocketbook and counted his money. His mind was occupied with a desire not to appear green. The last words his father had said to him concerned the matter of his behavior when he got to the city. “Be a sharp one,” Tom Willard had said. “Keep your eyes on your money, and don’t let anyone think you’re a greenhorn.”2 [10]After George counted his money, he looked out of the window and was surprised to see that the train was still in Winesburg. The young man, about to embark on the adventure of life, began to think. Nothing terribly big or dramatic preoccupied his thoughts, like his departure from Winesburg and the uncertainty of his future life in the city. He thought of little things, such as a tall woman, beautifully gowned, who had once stayed at his father’s hotel, Butch Wheeler, the lamp lighter of Winesburg, hurrying through the streets on a summer evening and holding a torch in his hand, Helen White at the post office, putting a stamp on an envelope. The young man’s mind was carried away by his growing passion for dreams. He closed his eyes, leaned back in the car seat, and allowed his mind to wander freely. He stayed that way for a long time, and when he roused himself and again looked out of the car window, the town of Winesburg had disappeared and his life there had become but a background on which to paint the dreams of his adult life. Question 3 In paragraph 3, the author compares humans to "insects" to highlight — A. how much he dislikes the people in Winesburg. B. how much the population has increased in Winesburg. C. how small the people appear in comparison to the land. D. how quickly the people work to harvest fruit from the fields.

1 answer

The correct answer is C. how small the people appear in comparison to the land.

The comparison of humans to "tiny human insects" emphasizes their smallness relative to the vast expanse of the fields, highlighting the insignificance of individual humans against the backdrop of nature.

GPT-4o mini · Answer

The correct answer is **C. how small the people appear in comparison to the land.** The comparison of humans to "tiny human insects" emphasizes their smallness relative to the vast expanse of the fields, highlighting the insignificance of individual humans against the backdrop of nature.