- ID
- 3324184
- Banca
- FUNDEP (Gestão de Concursos)
- Órgão
- Prefeitura de Uberlândia - MG
- Ano
- 2019
- Provas
- Disciplina
- Inglês
- Assuntos
INSTRUCTIONS: Read the text carefully and then mark
the alternatives that answer the questions or complete
the sentences presented after it.
TEXT III
The cab had arrived ten minutes late, then had got stuck
in a monumental traffic jam on Charing Cross Road.
‘Sorry, love, nothing doing,’ the driver had said. Joanna
had looked at her watch, chucked a ten-pound note at
him and jumped out of the cab. As she’d hared through
the streets towards Covent Garden, her chest laboring
and her nose streaming, she’d wondered whether life
could get any worse.
Joanna was snapped out of her reverie as the
congregation suddenly ceased their chatter. She opened
her eyes and turned round as Sir James Harrison’s family
members began to file into the church.
Leading the party was Charles Harrison, Sir James’s only
child, now well into his sixties. He lived in Los Angeles,
and was an acclaimed director of big-budget action films
filled with special effects. She vaguely remembered that
he had won an Oscar some time ago, but his films weren’t
the kind she usually went to see.
By Charles Harrison’s side was Zoe Harrison, his
daughter. As Alec had hoped, Zoe looked stunning in a
fitted black suit with a short skirt that showed her long
legs, and her hair was pulled back in a sleek chignon
that set off her classic English-rose beauty to perfection.
She was an actress, whose film career was on the rise,
and Matthew had been mad about her. He always said
Zoe reminded him of Grace Kelly his dream woman,
apparently – leading Joanna to wonder why Matthew
was going out with a dark-eyed, gangly brunette such
as herself. She swallowed a lump in her throat, betting
that Winnie the Pooh hot-water bottle that his ‘Samantha”
was a petite blonde.
Holding Zoe Harrison’s hand was a young boy of
around nine or ten, looking uncomfortable in a black
suit and tie: Zoe’s son Jamie Harrison, named after his
great-grandfather. Zoe had given birth to Jamie when she
was only nineteen and still refused to name the father. Sir
James had loyally defended his granddaughter and her
decision to both have the baby and to remain silent about
Jamie’s paternity.
Joanna thought how alike Jamie and his mother were:
the same fine features, a milk and rose complexion, and
huge blue eyes. Zoe Harrison kept him away from the
cameras as much as possible – if Steve had got a shot
of mother and son together, it would probably make the
front page tomorrow morning.
Behind them came Marcus Harrison, Zoe’s brother.
Joanna watched him as he drew level with her pew.
Even with her thoughts still on Matthew, she had to admit
Marcus Harrison was a serious ‘hottie’, as her fellow
reporter Alice would say. Joanna recognised him from
the gossip columns – most recently squiring a blonde
British socialite with a triple-barreled surname. As dark
as his sister was fair, but sharing the same blue eyes,
Marcus carried himself with louche confidence. His hair
almost touched his shoulders and, wearing a crumpled
black jacket and a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck,
he oozed charisma. Joanna dragged her gaze away
from him. Next time, she thought firmly, I’m going for a
middle-aged man who likes bird watching and stamp
collecting. She struggled to recall what Marcus Harrison
did for a living – a fledgling film producer, she thought.
Well, he certainly looked the part.
‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen’. The vicar spoke
from the pulpit, a large picture of Sir James Harrison in
front of him, surrounded with wreaths of white roses.
‘Sir James’s family welcomes you all here and thanks
you for coming to pay tribute to a friend, a colleague, a
father, grandfather and great-grandfather, and perhaps
the finest actor of this century. For those of us who had
the good fortune to know him well, it will not come as a
surprise that Sir James was adamant that this was not to
be a sombre occasion, but a celebration. Both his family
and I have honoured his wishes. Therefore, we start with
Sir James’s favourite hymn “I Vow to Thee My Country”.
Please stand’.
RILEY, Lucinda. The Love Letter. London: Pan Books, 2018,
p. 13-15.
Read the text again carefully and then mark the alternative that contradicts it.