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Fed [463]
3 years ago
7

The billionaire by maxim gorkiy which of the following best expresses the central idea of this narrative ?

English
1 answer:
Effectus [21]3 years ago
8 0
1​The kings of steel, of petroleum, and all the other kings of the United States have always in a high degree excited my power of imagination. It seemed to me certain that these people who possess so much money could not be like other mortals.
2​Each of them (so I said to myself) must call his own, at least, three stomachs and a hundred and fifty teeth. I did not doubt that the millionaire ate without intermission, from six o'clock in the morning till midnight. It goes without saying, the most exquisite and sumptuous viands! Toward evening, then, he must be tired of the hard chewing, to such a degree that (so I pictured to myself) he gave orders to his servants to digest the meals that he had swallowed with satisfaction during the day. Completely limp, covered with sweat and almost suffocated, he had to be put to bed by his servants, in order that on the next morning at six o'clock he might be able to begin again his work of eating.
3​Nevertheless, it must be impossible for such a man -- whatever pains he might take -- to consume merely the half of the interest of his wealth.
4​To be sure, such a life is awful, but what is one to do? For what is one a millionaire -- what am I saying? -- a billionaire, if one cannot eat more than every other common mortal! I pictured to myself that this privileged being wore cloth-of-gold underclothing, shoes with gold nails, and instead of a hat a diadem of diamonds on his head. His clothes, made of the most expensive velvet, must be at least fifty feet long and fastened with three hundred gold buttons; and on holidays he must be compelled by dire necessity to put on over each other six pairs of costly trousers. Such a costume is certainly very uncomfortable. But, if one is rich like that, one can't after all dress like all the world.
5​The pocket of a billionaire, I pictured to myself so big that therein easily a church or the whole senate could find room. The paunch of such a gentleman I conceived to myself like the hull of an ocean steamer, the length and breadth of which I was not able to think out. Of the bulk, too, of a billionaire I could never give myself a clear idea; but I supposed that the coverlet under which he sleeps measures a dozen hundred square yards. If he chews tobacco, it was unquestionably only the best kind, of which he always sticks two pounds at a time into his mouth. And on taking snuff (I thought to myself) he must use up a pound at a pinch. Indeed, money will be spent! 6​His fingers must possess the magic power of lengthening at will. In spirit, I saw a New York billionaire as he stretched out his hand across Bering Strait and brought back a dollar that had rolled somewhere toward Siberia, without especially exerting himself thereby.
7​Curiously, I could form to myself no clear conception of the head of this monster. In this organism consisting of gigantic muscles and bones that is made for squeezing money out of all things, a head seemed to me really quite superfluous.
8​Who, now, can conceive my astonishment when, standing facing one of these fabulous beings, I arrived at the conviction that a billionaire is a human being like all the rest!
9​I saw there comfortably reclining in an armchair a long, wizened old man, who held his brown, sinewy hands folded across a body of quite ordinary dimensions. The flabby skin of his face was carefully shaved. The underlip, which hung loosely down, covered solidly built jaws, in which gilded teeth were stuck. The upper lip, smooth, narrow and pallid, scarcely moved when the old man spoke. Colorless eyes without brows, a perfectly bald skull. It might be thought that a little skin was wanting to this reddish face, to this countenance that was expressionless and puckered like that of one new-born. Was this being just beginning its life, or was it already nearing its end?
10​Nothing in his dress distinguished him from the ordinary mortal. A ring, a watch, and his teeth were all the gold he carried with him. Scarcely half a pound, all told! Taken altogether, the appearance of the man recalled that of an old servant of an aristocratic family in Europe.
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Some of the cultural differences between the various groups that inhabited the early American colonies and how are these differences reflected in their literature is The New England colonies were extremely hard to farm in because of the long cold winters and the rocky, hilly landscape.

This is shown in the difference in literature as the Puritans were very religious and this was shown in their literary texts and this was quite different from that of other colonies.

<h3>What is a Comparison?</h3>

This refers to the side-by-side analysis of two or more entities to find their similarities and differences.

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Answer:

No way, you thought to yourself. Amelia Earhart helps you to your feet and moves past you. You see her head towards your banged-up plane, looking for something. After watching her, you start to feel nauseous. You sit for a second to clear your head. Despite landing pretty safely, it seems you have a bit of a concussion and a little whiplash. The landing must have been rougher than you initially thought.

As you groan in pain, Amelia turns, seeing that you're back on the ground. "Don't just sit there," she exclaims, "We have to get out of here." She makes her way to you, a bag of stuff in her hands, and helps you up. Hurriedly, you both run into the forest, not stopping for anything.

Half an hour later, she stops, and she sets her stuff down. After looking up at the sky, she turns to you. "We should be safe here for a couple of minutes," she says softly, a little out of breath. You sit down on a nearby log, attempting to center yourself. With all the running you'd just done, the concussion, and whiplash, you were somewhat tired and felt like you would throw up.  

How in the world was this happening, you questioned. Amelia Earhart, the famous female pilot who took on a journey around the world, was standing before you! That's not something you'd expect in 2021! How is she alive? Was Fred Noonan, her navigator, still alive? And what about the coconut crabs? Surely, this was some misunderstanding. Instead of asking any of these, you simply asked, "Where would we be safer?"

She turns to you, her eyes examining you. To be honest, if you had dragged a teenager out of a crashed biplane, you wouldn't exactly expect them to wear such odd-looking clothes. Earhart moved towards you, sitting on the log, cross-legged in front of you. "I have a hut not too far from here," she explained, "We should be safe from those crabs, and creatures that saw you land."  

Amelia then gasped, and you jumped, a little startled at her sudden noise. "Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself properly!" Getting up, she holds out her hand, "Amelia Earhart, pilot to the Flying Laboratory, at your service."  

You stand and shake her hand. "Elena Robinson," you introduced, "pilot of the Hummingbird."  

You both let go, and she looks at you in confusion. You follow her gaze, and notice that you're still wearing your leather aviator jacket, slightly ripped jeans, and 'I'm with you till the end of the line' Marvel t-shirt. Looking back up, you notice your acquaintance has moved to her bag. She shuffles around in it, before pulling out a small canteen. As she hands it to you, you notice a fresh scar on her arm. It seems with both have stories to share, you muse to yourself, taking a swig from the canteen.  

Handing it back, you decide to try figuring out how all of this is possible. "Do you know what year it is, or how long you've been here?" It wasn't an odd question for you, growing up watching Doctor Who, Back to the Future, and several other movies that went like this. A strange circumstance, a person dressed oddly speaking in some alien-like way, and both of you not knowing what exactly was going on.

You expected to see a look of confusion, surprise, or a quirked eyebrow. At least something you'd be prepared to explain away. But instead, she turned, an annoyed expression written clear as day across her features.

"Yes, yes, I know." She zipped up the bag and slung it over her shoulder. "I know exactly when, for both of your questions, and if you'd like to live to tomorrow I suggest we get moving." Earhart grabbed your hand, and you both started moving again, only this time you two walked carefully, rather than ran.

Not feeling satisfied with the answer, you decided to figure out more. You didn't want to discuss it out in the open, but frankly, you were very confused and still a little nauseous. "If you know what's going on, then would you care to share it? Because the last thing I remember was-"

"Entering the fog and being blasted out of the sky," she finished for you, "It happens to everyone who comes near this place." Glancing back at your shocked face, she continued, "Fred and I were lucky we had made it to shore, but those blasted crabs came out of nowhere. He picked me up and threw me as far as he could towards the treeline, and shouted at me to run."

Amelia stops and turns to you, and you can tell she's holding back tears. "Ever since we crashed, people from different years and places have shown up here, claiming they entered a fog." She then puts on a determined face, "The governments of the world brought us here, what for I don't know, but what I do know is that we're meant to live."

Glancing at the sky, she pulls you with her. "Come along," she whispers, "we don't have much time before the mutiny."

Explanation:

6 0
3 years ago
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