SAT Reading - Khan Diagnostic Quiz level 4 - reading 2

This was the first communication that had come from her

aunt in Rachel's lifetime.
"I think your aunt has forgiven me at last," her father said
as he passed the letter across the table.
₅ Rachel looked first at the signature. It seemed strange to

see her own name there. It was as if her individuality, her

very identity, was impugned by the fact that there should be

two Rachel Deanes. Moreover there was a likeness between

her aunt's autograph and her own, a characteristic turn in the
₁₀ looping of the letters, a hint of the same decisiveness and

precision. If Rachel had been educated fifty years earlier, she

might have written her name in just that manner.
"You're very like her in some ways," her father said, as she

still stared at the signature.
₁₅ Rachel's eyelids drooped and her expression indicated a

faint, suppressed intolerance of her father's remark. He said

the same things so often, and in so precisely the same tone,

that she had formed a habit of automatically rejecting the

truth of certain of his statements. He had always appeared to
₂₀ her as senile. He had been over fifty when she was born, and

ever since she could remember she had doubted the

correctness of his information. She was, she had often told

herself, "a born sceptic; an ultra-modern."She had a certain

veneration for the more distant past, but none for her father's
₂₅ period. She had long since condemned alike the ethic and the

aesthetic of the nineteenth century as represented by her

father's opinions; so that, even now, when his familiar

comment coincided so queerly with her own thought, she

instinctively disbelieved him. Yet, as always, she was gentle
₃₀ in her answer. She condescended from the heights of her

youth and vigour to pity him.
"I should think you must almost have forgotten what

Aunt Rachel was like, dear," she said. "How many years is it

since you've seen her?"
₃₅ "More than forty," her father said, ruminating profoundly.

"We disagreed, we invariably disagreed. Rachel always

prided herself on being so modern. She read Darwin and

things like that. Altogether beyond me, I admit. Still, it seems

to me that the old truths have endured, and will, in spite of
₄₀ all-in spite of all."
Rachel straightened her shoulders and lifted her head;

there was disdain in her face, but none in her voice as she

replied: "And so it seems that she wants to see me."

She was excited at the thought of meeting this traditional,
₄₅ almost mythical aunt whom she had so often heard about.

Sometimes she had wondered if the personality of this

remarkable relative had not been a figment of her father's

imagination, long pondered, and reconstructed out of half-

forgotten material. But this letter of hers that now lay on the
₅₀ breakfast table was admirable in character. There was

something of condescension and intolerance expressed in the

very restraint of its tone. She had written a kindly letter, but

the kindliness had an air of pity. It was all consistent enough

with what her father had told her.
₅₅ Mr. Deane came out of his reminiscences with a sigh.
"Yes, yes; she wants to see you, my dear," he said. "I think

you had better accept this invitation to stay with her. She is

rich, almost wealthy; and I, as you know, have practically

nothing to leave you—practically nothing. If she took a fancy
₆₀ to you..."
He sighed again, and Rachel knew that for the hundredth

time he was regretting his own past weakness. He had been

so foolish in money matters, frittering away his once

considerable capital in aimless speculations.
₆₅ "I'll certainly go, if you can spare me for a whole

fortnight," Rachel said. "I'm all curiosity to see this

remarkable aunt. By the way, how old is she?"
"There were only fifteen months between us," Mr. Deane

said, "so she must be,—dear me, yes;—she must be seventy-
₇₀ three. Dear, dear. Fancy Rachel being seventy-three! I always

think of her as being about your age. It seems so absurd to

think of her as old…."
He continued his reflections, but Rachel was not listening.

He was asking for the understanding of the young; quite
₇₅ unaware of his senility, reaching out over half a century to try

to touch the comprehension and sympathy of his daughter.

But she was already bent on her own adventure, looking

forward eagerly to a visit to London that promised delights

other than the inspection of the mysterious, traditional aunt
₈₀ whom she had so long known by report.