CAT 2020 Slot 1 answer key with solutions

In the late 1960s, while studying the northern-elephant-seal population along the coasts of Mexico and California, Burney Le Boeuf and his colleagues couldn’t help but notice that the threat calls of males at some sites sounded different from those of males at other sites. . . . That was the first time dialects were documented in a nonhuman mammal. . . . All the northern elephant seals that exist today are descendants of the small herd that survived on Isla Guadalupe after the near extinction of the species in the nineteenth century. As that tiny population grew, northern elephant seals started to recolonize former breeding locations. It was precisely on the more recently colonized islands where Le Boeuf found that the tempos of the male vocal displays showed stronger differences to the ones from Isla Guadalupe, the founder colony. In order to test the reliability of these dialects over time, Le Boeuf and other researchers visited Año Nuevo Island in California —the island where males showed the slowest pulse rates in their calls—every winter from 1968 to 1972. “What we found is that the pulse rate increased, but it still remained relatively slow compared to the other colonies we had measured in the past” Le Boeuf told me. At the individual level, the pulse of the calls stayed the same: A male would maintain his vocal signature throughout his lifetime. But the average pulse rate was changing. Immigration could have been responsible for this increase, as in the early 1970s, 43 percent of the males on Año Nuevo had come from southern rookeries that had a faster pulse rate. This led Le Boeuf and his collaborator, Lewis Petrinovich, to deduce that the dialects were, perhaps, a result of isolation over time, after the breeding sites had been recolonized. For instance, the first settlers of Año Nuevo could have had, by chance, calls with low pulse rates. At other sites, where the scientists found faster pulse rates, the opposite would have happened—seals with faster rates would have happened to arrive first. As the population continued to expand and the islands kept on receiving immigrants from the original population, the calls in all locations would have eventually regressed to the average pulse rate of the founder colony. In the decades that followed, scientists noticed that the geographical variations reported in 1969 were not obvious anymore. . . . In the early 2010s, while studying northern elephant seals on Año Nuevo Island, researcher Caroline Casey noticed, too, that what Le Boeuf had heard decades ago was not what she heard now. . . . By performing more sophisticated statistical analyses on both sets of data, Casey and Le Boeuf confirmed that dialects existed back then but had vanished. Yet there are other differences between the males from the late 1960s and their great-great-grandsons: Modern males exhibit more individual diversity, and their calls are more complex. While 50 years ago the drumming pattern was quite simple and the dialects denoted just a change in tempo, Casey explained, the calls recorded today have more complex structures, sometimes featuring doublets or triplets. . . .

In the late 1960s, while studying the northern-elephant-seal population along the coasts of Mexico and California, Burney Le Boeuf and his colleagues couldn’t help but notice that the threat calls of males at some sites sounded different from those of males at other sites. . . . That was the first time dialects were documented in a nonhuman mammal. . . . All the northern elephant seals that exist today are descendants of the small herd that survived on Isla Guadalupe after the near extinction of the species in the nineteenth century. As that tiny population grew, northern elephant seals started to recolonize former breeding locations. It was precisely on the more recently colonized islands where Le Boeuf found that the tempos of the male vocal displays showed stronger differences to the ones from Isla Guadalupe, the founder colony. In order to test the reliability of these dialects over time, Le Boeuf and other researchers visited Año Nuevo Island in California —the island where males showed the slowest pulse rates in their calls—every winter from 1968 to 1972. “What we found is that the pulse rate increased, but it still remained relatively slow compared to the other colonies we had measured in the past” Le Boeuf told me. At the individual level, the pulse of the calls stayed the same: A male would maintain his vocal signature throughout his lifetime. But the average pulse rate was changing. Immigration could have been responsible for this increase, as in the early 1970s, 43 percent of the males on Año Nuevo had come from southern rookeries that had a faster pulse rate. This led Le Boeuf and his collaborator, Lewis Petrinovich, to deduce that the dialects were, perhaps, a result of isolation over time, after the breeding sites had been recolonized. For instance, the first settlers of Año Nuevo could have had, by chance, calls with low pulse rates. At other sites, where the scientists found faster pulse rates, the opposite would have happened—seals with faster rates would have happened to arrive first. As the population continued to expand and the islands kept on receiving immigrants from the original population, the calls in all locations would have eventually regressed to the average pulse rate of the founder colony. In the decades that followed, scientists noticed that the geographical variations reported in 1969 were not obvious anymore. . . . In the early 2010s, while studying northern elephant seals on Año Nuevo Island, researcher Caroline Casey noticed, too, that what Le Boeuf had heard decades ago was not what she heard now. . . . By performing more sophisticated statistical analyses on both sets of data, Casey and Le Boeuf confirmed that dialects existed back then but had vanished. Yet there are other differences between the males from the late 1960s and their great-great-grandsons: Modern males exhibit more individual diversity, and their calls are more complex. While 50 years ago the drumming pattern was quite simple and the dialects denoted just a change in tempo, Casey explained, the calls recorded today have more complex structures, sometimes featuring doublets or triplets. . . .

In the late 1960s, while studying the northern-elephant-seal population along the coasts of Mexico and California, Burney Le Boeuf and his colleagues couldn’t help but notice that the threat calls of males at some sites sounded different from those of males at other sites. . . . That was the first time dialects were documented in a nonhuman mammal. . . . All the northern elephant seals that exist today are descendants of the small herd that survived on Isla Guadalupe after the near extinction of the species in the nineteenth century. As that tiny population grew, northern elephant seals started to recolonize former breeding locations. It was precisely on the more recently colonized islands where Le Boeuf found that the tempos of the male vocal displays showed stronger differences to the ones from Isla Guadalupe, the founder colony. In order to test the reliability of these dialects over time, Le Boeuf and other researchers visited Año Nuevo Island in California —the island where males showed the slowest pulse rates in their calls—every winter from 1968 to 1972. “What we found is that the pulse rate increased, but it still remained relatively slow compared to the other colonies we had measured in the past” Le Boeuf told me. At the individual level, the pulse of the calls stayed the same: A male would maintain his vocal signature throughout his lifetime. But the average pulse rate was changing. Immigration could have been responsible for this increase, as in the early 1970s, 43 percent of the males on Año Nuevo had come from southern rookeries that had a faster pulse rate. This led Le Boeuf and his collaborator, Lewis Petrinovich, to deduce that the dialects were, perhaps, a result of isolation over time, after the breeding sites had been recolonized. For instance, the first settlers of Año Nuevo could have had, by chance, calls with low pulse rates. At other sites, where the scientists found faster pulse rates, the opposite would have happened—seals with faster rates would have happened to arrive first. As the population continued to expand and the islands kept on receiving immigrants from the original population, the calls in all locations would have eventually regressed to the average pulse rate of the founder colony. In the decades that followed, scientists noticed that the geographical variations reported in 1969 were not obvious anymore. . . . In the early 2010s, while studying northern elephant seals on Año Nuevo Island, researcher Caroline Casey noticed, too, that what Le Boeuf had heard decades ago was not what she heard now. . . . By performing more sophisticated statistical analyses on both sets of data, Casey and Le Boeuf confirmed that dialects existed back then but had vanished. Yet there are other differences between the males from the late 1960s and their great-great-grandsons: Modern males exhibit more individual diversity, and their calls are more complex. While 50 years ago the drumming pattern was quite simple and the dialects denoted just a change in tempo, Casey explained, the calls recorded today have more complex structures, sometimes featuring doublets or triplets. . . .

In the late 1960s, while studying the northern-elephant-seal population along the coasts of Mexico and California, Burney Le Boeuf and his colleagues couldn’t help but notice that the threat calls of males at some sites sounded different from those of males at other sites. . . . That was the first time dialects were documented in a nonhuman mammal. . . . All the northern elephant seals that exist today are descendants of the small herd that survived on Isla Guadalupe after the near extinction of the species in the nineteenth century. As that tiny population grew, northern elephant seals started to recolonize former breeding locations. It was precisely on the more recently colonized islands where Le Boeuf found that the tempos of the male vocal displays showed stronger differences to the ones from Isla Guadalupe, the founder colony. In order to test the reliability of these dialects over time, Le Boeuf and other researchers visited Año Nuevo Island in California —the island where males showed the slowest pulse rates in their calls—every winter from 1968 to 1972. “What we found is that the pulse rate increased, but it still remained relatively slow compared to the other colonies we had measured in the past” Le Boeuf told me. At the individual level, the pulse of the calls stayed the same: A male would maintain his vocal signature throughout his lifetime. But the average pulse rate was changing. Immigration could have been responsible for this increase, as in the early 1970s, 43 percent of the males on Año Nuevo had come from southern rookeries that had a faster pulse rate. This led Le Boeuf and his collaborator, Lewis Petrinovich, to deduce that the dialects were, perhaps, a result of isolation over time, after the breeding sites had been recolonized. For instance, the first settlers of Año Nuevo could have had, by chance, calls with low pulse rates. At other sites, where the scientists found faster pulse rates, the opposite would have happened—seals with faster rates would have happened to arrive first. As the population continued to expand and the islands kept on receiving immigrants from the original population, the calls in all locations would have eventually regressed to the average pulse rate of the founder colony. In the decades that followed, scientists noticed that the geographical variations reported in 1969 were not obvious anymore. . . . In the early 2010s, while studying northern elephant seals on Año Nuevo Island, researcher Caroline Casey noticed, too, that what Le Boeuf had heard decades ago was not what she heard now. . . . By performing more sophisticated statistical analyses on both sets of data, Casey and Le Boeuf confirmed that dialects existed back then but had vanished. Yet there are other differences between the males from the late 1960s and their great-great-grandsons: Modern males exhibit more individual diversity, and their calls are more complex. While 50 years ago the drumming pattern was quite simple and the dialects denoted just a change in tempo, Casey explained, the calls recorded today have more complex structures, sometimes featuring doublets or triplets. . . .

Vocabulary used in speech or writing organizes itself in seven parts of speech (eight, if you count interjections such as Oh! and Gosh! and Fuhgeddaboudit!). Communication composed of these parts of speech must be organized by rules of grammar upon which we agree. When these rules break down, confusion and misunderstanding result. Bad grammar produces bad sentences. My favorite example from Strunk and White is this one: “As a mother of five, with another one on the way, my ironing board is always up.” Nouns and verbs are the two indispensable parts of writing. Without one of each, no group of words can be a sentence, since a sentence is, by definition, a group of words containing a subject (noun) and a predicate (verb); these strings of words begin with a capital letter, end with a period, and combine to make a complete thought which starts in the writer’s head and then leaps to the reader’s. Must you write complete sentences each time, every time? Perish the thought. If your work consists only of fragments and floating clauses, the Grammar Police aren’t going to come and take you away. Even William Strunk, that Mussolini of rhetoric, recognized the delicious pliability of language. “It is an old observation,” he writes, “that the best writers sometimes disregard the rules of rhetoric.” Yet he goes on to add this thought, which I urge you to consider: “Unless he is certain of doing well, the writer will probably do best to follow the rules.” The telling clause here is Unless he is certain of doing well. If you don’t have a rudimentary grasp of how the parts of speech translate into coherent sentences, how can you be certain that you are doing well? How will you know if you’re doing ill, for that matter? The answer, of course, is that you can’t, you won’t. One who does grasp the rudiments of grammar finds a comforting simplicity at its heart, where there need be only nouns, the words that name, and verbs, the words that act. Take any noun, put it with any verb, and you have a sentence. It never fails. Rocks explode. Jane transmits. Mountains float. These are all perfect sentences. Many such thoughts make little rational sense, but even the stranger ones (Plums deify!) have a kind of poetic weight that’s nice. The simplicity of noun-verb construction is useful—at the very least it can provide a safety net for your writing. Strunk and White caution against too many simple sentences in a row, but simple sentences provide a path you can follow when you fear getting lost in the tangles of rhetoric—all those restrictive and nonrestrictive clauses, those modifying phrases, those appositives and compound-complex sentences. If you start to freak out at the sight of such unmapped territory (unmapped by you, at least), just remind yourself that rocks explode, Jane transmits, mountains float, and plums deify. Grammar is . . . the pole you grab to get your thoughts up on their feet and walking.

Vocabulary used in speech or writing organizes itself in seven parts of speech (eight, if you count interjections such as Oh! and Gosh! and Fuhgeddaboudit!). Communication composed of these parts of speech must be organized by rules of grammar upon which we agree. When these rules break down, confusion and misunderstanding result. Bad grammar produces bad sentences. My favorite example from Strunk and White is this one: “As a mother of five, with another one on the way, my ironing board is always up.” Nouns and verbs are the two indispensable parts of writing. Without one of each, no group of words can be a sentence, since a sentence is, by definition, a group of words containing a subject (noun) and a predicate (verb); these strings of words begin with a capital letter, end with a period, and combine to make a complete thought which starts in the writer’s head and then leaps to the reader’s. Must you write complete sentences each time, every time? Perish the thought. If your work consists only of fragments and floating clauses, the Grammar Police aren’t going to come and take you away. Even William Strunk, that Mussolini of rhetoric, recognized the delicious pliability of language. “It is an old observation,” he writes, “that the best writers sometimes disregard the rules of rhetoric.” Yet he goes on to add this thought, which I urge you to consider: “Unless he is certain of doing well, the writer will probably do best to follow the rules.” The telling clause here is Unless he is certain of doing well. If you don’t have a rudimentary grasp of how the parts of speech translate into coherent sentences, how can you be certain that you are doing well? How will you know if you’re doing ill, for that matter? The answer, of course, is that you can’t, you won’t. One who does grasp the rudiments of grammar finds a comforting simplicity at its heart, where there need be only nouns, the words that name, and verbs, the words that act. Take any noun, put it with any verb, and you have a sentence. It never fails. Rocks explode. Jane transmits. Mountains float. These are all perfect sentences. Many such thoughts make little rational sense, but even the stranger ones (Plums deify!) have a kind of poetic weight that’s nice. The simplicity of noun-verb construction is useful—at the very least it can provide a safety net for your writing. Strunk and White caution against too many simple sentences in a row, but simple sentences provide a path you can follow when you fear getting lost in the tangles of rhetoric—all those restrictive and nonrestrictive clauses, those modifying phrases, those appositives and compound-complex sentences. If you start to freak out at the sight of such unmapped territory (unmapped by you, at least), just remind yourself that rocks explode, Jane transmits, mountains float, and plums deify. Grammar is . . . the pole you grab to get your thoughts up on their feet and walking.

Vocabulary used in speech or writing organizes itself in seven parts of speech (eight, if you count interjections such as Oh! and Gosh! and Fuhgeddaboudit!). Communication composed of these parts of speech must be organized by rules of grammar upon which we agree. When these rules break down, confusion and misunderstanding result. Bad grammar produces bad sentences. My favorite example from Strunk and White is this one: “As a mother of five, with another one on the way, my ironing board is always up.” Nouns and verbs are the two indispensable parts of writing. Without one of each, no group of words can be a sentence, since a sentence is, by definition, a group of words containing a subject (noun) and a predicate (verb); these strings of words begin with a capital letter, end with a period, and combine to make a complete thought which starts in the writer’s head and then leaps to the reader’s. Must you write complete sentences each time, every time? Perish the thought. If your work consists only of fragments and floating clauses, the Grammar Police aren’t going to come and take you away. Even William Strunk, that Mussolini of rhetoric, recognized the delicious pliability of language. “It is an old observation,” he writes, “that the best writers sometimes disregard the rules of rhetoric.” Yet he goes on to add this thought, which I urge you to consider: “Unless he is certain of doing well, the writer will probably do best to follow the rules.” The telling clause here is Unless he is certain of doing well. If you don’t have a rudimentary grasp of how the parts of speech translate into coherent sentences, how can you be certain that you are doing well? How will you know if you’re doing ill, for that matter? The answer, of course, is that you can’t, you won’t. One who does grasp the rudiments of grammar finds a comforting simplicity at its heart, where there need be only nouns, the words that name, and verbs, the words that act. Take any noun, put it with any verb, and you have a sentence. It never fails. Rocks explode. Jane transmits. Mountains float. These are all perfect sentences. Many such thoughts make little rational sense, but even the stranger ones (Plums deify!) have a kind of poetic weight that’s nice. The simplicity of noun-verb construction is useful—at the very least it can provide a safety net for your writing. Strunk and White caution against too many simple sentences in a row, but simple sentences provide a path you can follow when you fear getting lost in the tangles of rhetoric—all those restrictive and nonrestrictive clauses, those modifying phrases, those appositives and compound-complex sentences. If you start to freak out at the sight of such unmapped territory (unmapped by you, at least), just remind yourself that rocks explode, Jane transmits, mountains float, and plums deify. Grammar is . . . the pole you grab to get your thoughts up on their feet and walking.

Vocabulary used in speech or writing organizes itself in seven parts of speech (eight, if you count interjections such as Oh! and Gosh! and Fuhgeddaboudit!). Communication composed of these parts of speech must be organized by rules of grammar upon which we agree. When these rules break down, confusion and misunderstanding result. Bad grammar produces bad sentences. My favorite example from Strunk and White is this one: “As a mother of five, with another one on the way, my ironing board is always up.” Nouns and verbs are the two indispensable parts of writing. Without one of each, no group of words can be a sentence, since a sentence is, by definition, a group of words containing a subject (noun) and a predicate (verb); these strings of words begin with a capital letter, end with a period, and combine to make a complete thought which starts in the writer’s head and then leaps to the reader’s. Must you write complete sentences each time, every time? Perish the thought. If your work consists only of fragments and floating clauses, the Grammar Police aren’t going to come and take you away. Even William Strunk, that Mussolini of rhetoric, recognized the delicious pliability of language. “It is an old observation,” he writes, “that the best writers sometimes disregard the rules of rhetoric.” Yet he goes on to add this thought, which I urge you to consider: “Unless he is certain of doing well, the writer will probably do best to follow the rules.” The telling clause here is Unless he is certain of doing well. If you don’t have a rudimentary grasp of how the parts of speech translate into coherent sentences, how can you be certain that you are doing well? How will you know if you’re doing ill, for that matter? The answer, of course, is that you can’t, you won’t. One who does grasp the rudiments of grammar finds a comforting simplicity at its heart, where there need be only nouns, the words that name, and verbs, the words that act. Take any noun, put it with any verb, and you have a sentence. It never fails. Rocks explode. Jane transmits. Mountains float. These are all perfect sentences. Many such thoughts make little rational sense, but even the stranger ones (Plums deify!) have a kind of poetic weight that’s nice. The simplicity of noun-verb construction is useful—at the very least it can provide a safety net for your writing. Strunk and White caution against too many simple sentences in a row, but simple sentences provide a path you can follow when you fear getting lost in the tangles of rhetoric—all those restrictive and nonrestrictive clauses, those modifying phrases, those appositives and compound-complex sentences. If you start to freak out at the sight of such unmapped territory (unmapped by you, at least), just remind yourself that rocks explode, Jane transmits, mountains float, and plums deify. Grammar is . . . the pole you grab to get your thoughts up on their feet and walking.

Vocabulary used in speech or writing organizes itself in seven parts of speech (eight, if you count interjections such as Oh! and Gosh! and Fuhgeddaboudit!). Communication composed of these parts of speech must be organized by rules of grammar upon which we agree. When these rules break down, confusion and misunderstanding result. Bad grammar produces bad sentences. My favorite example from Strunk and White is this one: “As a mother of five, with another one on the way, my ironing board is always up.” Nouns and verbs are the two indispensable parts of writing. Without one of each, no group of words can be a sentence, since a sentence is, by definition, a group of words containing a subject (noun) and a predicate (verb); these strings of words begin with a capital letter, end with a period, and combine to make a complete thought which starts in the writer’s head and then leaps to the reader’s. Must you write complete sentences each time, every time? Perish the thought. If your work consists only of fragments and floating clauses, the Grammar Police aren’t going to come and take you away. Even William Strunk, that Mussolini of rhetoric, recognized the delicious pliability of language. “It is an old observation,” he writes, “that the best writers sometimes disregard the rules of rhetoric.” Yet he goes on to add this thought, which I urge you to consider: “Unless he is certain of doing well, the writer will probably do best to follow the rules.” The telling clause here is Unless he is certain of doing well. If you don’t have a rudimentary grasp of how the parts of speech translate into coherent sentences, how can you be certain that you are doing well? How will you know if you’re doing ill, for that matter? The answer, of course, is that you can’t, you won’t. One who does grasp the rudiments of grammar finds a comforting simplicity at its heart, where there need be only nouns, the words that name, and verbs, the words that act. Take any noun, put it with any verb, and you have a sentence. It never fails. Rocks explode. Jane transmits. Mountains float. These are all perfect sentences. Many such thoughts make little rational sense, but even the stranger ones (Plums deify!) have a kind of poetic weight that’s nice. The simplicity of noun-verb construction is useful—at the very least it can provide a safety net for your writing. Strunk and White caution against too many simple sentences in a row, but simple sentences provide a path you can follow when you fear getting lost in the tangles of rhetoric—all those restrictive and nonrestrictive clauses, those modifying phrases, those appositives and compound-complex sentences. If you start to freak out at the sight of such unmapped territory (unmapped by you, at least), just remind yourself that rocks explode, Jane transmits, mountains float, and plums deify. Grammar is . . . the pole you grab to get your thoughts up on their feet and walking.

The word ‘anarchy’ comes from the Greek anarkhia, meaning contrary to authority or without a ruler, and was used in a derogatory sense until 1840, when it was adopted by Pierre-Joseph Proudhon to describe his political and social ideology. Proudhon argued that organization without government was both possible and desirable. In the evolution of political ideas, anarchism can be seen as an ultimate projection of both liberalism and socialism, and the differing strands of anarchist thought can be related to their emphasis on one or the other of these. Historically, anarchism arose not only as an explanation of the gulf between the rich and the poor in any community, and of the reason why the poor have been obliged to fight for their share of a common inheritance, but as a radical answer to the question ‘What went wrong?’ that followed the ultimate outcome of the French Revolution. It had ended not only with a reign of terror and the emergence of a newly rich ruling caste, but with a new adored emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte, strutting through his conquered territories. The anarchists and their precursors were unique on the political Left in affirming that workers and peasants, grasping the chance that arose to bring an end to centuries of exploitation and tyranny, were inevitably betrayed by the new class of politicians, whose first priority was to reestablish a centralized state power. After every revolutionary uprising, usually won at a heavy cost for ordinary populations, the new rulers had no hesitation in applying violence and terror, a secret police, and a professional army to maintain their control. For anarchists the state itself is the enemy, and they have applied the same interpretation to the outcome of every revolution of the 19th and 20th centuries. This is not merely because every state keeps a watchful and sometimes punitive eye on its dissidents, but because every state protects the privileges of the powerful. The mainstream of anarchist propaganda for more than a century has been anarchistcommunism, which argues that property in land, natural resources, and the means of production should be held in mutual control by local communities, federating for innumerable joint purposes with other communes. It differs from state socialism in opposing the concept of any central authority. Some anarchists prefer to distinguish between anarchist-communism and collectivist anarchism in order to stress the obviously desirable freedom of an individual or family to possess the resources needed for living, while not implying the right to own the resources needed by others. . . . There are, unsurprisingly, several traditions of individualist anarchism, one of them deriving from the ‘conscious egoism’ of the German writer Max Stirner (1806–56), and another from a remarkable series of 19th-century American figures who argued that in protecting our own autonomy and associating with others for common advantages, we are promoting the good of all. These thinkers differed from free-market liberals in their absolute mistrust of American capitalism, and in their emphasis on mutualism.

The word ‘anarchy’ comes from the Greek anarkhia, meaning contrary to authority or without a ruler, and was used in a derogatory sense until 1840, when it was adopted by Pierre-Joseph Proudhon to describe his political and social ideology. Proudhon argued that organization without government was both possible and desirable. In the evolution of political ideas, anarchism can be seen as an ultimate projection of both liberalism and socialism, and the differing strands of anarchist thought can be related to their emphasis on one or the other of these. Historically, anarchism arose not only as an explanation of the gulf between the rich and the poor in any community, and of the reason why the poor have been obliged to fight for their share of a common inheritance, but as a radical answer to the question ‘What went wrong?’ that followed the ultimate outcome of the French Revolution. It had ended not only with a reign of terror and the emergence of a newly rich ruling caste, but with a new adored emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte, strutting through his conquered territories. The anarchists and their precursors were unique on the political Left in affirming that workers and peasants, grasping the chance that arose to bring an end to centuries of exploitation and tyranny, were inevitably betrayed by the new class of politicians, whose first priority was to reestablish a centralized state power. After every revolutionary uprising, usually won at a heavy cost for ordinary populations, the new rulers had no hesitation in applying violence and terror, a secret police, and a professional army to maintain their control. For anarchists the state itself is the enemy, and they have applied the same interpretation to the outcome of every revolution of the 19th and 20th centuries. This is not merely because every state keeps a watchful and sometimes punitive eye on its dissidents, but because every state protects the privileges of the powerful. The mainstream of anarchist propaganda for more than a century has been anarchistcommunism, which argues that property in land, natural resources, and the means of production should be held in mutual control by local communities, federating for innumerable joint purposes with other communes. It differs from state socialism in opposing the concept of any central authority. Some anarchists prefer to distinguish between anarchist-communism and collectivist anarchism in order to stress the obviously desirable freedom of an individual or family to possess the resources needed for living, while not implying the right to own the resources needed by others. . . . There are, unsurprisingly, several traditions of individualist anarchism, one of them deriving from the ‘conscious egoism’ of the German writer Max Stirner (1806–56), and another from a remarkable series of 19th-century American figures who argued that in protecting our own autonomy and associating with others for common advantages, we are promoting the good of all. These thinkers differed from free-market liberals in their absolute mistrust of American capitalism, and in their emphasis on mutualism.

The word ‘anarchy’ comes from the Greek anarkhia, meaning contrary to authority or without a ruler, and was used in a derogatory sense until 1840, when it was adopted by Pierre-Joseph Proudhon to describe his political and social ideology. Proudhon argued that organization without government was both possible and desirable. In the evolution of political ideas, anarchism can be seen as an ultimate projection of both liberalism and socialism, and the differing strands of anarchist thought can be related to their emphasis on one or the other of these. Historically, anarchism arose not only as an explanation of the gulf between the rich and the poor in any community, and of the reason why the poor have been obliged to fight for their share of a common inheritance, but as a radical answer to the question ‘What went wrong?’ that followed the ultimate outcome of the French Revolution. It had ended not only with a reign of terror and the emergence of a newly rich ruling caste, but with a new adored emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte, strutting through his conquered territories. The anarchists and their precursors were unique on the political Left in affirming that workers and peasants, grasping the chance that arose to bring an end to centuries of exploitation and tyranny, were inevitably betrayed by the new class of politicians, whose first priority was to reestablish a centralized state power. After every revolutionary uprising, usually won at a heavy cost for ordinary populations, the new rulers had no hesitation in applying violence and terror, a secret police, and a professional army to maintain their control. For anarchists the state itself is the enemy, and they have applied the same interpretation to the outcome of every revolution of the 19th and 20th centuries. This is not merely because every state keeps a watchful and sometimes punitive eye on its dissidents, but because every state protects the privileges of the powerful. The mainstream of anarchist propaganda for more than a century has been anarchistcommunism, which argues that property in land, natural resources, and the means of production should be held in mutual control by local communities, federating for innumerable joint purposes with other communes. It differs from state socialism in opposing the concept of any central authority. Some anarchists prefer to distinguish between anarchist-communism and collectivist anarchism in order to stress the obviously desirable freedom of an individual or family to possess the resources needed for living, while not implying the right to own the resources needed by others. . . . There are, unsurprisingly, several traditions of individualist anarchism, one of them deriving from the ‘conscious egoism’ of the German writer Max Stirner (1806–56), and another from a remarkable series of 19th-century American figures who argued that in protecting our own autonomy and associating with others for common advantages, we are promoting the good of all. These thinkers differed from free-market liberals in their absolute mistrust of American capitalism, and in their emphasis on mutualism.

The word ‘anarchy’ comes from the Greek anarkhia, meaning contrary to authority or without a ruler, and was used in a derogatory sense until 1840, when it was adopted by Pierre-Joseph Proudhon to describe his political and social ideology. Proudhon argued that organization without government was both possible and desirable. In the evolution of political ideas, anarchism can be seen as an ultimate projection of both liberalism and socialism, and the differing strands of anarchist thought can be related to their emphasis on one or the other of these. Historically, anarchism arose not only as an explanation of the gulf between the rich and the poor in any community, and of the reason why the poor have been obliged to fight for their share of a common inheritance, but as a radical answer to the question ‘What went wrong?’ that followed the ultimate outcome of the French Revolution. It had ended not only with a reign of terror and the emergence of a newly rich ruling caste, but with a new adored emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte, strutting through his conquered territories. The anarchists and their precursors were unique on the political Left in affirming that workers and peasants, grasping the chance that arose to bring an end to centuries of exploitation and tyranny, were inevitably betrayed by the new class of politicians, whose first priority was to reestablish a centralized state power. After every revolutionary uprising, usually won at a heavy cost for ordinary populations, the new rulers had no hesitation in applying violence and terror, a secret police, and a professional army to maintain their control. For anarchists the state itself is the enemy, and they have applied the same interpretation to the outcome of every revolution of the 19th and 20th centuries. This is not merely because every state keeps a watchful and sometimes punitive eye on its dissidents, but because every state protects the privileges of the powerful. The mainstream of anarchist propaganda for more than a century has been anarchistcommunism, which argues that property in land, natural resources, and the means of production should be held in mutual control by local communities, federating for innumerable joint purposes with other communes. It differs from state socialism in opposing the concept of any central authority. Some anarchists prefer to distinguish between anarchist-communism and collectivist anarchism in order to stress the obviously desirable freedom of an individual or family to possess the resources needed for living, while not implying the right to own the resources needed by others. . . . There are, unsurprisingly, several traditions of individualist anarchism, one of them deriving from the ‘conscious egoism’ of the German writer Max Stirner (1806–56), and another from a remarkable series of 19th-century American figures who argued that in protecting our own autonomy and associating with others for common advantages, we are promoting the good of all. These thinkers differed from free-market liberals in their absolute mistrust of American capitalism, and in their emphasis on mutualism.

The word ‘anarchy’ comes from the Greek anarkhia, meaning contrary to authority or without a ruler, and was used in a derogatory sense until 1840, when it was adopted by Pierre-Joseph Proudhon to describe his political and social ideology. Proudhon argued that organization without government was both possible and desirable. In the evolution of political ideas, anarchism can be seen as an ultimate projection of both liberalism and socialism, and the differing strands of anarchist thought can be related to their emphasis on one or the other of these. Historically, anarchism arose not only as an explanation of the gulf between the rich and the poor in any community, and of the reason why the poor have been obliged to fight for their share of a common inheritance, but as a radical answer to the question ‘What went wrong?’ that followed the ultimate outcome of the French Revolution. It had ended not only with a reign of terror and the emergence of a newly rich ruling caste, but with a new adored emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte, strutting through his conquered territories. The anarchists and their precursors were unique on the political Left in affirming that workers and peasants, grasping the chance that arose to bring an end to centuries of exploitation and tyranny, were inevitably betrayed by the new class of politicians, whose first priority was to reestablish a centralized state power. After every revolutionary uprising, usually won at a heavy cost for ordinary populations, the new rulers had no hesitation in applying violence and terror, a secret police, and a professional army to maintain their control. For anarchists the state itself is the enemy, and they have applied the same interpretation to the outcome of every revolution of the 19th and 20th centuries. This is not merely because every state keeps a watchful and sometimes punitive eye on its dissidents, but because every state protects the privileges of the powerful. The mainstream of anarchist propaganda for more than a century has been anarchistcommunism, which argues that property in land, natural resources, and the means of production should be held in mutual control by local communities, federating for innumerable joint purposes with other communes. It differs from state socialism in opposing the concept of any central authority. Some anarchists prefer to distinguish between anarchist-communism and collectivist anarchism in order to stress the obviously desirable freedom of an individual or family to possess the resources needed for living, while not implying the right to own the resources needed by others. . . . There are, unsurprisingly, several traditions of individualist anarchism, one of them deriving from the ‘conscious egoism’ of the German writer Max Stirner (1806–56), and another from a remarkable series of 19th-century American figures who argued that in protecting our own autonomy and associating with others for common advantages, we are promoting the good of all. These thinkers differed from free-market liberals in their absolute mistrust of American capitalism, and in their emphasis on mutualism.

Few realise that the government of China, governing an empire of some 60 million people during the Tang dynasty (618–907), implemented a complex financial system that recognized grain, coins and textiles as money. . . . Coins did have certain advantages: they were durable, recognisable and provided a convenient medium of exchange, especially for smaller transactions. However, there were also disadvantages. A continuing shortage of copper meant that government mints could not produce enough coins for the entire empire, to the extent that for most of the dynasty’s history, coins constituted only a tenth of the money supply. One of the main objections to calls for taxes to be paid in coin was that peasant producers who could weave cloth or grow grain – the other two major currencies of the Tang – would not be able to produce coins, and therefore would not be able to pay their taxes. . . . As coins had advantages and disadvantages, so too did textiles. If in circulation for a long period of time, they could show signs of wear and tear. Stained, faded and torn bolts of textiles had less value than a brand new bolt. Furthermore, a full bolt had a particular value. If consumers cut textiles into smaller pieces to buy or sell something worth less than a full bolt, that, too, greatly lessened the value of the textiles. Unlike coins, textiles could not be used for small transactions; as an official noted, textiles could not “be exchanged by the foot and the inch” . . . But textiles had some advantages over coins. For a start, textile production was widespread and there were fewer problems with the supply of textiles. For large transactions, textiles weighed less than their equivalent in coins since a string of coins . . . could weigh as much as 4 kg. Furthermore, the dimensions of a bolt of silk held remarkably steady from the third to the tenth century: 56 cm wide and 12 m long . . . The values of different textiles were also more stable than the fluctuating values of coins. . . . The government also required the use of textiles for large transactions. Coins, on the other hand, were better suited for smaller transactions, and possibly, given the costs of transporting coins, for a more local usage. Grain, because it rotted easily, was not used nearly as much as coins and textiles, but taxpayers were required to pay grain to the government as a share of their annual tax obligations, and official salaries were expressed in weights of grain. . . . In actuality, our own currency system today has some similarities even as it is changing in front of our eyes. . . . We have cash – coins for small transactions like paying for parking at a meter, and banknotes for other items; cheques and debit/credit cards for other, often larger, types of payments. At the same time, we are shifting to electronic banking and making payments online. Some young people never use cash and do not know how to write a cheque . . .

Few realise that the government of China, governing an empire of some 60 million people during the Tang dynasty (618–907), implemented a complex financial system that recognized grain, coins and textiles as money. . . . Coins did have certain advantages: they were durable, recognisable and provided a convenient medium of exchange, especially for smaller transactions. However, there were also disadvantages. A continuing shortage of copper meant that government mints could not produce enough coins for the entire empire, to the extent that for most of the dynasty’s history, coins constituted only a tenth of the money supply. One of the main objections to calls for taxes to be paid in coin was that peasant producers who could weave cloth or grow grain – the other two major currencies of the Tang – would not be able to produce coins, and therefore would not be able to pay their taxes. . . . As coins had advantages and disadvantages, so too did textiles. If in circulation for a long period of time, they could show signs of wear and tear. Stained, faded and torn bolts of textiles had less value than a brand new bolt. Furthermore, a full bolt had a particular value. If consumers cut textiles into smaller pieces to buy or sell something worth less than a full bolt, that, too, greatly lessened the value of the textiles. Unlike coins, textiles could not be used for small transactions; as an official noted, textiles could not “be exchanged by the foot and the inch” . . . But textiles had some advantages over coins. For a start, textile production was widespread and there were fewer problems with the supply of textiles. For large transactions, textiles weighed less than their equivalent in coins since a string of coins . . . could weigh as much as 4 kg. Furthermore, the dimensions of a bolt of silk held remarkably steady from the third to the tenth century: 56 cm wide and 12 m long . . . The values of different textiles were also more stable than the fluctuating values of coins. . . . The government also required the use of textiles for large transactions. Coins, on the other hand, were better suited for smaller transactions, and possibly, given the costs of transporting coins, for a more local usage. Grain, because it rotted easily, was not used nearly as much as coins and textiles, but taxpayers were required to pay grain to the government as a share of their annual tax obligations, and official salaries were expressed in weights of grain. . . . In actuality, our own currency system today has some similarities even as it is changing in front of our eyes. . . . We have cash – coins for small transactions like paying for parking at a meter, and banknotes for other items; cheques and debit/credit cards for other, often larger, types of payments. At the same time, we are shifting to electronic banking and making payments online. Some young people never use cash and do not know how to write a cheque . . .

Few realise that the government of China, governing an empire of some 60 million people during the Tang dynasty (618–907), implemented a complex financial system that recognized grain, coins and textiles as money. . . . Coins did have certain advantages: they were durable, recognisable and provided a convenient medium of exchange, especially for smaller transactions. However, there were also disadvantages. A continuing shortage of copper meant that government mints could not produce enough coins for the entire empire, to the extent that for most of the dynasty’s history, coins constituted only a tenth of the money supply. One of the main objections to calls for taxes to be paid in coin was that peasant producers who could weave cloth or grow grain – the other two major currencies of the Tang – would not be able to produce coins, and therefore would not be able to pay their taxes. . . . As coins had advantages and disadvantages, so too did textiles. If in circulation for a long period of time, they could show signs of wear and tear. Stained, faded and torn bolts of textiles had less value than a brand new bolt. Furthermore, a full bolt had a particular value. If consumers cut textiles into smaller pieces to buy or sell something worth less than a full bolt, that, too, greatly lessened the value of the textiles. Unlike coins, textiles could not be used for small transactions; as an official noted, textiles could not “be exchanged by the foot and the inch” . . . But textiles had some advantages over coins. For a start, textile production was widespread and there were fewer problems with the supply of textiles. For large transactions, textiles weighed less than their equivalent in coins since a string of coins . . . could weigh as much as 4 kg. Furthermore, the dimensions of a bolt of silk held remarkably steady from the third to the tenth century: 56 cm wide and 12 m long . . . The values of different textiles were also more stable than the fluctuating values of coins. . . . The government also required the use of textiles for large transactions. Coins, on the other hand, were better suited for smaller transactions, and possibly, given the costs of transporting coins, for a more local usage. Grain, because it rotted easily, was not used nearly as much as coins and textiles, but taxpayers were required to pay grain to the government as a share of their annual tax obligations, and official salaries were expressed in weights of grain. . . . In actuality, our own currency system today has some similarities even as it is changing in front of our eyes. . . . We have cash – coins for small transactions like paying for parking at a meter, and banknotes for other items; cheques and debit/credit cards for other, often larger, types of payments. At the same time, we are shifting to electronic banking and making payments online. Some young people never use cash and do not know how to write a cheque . . .

Few realise that the government of China, governing an empire of some 60 million people during the Tang dynasty (618–907), implemented a complex financial system that recognized grain, coins and textiles as money. . . . Coins did have certain advantages: they were durable, recognisable and provided a convenient medium of exchange, especially for smaller transactions. However, there were also disadvantages. A continuing shortage of copper meant that government mints could not produce enough coins for the entire empire, to the extent that for most of the dynasty’s history, coins constituted only a tenth of the money supply. One of the main objections to calls for taxes to be paid in coin was that peasant producers who could weave cloth or grow grain – the other two major currencies of the Tang – would not be able to produce coins, and therefore would not be able to pay their taxes. . . . As coins had advantages and disadvantages, so too did textiles. If in circulation for a long period of time, they could show signs of wear and tear. Stained, faded and torn bolts of textiles had less value than a brand new bolt. Furthermore, a full bolt had a particular value. If consumers cut textiles into smaller pieces to buy or sell something worth less than a full bolt, that, too, greatly lessened the value of the textiles. Unlike coins, textiles could not be used for small transactions; as an official noted, textiles could not “be exchanged by the foot and the inch” . . . But textiles had some advantages over coins. For a start, textile production was widespread and there were fewer problems with the supply of textiles. For large transactions, textiles weighed less than their equivalent in coins since a string of coins . . . could weigh as much as 4 kg. Furthermore, the dimensions of a bolt of silk held remarkably steady from the third to the tenth century: 56 cm wide and 12 m long . . . The values of different textiles were also more stable than the fluctuating values of coins. . . . The government also required the use of textiles for large transactions. Coins, on the other hand, were better suited for smaller transactions, and possibly, given the costs of transporting coins, for a more local usage. Grain, because it rotted easily, was not used nearly as much as coins and textiles, but taxpayers were required to pay grain to the government as a share of their annual tax obligations, and official salaries were expressed in weights of grain. . . . In actuality, our own currency system today has some similarities even as it is changing in front of our eyes. . . . We have cash – coins for small transactions like paying for parking at a meter, and banknotes for other items; cheques and debit/credit cards for other, often larger, types of payments. At the same time, we are shifting to electronic banking and making payments online. Some young people never use cash and do not know how to write a cheque . . .

1000 patients currently suffering from a disease were selected to study the effectiveness of treatment of four types of medicines — A, B, C and D. These patients were first randomly assigned into two groups of equal size, called treatment group and control group. The patients in the control group were not treated with any of these medicines; instead they were given a dummy medicine, called placebo, containing only sugar and starch. The following information is known about the patients in the treatment group. a. A total of 250 patients were treated with type A medicine and a total of 210 patients were treated with type C medicine. b. 25 patients were treated with type A medicine only. 20 patients were treated with type C medicine only. 10 patients were treated with type D medicine only. c. 35 patients were treated with type A and type D medicines only. 20 patients were treated with type A and type B medicines only. 30 patients were treated with type A and type C medicines only. 20 patients were treated with type C and type D medicines only. d. 100 patients were treated with exactly three types of medicines. e. 40 patients were treated with medicines of types A, B and C, but not with medicines of type D. 20 patients were treated with medicines of types A, C and D, but not with medicines of type B. f. 50 patients were given all the four types of medicines. 75 patients were treated with exactly one type of medicine.

1000 patients currently suffering from a disease were selected to study the effectiveness of treatment of four types of medicines — A, B, C and D. These patients were first randomly assigned into two groups of equal size, called treatment group and control group. The patients in the control group were not treated with any of these medicines; instead they were given a dummy medicine, called placebo, containing only sugar and starch. The following information is known about the patients in the treatment group. a. A total of 250 patients were treated with type A medicine and a total of 210 patients were treated with type C medicine. b. 25 patients were treated with type A medicine only. 20 patients were treated with type C medicine only. 10 patients were treated with type D medicine only. c. 35 patients were treated with type A and type D medicines only. 20 patients were treated with type A and type B medicines only. 30 patients were treated with type A and type C medicines only. 20 patients were treated with type C and type D medicines only. d. 100 patients were treated with exactly three types of medicines. e. 40 patients were treated with medicines of types A, B and C, but not with medicines of type D. 20 patients were treated with medicines of types A, C and D, but not with medicines of type B. f. 50 patients were given all the four types of medicines. 75 patients were treated with exactly one type of medicine.

Four institutes, A, B, C, and D, had contracts with four vendors W, X, Y, and Z during the ten calendar years from 2010 to 2019. The contracts were either multi-year contracts running for several consecutive years or single-year contracts. No institute had more than one contract with the same vendor. However, in a calendar year, an institute may have had contracts with multiple vendors, and a vendor may have had contracts with multiple institutes. It is known that over the decade, the institutes each got into two contracts with two of these vendors, and each vendor got into two contracts with two of these institutes. The following facts are also known about these contracts. I. Vendor Z had at least one contract in every year. II. Vendor X had one or more contracts in every year up to 2015, but no contract in any year after that. III. Vendor Y had contracts in 2010 and 2019. Vendor W had contracts only in 2012. IV. There were five contracts in 2012. V. There were exactly four multi-year contracts. Institute B had a 7-year contract, D had a 4- year contract, and A and C had one 3-year contract each. The other four contracts were single year contracts. VI. Institute C had one or more contracts in 2012 but did not have any contract in 2011. VII. Institutes B and D each had exactly one contract in 2012. Institute D did not have any contract in 2010.

Four institutes, A, B, C, and D, had contracts with four vendors W, X, Y, and Z during the ten calendar years from 2010 to 2019. The contracts were either multi-year contracts running for several consecutive years or single-year contracts. No institute had more than one contract with the same vendor. However, in a calendar year, an institute may have had contracts with multiple vendors, and a vendor may have had contracts with multiple institutes. It is known that over the decade, the institutes each got into two contracts with two of these vendors, and each vendor got into two contracts with two of these institutes. The following facts are also known about these contracts. I. Vendor Z had at least one contract in every year. II. Vendor X had one or more contracts in every year up to 2015, but no contract in any year after that. III. Vendor Y had contracts in 2010 and 2019. Vendor W had contracts only in 2012. IV. There were five contracts in 2012. V. There were exactly four multi-year contracts. Institute B had a 7-year contract, D had a 4- year contract, and A and C had one 3-year contract each. The other four contracts were single year contracts. VI. Institute C had one or more contracts in 2012 but did not have any contract in 2011. VII. Institutes B and D each had exactly one contract in 2012. Institute D did not have any contract in 2010.

Four institutes, A, B, C, and D, had contracts with four vendors W, X, Y, and Z during the ten calendar years from 2010 to 2019. The contracts were either multi-year contracts running for several consecutive years or single-year contracts. No institute had more than one contract with the same vendor. However, in a calendar year, an institute may have had contracts with multiple vendors, and a vendor may have had contracts with multiple institutes. It is known that over the decade, the institutes each got into two contracts with two of these vendors, and each vendor got into two contracts with two of these institutes. The following facts are also known about these contracts. I. Vendor Z had at least one contract in every year. II. Vendor X had one or more contracts in every year up to 2015, but no contract in any year after that. III. Vendor Y had contracts in 2010 and 2019. Vendor W had contracts only in 2012. IV. There were five contracts in 2012. V. There were exactly four multi-year contracts. Institute B had a 7-year contract, D had a 4- year contract, and A and C had one 3-year contract each. The other four contracts were single year contracts. VI. Institute C had one or more contracts in 2012 but did not have any contract in 2011. VII. Institutes B and D each had exactly one contract in 2012. Institute D did not have any contract in 2010.

Four institutes, A, B, C, and D, had contracts with four vendors W, X, Y, and Z during the ten calendar years from 2010 to 2019. The contracts were either multi-year contracts running for several consecutive years or single-year contracts. No institute had more than one contract with the same vendor. However, in a calendar year, an institute may have had contracts with multiple vendors, and a vendor may have had contracts with multiple institutes. It is known that over the decade, the institutes each got into two contracts with two of these vendors, and each vendor got into two contracts with two of these institutes. The following facts are also known about these contracts. I. Vendor Z had at least one contract in every year. II. Vendor X had one or more contracts in every year up to 2015, but no contract in any year after that. III. Vendor Y had contracts in 2010 and 2019. Vendor W had contracts only in 2012. IV. There were five contracts in 2012. V. There were exactly four multi-year contracts. Institute B had a 7-year contract, D had a 4- year contract, and A and C had one 3-year contract each. The other four contracts were single year contracts. VI. Institute C had one or more contracts in 2012 but did not have any contract in 2011. VII. Institutes B and D each had exactly one contract in 2012. Institute D did not have any contract in 2010.

Four institutes, A, B, C, and D, had contracts with four vendors W, X, Y, and Z during the ten calendar years from 2010 to 2019. The contracts were either multi-year contracts running for several consecutive years or single-year contracts. No institute had more than one contract with the same vendor. However, in a calendar year, an institute may have had contracts with multiple vendors, and a vendor may have had contracts with multiple institutes. It is known that over the decade, the institutes each got into two contracts with two of these vendors, and each vendor got into two contracts with two of these institutes. The following facts are also known about these contracts. I. Vendor Z had at least one contract in every year. II. Vendor X had one or more contracts in every year up to 2015, but no contract in any year after that. III. Vendor Y had contracts in 2010 and 2019. Vendor W had contracts only in 2012. IV. There were five contracts in 2012. V. There were exactly four multi-year contracts. Institute B had a 7-year contract, D had a 4- year contract, and A and C had one 3-year contract each. The other four contracts were single year contracts. VI. Institute C had one or more contracts in 2012 but did not have any contract in 2011. VII. Institutes B and D each had exactly one contract in 2012. Institute D did not have any contract in 2010.

Four institutes, A, B, C, and D, had contracts with four vendors W, X, Y, and Z during the ten calendar years from 2010 to 2019. The contracts were either multi-year contracts running for several consecutive years or single-year contracts. No institute had more than one contract with the same vendor. However, in a calendar year, an institute may have had contracts with multiple vendors, and a vendor may have had contracts with multiple institutes. It is known that over the decade, the institutes each got into two contracts with two of these vendors, and each vendor got into two contracts with two of these institutes. The following facts are also known about these contracts. I. Vendor Z had at least one contract in every year. II. Vendor X had one or more contracts in every year up to 2015, but no contract in any year after that. III. Vendor Y had contracts in 2010 and 2019. Vendor W had contracts only in 2012. IV. There were five contracts in 2012. V. There were exactly four multi-year contracts. Institute B had a 7-year contract, D had a 4- year contract, and A and C had one 3-year contract each. The other four contracts were single year contracts. VI. Institute C had one or more contracts in 2012 but did not have any contract in 2011. VII. Institutes B and D each had exactly one contract in 2012. Institute D did not have any contract in 2010.

In a certain board examination, students were to appear for examination in five subjects: English, Hindi, Mathematics, Science and Social Science. Due to a certain emergency situation, a few of the examinations could not be conducted for some students. Hence, some students missed one examination and some others missed two examinations. Nobody missed more than two examinations. The board adopted the following policy for awarding marks to students. If a student appeared in all five examinations, then the marks awarded in each of the examinations were on the basis of the scores obtained by them in those examinations. If a student missed only one examination, then the marks awarded in that examination was the average of the best three among the four scores in the examinations they appeared for. If a student missed two examinations, then the marks awarded in each of these examinations was the average of the best two among the three scores in the examinations they appeared for. The marks obtained by six students in the examination are given in the table below. Each of them missed either one or two examinations.

In a certain board examination, students were to appear for examination in five subjects: English, Hindi, Mathematics, Science and Social Science. Due to a certain emergency situation, a few of the examinations could not be conducted for some students. Hence, some students missed one examination and some others missed two examinations. Nobody missed more than two examinations. The board adopted the following policy for awarding marks to students. If a student appeared in all five examinations, then the marks awarded in each of the examinations were on the basis of the scores obtained by them in those examinations. If a student missed only one examination, then the marks awarded in that examination was the average of the best three among the four scores in the examinations they appeared for. If a student missed two examinations, then the marks awarded in each of these examinations was the average of the best two among the three scores in the examinations they appeared for. The marks obtained by six students in the examination are given in the table below. Each of them missed either one or two examinations.

In a certain board examination, students were to appear for examination in five subjects: English, Hindi, Mathematics, Science and Social Science. Due to a certain emergency situation, a few of the examinations could not be conducted for some students. Hence, some students missed one examination and some others missed two examinations. Nobody missed more than two examinations. The board adopted the following policy for awarding marks to students. If a student appeared in all five examinations, then the marks awarded in each of the examinations were on the basis of the scores obtained by them in those examinations. If a student missed only one examination, then the marks awarded in that examination was the average of the best three among the four scores in the examinations they appeared for. If a student missed two examinations, then the marks awarded in each of these examinations was the average of the best two among the three scores in the examinations they appeared for. The marks obtained by six students in the examination are given in the table below. Each of them missed either one or two examinations.

In a certain board examination, students were to appear for examination in five subjects: English, Hindi, Mathematics, Science and Social Science. Due to a certain emergency situation, a few of the examinations could not be conducted for some students. Hence, some students missed one examination and some others missed two examinations. Nobody missed more than two examinations. The board adopted the following policy for awarding marks to students. If a student appeared in all five examinations, then the marks awarded in each of the examinations were on the basis of the scores obtained by them in those examinations. If a student missed only one examination, then the marks awarded in that examination was the average of the best three among the four scores in the examinations they appeared for. If a student missed two examinations, then the marks awarded in each of these examinations was the average of the best two among the three scores in the examinations they appeared for. The marks obtained by six students in the examination are given in the table below. Each of them missed either one or two examinations.

In a certain board examination, students were to appear for examination in five subjects: English, Hindi, Mathematics, Science and Social Science. Due to a certain emergency situation, a few of the examinations could not be conducted for some students. Hence, some students missed one examination and some others missed two examinations. Nobody missed more than two examinations. The board adopted the following policy for awarding marks to students. If a student appeared in all five examinations, then the marks awarded in each of the examinations were on the basis of the scores obtained by them in those examinations. If a student missed only one examination, then the marks awarded in that examination was the average of the best three among the four scores in the examinations they appeared for. If a student missed two examinations, then the marks awarded in each of these examinations was the average of the best two among the three scores in the examinations they appeared for. The marks obtained by six students in the examination are given in the table below. Each of them missed either one or two examinations.

In a certain board examination, students were to appear for examination in five subjects: English, Hindi, Mathematics, Science and Social Science. Due to a certain emergency situation, a few of the examinations could not be conducted for some students. Hence, some students missed one examination and some others missed two examinations. Nobody missed more than two examinations. The board adopted the following policy for awarding marks to students. If a student appeared in all five examinations, then the marks awarded in each of the examinations were on the basis of the scores obtained by them in those examinations. If a student missed only one examination, then the marks awarded in that examination was the average of the best three among the four scores in the examinations they appeared for. If a student missed two examinations, then the marks awarded in each of these examinations was the average of the best two among the three scores in the examinations they appeared for. The marks obtained by six students in the examination are given in the table below. Each of them missed either one or two examinations.

The local office of the APP-CAB company evaluates the performance of five cab drivers, Arun, Barun, Chandan, Damodaran, and Eman for their monthly payment based on ratings in five different parameters (P1 to P5) as given below: P1: timely arrival P2: behaviour P3: comfortable ride P4: driver's familiarity with the route P5: value for money Based on feedback from the customers, the office assigns a rating from 1 to 5 in each of these parameters. Each rating is an integer from a low value of 1 to a high value of 5. The final rating of a driver is the average of his ratings in these five parameters. The monthly payment of the drivers has two parts – a fixed payment and final rating-based bonus. If a driver gets a rating of 1 in any of the parameters, he is not eligible to get bonus. To be eligible for bonus a driver also needs to get a rating of five in at least one of the parameters. The partial information related to the ratings of the drivers in different parameters and the monthly payment structure (in rupees) is given in the table below:

The local office of the APP-CAB company evaluates the performance of five cab drivers, Arun, Barun, Chandan, Damodaran, and Eman for their monthly payment based on ratings in five different parameters (P1 to P5) as given below: P1: timely arrival P2: behaviour P3: comfortable ride P4: driver's familiarity with the route P5: value for money Based on feedback from the customers, the office assigns a rating from 1 to 5 in each of these parameters. Each rating is an integer from a low value of 1 to a high value of 5. The final rating of a driver is the average of his ratings in these five parameters. The monthly payment of the drivers has two parts – a fixed payment and final rating-based bonus. If a driver gets a rating of 1 in any of the parameters, he is not eligible to get bonus. To be eligible for bonus a driver also needs to get a rating of five in at least one of the parameters. The partial information related to the ratings of the drivers in different parameters and the monthly payment structure (in rupees) is given in the table below:

The local office of the APP-CAB company evaluates the performance of five cab drivers, Arun, Barun, Chandan, Damodaran, and Eman for their monthly payment based on ratings in five different parameters (P1 to P5) as given below: P1: timely arrival P2: behaviour P3: comfortable ride P4: driver's familiarity with the route P5: value for money Based on feedback from the customers, the office assigns a rating from 1 to 5 in each of these parameters. Each rating is an integer from a low value of 1 to a high value of 5. The final rating of a driver is the average of his ratings in these five parameters. The monthly payment of the drivers has two parts – a fixed payment and final rating-based bonus. If a driver gets a rating of 1 in any of the parameters, he is not eligible to get bonus. To be eligible for bonus a driver also needs to get a rating of five in at least one of the parameters. The partial information related to the ratings of the drivers in different parameters and the monthly payment structure (in rupees) is given in the table below:

The local office of the APP-CAB company evaluates the performance of five cab drivers, Arun, Barun, Chandan, Damodaran, and Eman for their monthly payment based on ratings in five different parameters (P1 to P5) as given below: P1: timely arrival P2: behaviour P3: comfortable ride P4: driver's familiarity with the route P5: value for money Based on feedback from the customers, the office assigns a rating from 1 to 5 in each of these parameters. Each rating is an integer from a low value of 1 to a high value of 5. The final rating of a driver is the average of his ratings in these five parameters. The monthly payment of the drivers has two parts – a fixed payment and final rating-based bonus. If a driver gets a rating of 1 in any of the parameters, he is not eligible to get bonus. To be eligible for bonus a driver also needs to get a rating of five in at least one of the parameters. The partial information related to the ratings of the drivers in different parameters and the monthly payment structure (in rupees) is given in the table below:

Ten musicians (A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I and J) are experts in at least one of the following three percussion instruments: tabla, mridangam, and ghatam. Among them, three are experts in tabla but not in mridangam or ghatam, another three are experts in mridangam but not in tabla or ghatam, and one is an expert in ghatam but not in tabla or mridangam. Further, two are experts in tabla and mridangam but not in ghatam, and one is an expert in tabla and ghatam but not in mridangam. The following facts are known about these ten musicians. 1. Both A and B are experts in mridangam, but only one of them is also an expert in tabla. 2. D is an expert in both tabla and ghatam. 3. Both F and G are experts in tabla, but only one of them is also an expert in mridangam. 4. Neither I nor J is an expert in tabla. 5. Neither H nor I is an expert in mridangam, but only one of them is an expert in ghatam.

Ten musicians (A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I and J) are experts in at least one of the following three percussion instruments: tabla, mridangam, and ghatam. Among them, three are experts in tabla but not in mridangam or ghatam, another three are experts in mridangam but not in tabla or ghatam, and one is an expert in ghatam but not in tabla or mridangam. Further, two are experts in tabla and mridangam but not in ghatam, and one is an expert in tabla and ghatam but not in mridangam. The following facts are known about these ten musicians. 1. Both A and B are experts in mridangam, but only one of them is also an expert in tabla. 2. D is an expert in both tabla and ghatam. 3. Both F and G are experts in tabla, but only one of them is also an expert in mridangam. 4. Neither I nor J is an expert in tabla. 5. Neither H nor I is an expert in mridangam, but only one of them is an expert in ghatam.

Ten musicians (A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I and J) are experts in at least one of the following three percussion instruments: tabla, mridangam, and ghatam. Among them, three are experts in tabla but not in mridangam or ghatam, another three are experts in mridangam but not in tabla or ghatam, and one is an expert in ghatam but not in tabla or mridangam. Further, two are experts in tabla and mridangam but not in ghatam, and one is an expert in tabla and ghatam but not in mridangam. The following facts are known about these ten musicians. 1. Both A and B are experts in mridangam, but only one of them is also an expert in tabla. 2. D is an expert in both tabla and ghatam. 3. Both F and G are experts in tabla, but only one of them is also an expert in mridangam. 4. Neither I nor J is an expert in tabla. 5. Neither H nor I is an expert in mridangam, but only one of them is an expert in ghatam.

Ten musicians (A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I and J) are experts in at least one of the following three percussion instruments: tabla, mridangam, and ghatam. Among them, three are experts in tabla but not in mridangam or ghatam, another three are experts in mridangam but not in tabla or ghatam, and one is an expert in ghatam but not in tabla or mridangam. Further, two are experts in tabla and mridangam but not in ghatam, and one is an expert in tabla and ghatam but not in mridangam. The following facts are known about these ten musicians. 1. Both A and B are experts in mridangam, but only one of them is also an expert in tabla. 2. D is an expert in both tabla and ghatam. 3. Both F and G are experts in tabla, but only one of them is also an expert in mridangam. 4. Neither I nor J is an expert in tabla. 5. Neither H nor I is an expert in mridangam, but only one of them is an expert in ghatam.