Read the fragment below.

I- Every language requires a different repertoire of reading skills, based on the structure of the language and the literacy habits of the native speakers of that language;

II- ESL and EFL teachers, therefore, should train students in the skills that will give them the power to comprehend in English. (…) learning a new thinking process is best accomplished when the learner is consciously aware of the process, and an approach to teaching reading skills should take that into account;

III- In fact, the more students talk about their thinking processes, the more they learn. (Mikulecky, Beatrice S.)

Thinking on reading skills, analyze the context above and choose the correct option.

Learning English as a second language requires a lot of effort. When learners encounter unfamiliar vocabulary, the best strategy the learner should use to facilitate its understanding is:
Choose the correct alternative.

There are in English language teaching four skills needed to the process of learning.
Choose the alternative that presents the four correct ones.

The strategy used for Reading Comprehension, that consists of quickly running one’s eyes across the whole text, is called:

The importance of teaching Grammar is correctly explained in alternative:

Study these sentences and decide if they are true ( T ) or false ( F ).

( ) The words in bold in the text can be classified, respectively, as: “them” object pronoun; “Our” possessive adjective; “we” subject pronoun.

( ) The affirmative form of the following sentence: “But it hasn’t become popular.”, is “But it has became popular.”

( ) The infinitive forms of the following verbs: ‘spoke’, ‘brought’ and ‘spread’, are: ‘speak’, ‘bring’, and ‘spread’.

( ) In the sentence: “But maybe the popularity of English won’t last that long either.” , the underlined word is being used in the simple future.

Choose the alternative which presents the correct sequence, from top to bottom.

Match the words on column 1 with their meanings on column 2:
Column 1 Words           1. foreigners                   2. spread                          3. fairly                            4. throughout
Column 2 Meanings
(  ) reasonably (  ) across
(  ) extended
(  ) strangers

Choose the alternative which presents the correct sequence, from top to bottom.

Study these sentences.
1. In the following sentence:”…. English is a fairly complicated language to learn and it brings its culture with it. “ the underlined words are classified as an adverb and an adjective. 2. “It’s important to have a language that the people of the earth have in common.” The negative form of the sentence is:” It’s important to don’t have a language that the people of the earth have in common.” 3. “Our world has become very global.” The bold words in the previous sentence are an example of the present perfect tense. 4. “There are more people who speak English as a second language than people who speak English as a first language..” The relative pronoun in bold can be replaced by that without changing its meaning.
Choose the alternative which presents the correct ones:

Choose the alternative that presents the correct words to complete the the blank spaces in the text.

Which statement below can be inferred from the article?

Choose the correct alternative according to the text.

Analyse the dialogues to answer.
Marsha: What did that character want? Cindy: Beats me!
What are the girls talking about?

School in Brazil Wins RIBA Prize for the World’s Best New Building
The school complex, titled ‘Children Village’ is situated in the remote village of Canuanã, in the state of Tocantins in northern Brazil; winning the RIBA International Prize 2018 meant that it topped a shortlist of outstanding entrants from Budapest, Tokyo, and Milan.
By Jack Arnhold - November 23, 2018
RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL – This Tuesday, November 20th, the judges of the RIBA (Royal Institute of British Architects) announced that the prestigious RIBA International Prize 2018 would be awarded to a school complex entitled ‘Children Village’ situated in the remote Brazilian village of Canuanã and designed by Brazilian architects Aleph Zero and Rosenbaum.
Children Village is a school complex that can house 540 children attending the Canuanã School. Funded by the Bradesco Foundation, the complex was designed by architects Gustavo Utrabo and Petro Duschenes from Aleph Zero in collaboration with Marcelo Rosenbaum and Adriana Benguela from architecture and design studio Rosenbaum.
The architects followed a vision that emphasized both utility and sustainability. They listened to the children and teachers and strived to create a living and working environment that fitted with its inhabitants’ needs: a place where students could feel at home while developing the social bonds needed to thrive in a communal living space. [...]
The Rio Times
Sob a ótica dos aspectos sociointeracionais no processo de produção do texto, considere as seguintes afirmativas:
I. O uso de um número significativo de termos relacionados ao universo infantil se justifica pelo público-alvo, principalmente crianças e adolescentes.
II. As informações veiculadas no primeiro parágrafo do corpo do texto (o que aconteceu, quem está envolvido, onde, quando etc.) são próprias da notícia, gênero textual da esfera jornalística.
III. O objetivo principal do texto é, a partir de segmentos argumentativos, convencer o leitor de que a decisão dos juízes do RIBA (Royal Institute of British Architects) foi imparcial e justa.
Assinale a alternativa que apresenta as afirmativas corretas:

As the author describes her experiences and perceptions, the paragraph also reminds that:

The behavioral view on motivation emphasizes

TEXT 2 The taxi, an old Rover smelling of old cigarette smoke, trundled along the empty, country road at an unhurried pace. It was early afternoon at the very end of February, a magic winter day of bitter cold, frost, and pale, cloudless skies. The sun shone, sending long shadows, but there was little warmth in it, and the ploughed fields lay hard as iron. From the chimneys of scattered farmhouses and small stone cottages, smoke rose, straight as columns, up into the still air, and flocks of sheep, heavy with wool and incipient pregnancy, gathered around feeding troughs, stuffed with hay. Sitting in the back of the taxi, gazing through the dusty window, Penelope Keeling decided that she had never seen the familiar countryside look so beautiful. The road curved steeply; ahead stood the wooden signpost marking the lane that led to Temple Pudley. The driver slowed and with a painful change of gear, turned, bumping downhill between high and blinding hedges. Moments later they were in the village, with its golden Cotswold stone houses, newsagent butcher, the Sudeley Arms, and the church – set back from the street behind an ancient graveyard and the dark foliage of some suitably gloomy yews. There were few people about. The children were all in school, and the bitter weather kept others indoors. Only an old man, mittened and scarved, walked his ancient dog. “Which house is it?” the taxi driver inquired over his shoulder. She leaned forward, ridiculously excited and expectant. “Just a little way on. Through the village. The white gates on the right. They’re open. There! Here we are.” He turned in through the gates and the car drew up at the back of the house. She opened the door and got out, drawing her dark blue cape around her against the cold. She opened her bag and found her key, went to unlock the door. Behind her, the taxi driver manhandled open the boot of the car and lifted out her small suitcase. She turned to take it from him, but he held on to it, somewhat concerned. “is there nobody here to meet you?” “No. Nobody. I live alone, and everybody thinks I’m still in the hospital.” “Be all right, will you?” She smiled into his kindly face. He was quite young, with fair bushy hair. “Of course.” He hesitated, not wishing to presume. ‘If you want, I’ll carry the case in. Carry it upstairs, if needs be.’ “Oh, that’s kind of you. But I can easily manage…” “No bother.” He told her, and followed her into the kitchen. She opened the door, and led him up the narrow, cottage stairs. Everything smelt clinically clean. Mrs. Plackett, bless her heart, had not been wasting time during the few days of Penelope’s absence. She quite liked it when Penelope went away, because then she could do things like wash the white paint of the bannisters, and boil dusters, and buff up the brass and silver. Her bedroom door stood ajar. She went in, and the young man followed her, setting her case on the floor. “Anything else I can do?” he asked. “Not a thing. Now, how much do I owe you?” He told her, looking shamefaced, as though it were an embarrassment to him. She paid him, and told him to keep the change. He thanked her, and they went back down the stairs. But still he hung about, seeming reluctant to leave. He probably, she told herself, had some old granny, of his own, for whom he felt the same sort of responsibility. “You’ll be all right, then?” “I promise you. And tomorrow my friend Mrs. Plackett will come. So then I won’t be alone anymore.” This, for some reason, reassured him. “I’ll be off then.’” “No trouble.” PILCHER, Rosamund. The shell seekers. London: Coronet Books, Hodder and Stoughton,1989. p. 9-11.
In the phrase “Only an old man, mittened and scarved”, the two words “mittened” and “scarved” are

Check the correct answer to fill in the blanks.
My mother ____ already ____ ten books.

TEXT 2 The taxi, an old Rover smelling of old cigarette smoke, trundled along the empty, country road at an unhurried pace. It was early afternoon at the very end of February, a magic winter day of bitter cold, frost, and pale, cloudless skies. The sun shone, sending long shadows, but there was little warmth in it, and the ploughed fields lay hard as iron. From the chimneys of scattered farmhouses and small stone cottages, smoke rose, straight as columns, up into the still air, and flocks of sheep, heavy with wool and incipient pregnancy, gathered around feeding troughs, stuffed with hay. Sitting in the back of the taxi, gazing through the dusty window, Penelope Keeling decided that she had never seen the familiar countryside look so beautiful. The road curved steeply; ahead stood the wooden signpost marking the lane that led to Temple Pudley. The driver slowed and with a painful change of gear, turned, bumping downhill between high and blinding hedges. Moments later they were in the village, with its golden Cotswold stone houses, newsagent butcher, the Sudeley Arms, and the church – set back from the street behind an ancient graveyard and the dark foliage of some suitably gloomy yews. There were few people about. The children were all in school, and the bitter weather kept others indoors. Only an old man, mittened and scarved, walked his ancient dog. “Which house is it?” the taxi driver inquired over his shoulder. She leaned forward, ridiculously excited and expectant. “Just a little way on. Through the village. The white gates on the right. They’re open. There! Here we are.” He turned in through the gates and the car drew up at the back of the house. She opened the door and got out, drawing her dark blue cape around her against the cold. She opened her bag and found her key, went to unlock the door. Behind her, the taxi driver manhandled open the boot of the car and lifted out her small suitcase. She turned to take it from him, but he held on to it, somewhat concerned. “is there nobody here to meet you?” “No. Nobody. I live alone, and everybody thinks I’m still in the hospital.” “Be all right, will you?” She smiled into his kindly face. He was quite young, with fair bushy hair. “Of course.” He hesitated, not wishing to presume. ‘If you want, I’ll carry the case in. Carry it upstairs, if needs be.’ “Oh, that’s kind of you. But I can easily manage…” “No bother.” He told her, and followed her into the kitchen. She opened the door, and led him up the narrow, cottage stairs. Everything smelt clinically clean. Mrs. Plackett, bless her heart, had not been wasting time during the few days of Penelope’s absence. She quite liked it when Penelope went away, because then she could do things like wash the white paint of the bannisters, and boil dusters, and buff up the brass and silver. Her bedroom door stood ajar. She went in, and the young man followed her, setting her case on the floor. “Anything else I can do?” he asked. “Not a thing. Now, how much do I owe you?” He told her, looking shamefaced, as though it were an embarrassment to him. She paid him, and told him to keep the change. He thanked her, and they went back down the stairs. But still he hung about, seeming reluctant to leave. He probably, she told herself, had some old granny, of his own, for whom he felt the same sort of responsibility. “You’ll be all right, then?” “I promise you. And tomorrow my friend Mrs. Plackett will come. So then I won’t be alone anymore.” This, for some reason, reassured him. “I’ll be off then.’” “No trouble.” PILCHER, Rosamund. The shell seekers. London: Coronet Books, Hodder and Stoughton,1989. p. 9-11.
In the phrase “for whom he felt the same sort of responsibility.”, the pronoun “whom” refers to the

TEXT 2 The taxi, an old Rover smelling of old cigarette smoke, trundled along the empty, country road at an unhurried pace. It was early afternoon at the very end of February, a magic winter day of bitter cold, frost, and pale, cloudless skies. The sun shone, sending long shadows, but there was little warmth in it, and the ploughed fields lay hard as iron. From the chimneys of scattered farmhouses and small stone cottages, smoke rose, straight as columns, up into the still air, and flocks of sheep, heavy with wool and incipient pregnancy, gathered around feeding troughs, stuffed with hay. Sitting in the back of the taxi, gazing through the dusty window, Penelope Keeling decided that she had never seen the familiar countryside look so beautiful. The road curved steeply; ahead stood the wooden signpost marking the lane that led to Temple Pudley. The driver slowed and with a painful change of gear, turned, bumping downhill between high and blinding hedges. Moments later they were in the village, with its golden Cotswold stone houses, newsagent butcher, the Sudeley Arms, and the church – set back from the street behind an ancient graveyard and the dark foliage of some suitably gloomy yews. There were few people about. The children were all in school, and the bitter weather kept others indoors. Only an old man, mittened and scarved, walked his ancient dog. “Which house is it?” the taxi driver inquired over his shoulder. She leaned forward, ridiculously excited and expectant. “Just a little way on. Through the village. The white gates on the right. They’re open. There! Here we are.” He turned in through the gates and the car drew up at the back of the house. She opened the door and got out, drawing her dark blue cape around her against the cold. She opened her bag and found her key, went to unlock the door. Behind her, the taxi driver manhandled open the boot of the car and lifted out her small suitcase. She turned to take it from him, but he held on to it, somewhat concerned. “is there nobody here to meet you?” “No. Nobody. I live alone, and everybody thinks I’m still in the hospital.” “Be all right, will you?” She smiled into his kindly face. He was quite young, with fair bushy hair. “Of course.” He hesitated, not wishing to presume. ‘If you want, I’ll carry the case in. Carry it upstairs, if needs be.’ “Oh, that’s kind of you. But I can easily manage…” “No bother.” He told her, and followed her into the kitchen. She opened the door, and led him up the narrow, cottage stairs. Everything smelt clinically clean. Mrs. Plackett, bless her heart, had not been wasting time during the few days of Penelope’s absence. She quite liked it when Penelope went away, because then she could do things like wash the white paint of the bannisters, and boil dusters, and buff up the brass and silver. Her bedroom door stood ajar. She went in, and the young man followed her, setting her case on the floor. “Anything else I can do?” he asked. “Not a thing. Now, how much do I owe you?” He told her, looking shamefaced, as though it were an embarrassment to him. She paid him, and told him to keep the change. He thanked her, and they went back down the stairs. But still he hung about, seeming reluctant to leave. He probably, she told herself, had some old granny, of his own, for whom he felt the same sort of responsibility. “You’ll be all right, then?” “I promise you. And tomorrow my friend Mrs. Plackett will come. So then I won’t be alone anymore.” This, for some reason, reassured him. “I’ll be off then.’” “No trouble.” PILCHER, Rosamund. The shell seekers. London: Coronet Books, Hodder and Stoughton,1989. p. 9-11.
The sentence “No. Nobody. I live alone, and everybody thinks I’m still in the hospital.”, if reported will read as:

TEXT 2 The taxi, an old Rover smelling of old cigarette smoke, trundled along the empty, country road at an unhurried pace. It was early afternoon at the very end of February, a magic winter day of bitter cold, frost, and pale, cloudless skies. The sun shone, sending long shadows, but there was little warmth in it, and the ploughed fields lay hard as iron. From the chimneys of scattered farmhouses and small stone cottages, smoke rose, straight as columns, up into the still air, and flocks of sheep, heavy with wool and incipient pregnancy, gathered around feeding troughs, stuffed with hay. Sitting in the back of the taxi, gazing through the dusty window, Penelope Keeling decided that she had never seen the familiar countryside look so beautiful. The road curved steeply; ahead stood the wooden signpost marking the lane that led to Temple Pudley. The driver slowed and with a painful change of gear, turned, bumping downhill between high and blinding hedges. Moments later they were in the village, with its golden Cotswold stone houses, newsagent butcher, the Sudeley Arms, and the church – set back from the street behind an ancient graveyard and the dark foliage of some suitably gloomy yews. There were few people about. The children were all in school, and the bitter weather kept others indoors. Only an old man, mittened and scarved, walked his ancient dog. “Which house is it?” the taxi driver inquired over his shoulder. She leaned forward, ridiculously excited and expectant. “Just a little way on. Through the village. The white gates on the right. They’re open. There! Here we are.” He turned in through the gates and the car drew up at the back of the house. She opened the door and got out, drawing her dark blue cape around her against the cold. She opened her bag and found her key, went to unlock the door. Behind her, the taxi driver manhandled open the boot of the car and lifted out her small suitcase. She turned to take it from him, but he held on to it, somewhat concerned. “is there nobody here to meet you?” “No. Nobody. I live alone, and everybody thinks I’m still in the hospital.” “Be all right, will you?” She smiled into his kindly face. He was quite young, with fair bushy hair. “Of course.” He hesitated, not wishing to presume. ‘If you want, I’ll carry the case in. Carry it upstairs, if needs be.’ “Oh, that’s kind of you. But I can easily manage…” “No bother.” He told her, and followed her into the kitchen. She opened the door, and led him up the narrow, cottage stairs. Everything smelt clinically clean. Mrs. Plackett, bless her heart, had not been wasting time during the few days of Penelope’s absence. She quite liked it when Penelope went away, because then she could do things like wash the white paint of the bannisters, and boil dusters, and buff up the brass and silver. Her bedroom door stood ajar. She went in, and the young man followed her, setting her case on the floor. “Anything else I can do?” he asked. “Not a thing. Now, how much do I owe you?” He told her, looking shamefaced, as though it were an embarrassment to him. She paid him, and told him to keep the change. He thanked her, and they went back down the stairs. But still he hung about, seeming reluctant to leave. He probably, she told herself, had some old granny, of his own, for whom he felt the same sort of responsibility. “You’ll be all right, then?” “I promise you. And tomorrow my friend Mrs. Plackett will come. So then I won’t be alone anymore.” This, for some reason, reassured him. “I’ll be off then.’” “No trouble.” PILCHER, Rosamund. The shell seekers. London: Coronet Books, Hodder and Stoughton,1989. p. 9-11.
In the sentence “The taxi, an old Rover smelling of old cigarette smoke, trundled along the empty, country road at an unhurried pace”, the words “empty” and “country” are used as