The answer is: [B]: "False" .
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Plagiarism applies to the "real world" (that is, the "non-academic" realm), as well! In fact, published (and in many cases, even "non-published") material that can be referred to as "plagiarized" (e.g. paraphrased ideas, or copied, writing, or translated material, or PowerPoint presentations, business ideas, lectures, etc.). that is published, or presented publically or to a widestream audience— without giving proper credit to source(s) is, in fact, "plagiarism" — and is called "plagiarism" as well.
In such cases of plagiarism, severe consequences may result, including job demotions/terminations, civil actions (law suits), monetary restitution and public apologies—even companies going bankrupt; as well as reputations destroyed.
Furthermore, many colleges have academic integrity policies that specifically state that plagiarism still occurs in cases of drafts of work—even when not final written essays—are required to be submitted to teachers/professors/T.A.'s. Furthermore, plagiarism is not limited to written essays—but also other types of assignments (e.g. oral reports for any class, communication/lecture assignments, any data used/obtains, information on spreadsheets (e.g. accounting/business classes, any artwork, computer science codes).
The irony in the last stanza of the poem is:
“Tom is happy despite appalling working conditions, and he is not set free”.
<u>Explanation:</u>
The poem “The Chimney Cleaner”, by William Blake, is a poem that speaks of the dire conditions in which innocent children are made to clean the chimneys of huge and big houses.
In the poem, the last stanza tells about how Tom awakes from a pleasant dream and gets to work without feeling gloom or unhappy about the nature of the work. He rather is feeling happy and calm, even though he has not been set free from the working conditions.
This is the irony that reflects in the stanza; the innocent child’s happiness due to his pleasant dream but the crude reality that he yet lives in.
Answer:
I had not been inside Robin's room for at least 6 years. College had kept me from the comforts of home for quite a long time. As I set foot inside I sneezed, the dust that covered the air in a hazy fog making my nose itch. It had landed upon the bed sheets, now a riled up mess of fabric, some of it dusting the pot where once a living orchid had bloomed. The orchid that used to bloom from said pot had long since died, now a brown and cracked clay memorial to a deceased hope. The room I had once seen as bubbly and alive now lays flat, the liveliness, the dreams and hope, all abandoned, looking for somewhere it may have been welcome.
Explanation:
