How does the boy feel at the end of the story?
Read the following passage:
From The Lost Prince
By Frances Hodgson Burnett
There are many dreary and dingy rows of ugly houses in certain parts of London, but
there certainly could not be any row more ugly or dingier than Philibert Place. There were
stories that it had once been more attractive, but that had been so long ago that no one
remembered the time. It stood back in its gloomy, narrow strips of uncared-for, smoky gardens,
whose broken iron railings were supposed to protect it from the surging traffic of a road
which was always roaring with the rattle of busses, cabs, drays, and vans, and the passing of people
who were shabbily dressed and looked as if they were either going to hard work or coming
from it, or hurrying to see if they could find some of it to do to keep themselves from going
hungry. The brick fronts of the houses were blackened with smoke, their windows were nearly
all dirty and hung with dingy curtains, or had no curtains at all; the strips of ground, which had
once been intended to grow flowers in, had been trodden down into bare earth in which even
weeds had forgotten to grow. One of them was used as a stone-cutter's yard, and cheap
monuments, crosses, and slates were set out for sale, bearing inscriptions beginning
Sacred to the Memory of." Another had piles of old lumber in it, another exhibited second-
hand furniture, chairs with unsteady legs, sofas with horsehair stuffing bulging out of holes in
their covering, mirrors with blotches or cracks in them. The insides of the houses were as
gloomy as the outside. They were all exactly alike. In each a dark entrance passage led to
narrow stairs going up to bedrooms, and to narrow steps going down to a basement kitchen.
The back bedroom looked out on small, sooty, flagged yards, where thin cats quarreled, or sat
on the coping of the brick walls hoping that sometime they might feel the sun; the front rooms
looked over the noisy road, and through their windows came the roar and rattle of it. It was
shabby and cheerless on the brightest days, and on foggy or rainy ones it was the most forlorn
place in London.
At least that was what one boy thought as he stood near the iron railings watching the
passers-by on the morning on which this story begins, which was also the morning after he had
been brought by his father to live as a lodger in the back sitting-room of the house No. 7.
Which word best describes the boy at the end of the passage?
Aunfeeling
Badventurous
Cdependent
Dgloomy
Read the following passage:
From The Lost Prince
By Frances Hodgson Burnett
There are many dreary and dingy rows of ugly houses in certain parts of London, but
there certainly could not be any row more ugly or dingier than Philibert Place. There were
stories that it had once been more attractive, but that had been so long ago that no one
remembered the time. It stood back in its gloomy, narrow strips of uncared-for, smoky gardens,
whose broken iron railings were supposed to protect it from the surging traffic of a road
which was always roaring with the rattle of busses, cabs, drays, and vans, and the passing of people
who were shabbily dressed and looked as if they were either going to hard work or coming
from it, or hurrying to see if they could find some of it to do to keep themselves from going
hungry. The brick fronts of the houses were blackened with smoke, their windows were nearly
all dirty and hung with dingy curtains, or had no curtains at all; the strips of ground, which had
once been intended to grow flowers in, had been trodden down into bare earth in which even
weeds had forgotten to grow. One of them was used as a stone-cutter's yard, and cheap
monuments, crosses, and slates were set out for sale, bearing inscriptions beginning
Sacred to the Memory of." Another had piles of old lumber in it, another exhibited second-
hand furniture, chairs with unsteady legs, sofas with horsehair stuffing bulging out of holes in
their covering, mirrors with blotches or cracks in them. The insides of the houses were as
gloomy as the outside. They were all exactly alike. In each a dark entrance passage led to
narrow stairs going up to bedrooms, and to narrow steps going down to a basement kitchen.
The back bedroom looked out on small, sooty, flagged yards, where thin cats quarreled, or sat
on the coping of the brick walls hoping that sometime they might feel the sun; the front rooms
looked over the noisy road, and through their windows came the roar and rattle of it. It was
shabby and cheerless on the brightest days, and on foggy or rainy ones it was the most forlorn
place in London.
At least that was what one boy thought as he stood near the iron railings watching the
passers-by on the morning on which this story begins, which was also the morning after he had
been brought by his father to live as a lodger in the back sitting-room of the house No. 7.
Which word best describes the boy at the end of the passage?
