If Selma wants to evaluate what went wrong when she tried to make this recipe, she should ask the following question: Did I dissolve the sugar before adding the final three ingredients?
This is the only one of the questions which refers to the specific recipe and the steps Selma should have followed, thus, evaluating what has happened.
<u>Question 1</u> asks about what can be done to improve what has already been done, so it doesn't refer to what has happened but rather to possible future steps that could impove the result.
<u>Question 2</u> tests the recipe but it doesn't assess Selma's performance on this one.
<u>Question 3</u> is irrelevant to the procedure followed as it compares this recipe to her mother's one and not the steps recommended in this recipe to the steps that Selma followed.
Answer:
The daughter wished she could have her mother's courage more than anything else her mother had. The brooch was a nice treasure, but she admired her mother's courage more than any object.
Explanation:
Just did it.
A i think im not sure tho
Answer:People are horrible at keeping secrets. As in, really, really bad at it (no matter what anyone may tell you to the contrary). And you know what? We’re right to be. Just like the two Rhesus Macaques in the picture above, we have an urge to spill the beans when we know we shouldn’t—and that urge is a remarkably healthy one. Resist it, and you may find yourself in worse shape than you’d bargained for. And the secreter the secret, the worse the backlash on your psyche will likely be.
I never much cared for Nathaniel Hawthorne. I first dreaded him when my older sister came home with a miserable face and a 100-pound version of The House of the Seven Gables. I felt my anxiety mount when she declared the same hefty tome unreadable and said she would rather fail the test than finish the slog. And I had a near panic attack when I, now in high school myself, was handed my own first copy of the dreaded Mr. H.
Now, I’ve never been one to judge books by size. I read War and Peace cover to cover long before Hawthorne crossed my path and finished A Tale of Two Cities (in that same high school classroom) in no time flat. But it was something about him that just didn’t sit right. With trepidation bordering on the kind of dread I’d only ever felt when staring down a snake that I had mistaken for a tree branch, I flipped open the cover.
Luckily for me, what I found sitting on my desk in tenth grade was not my sister’s old nemesis but The Scarlet Letter. And you know what? I survived. It’s not that the book became a favorite. It didn’t. And it’s not that I began to judge Hawthorne less harshly. After trying my hand at Seven Gables—I just couldn’t stay away, could I; I think it was forcibly foisted on all Massachusetts school children, since the house in question was only a short field trip away—I couldn’t. And it’s not that I changed my mind about the writing—actually, having reread parts now to write this column, I’m surprised that I managed to finish at all (sincere apologies to all Hawthorne fans). I didn’t.
But despite everything, The Scarlet Letter gets one thing so incredibly right that it almost—almost—makes up for everything it gets wrong: it’s not healthy to keep a secret.
I remember how struck I was when I finally understood the story behind the letter – and how shocked at the incredibly physical toll that keeping it secret took on the fair Reverend Dimmesdale. It seemed somehow almost too much. A secret couldn’t actually do that to someone, could it?
Explanation:
Parris' position in Salem is a Minister
We can see this due to the fact that Parris' is acting like a Minister and ministering to people.
