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The snow was falling, and the Cat's fur was stiffly pointed with it, but he was imperturbable. He sat crouched, ready for the death-spring, as he had sat for hours. It was night but that made no difference, all times were as one to the Cat when he was in wait for prey. Then, too, he was under no constraint of human will, for he was living alone that winter. Nowhere in the world was any voice calling him; on no hearth was there a waiting dish. He was quite free except for his own desires, which tyrannized over him when unsatisfied as now. The Cat was very hungry. almost famished, in fact. For days the weather had been very bitter...and the Cat's long hunt had availed him nothing. But he waited with the inconceivable patience and persistency of his race; besides, he was certain. The Cat was a creature of steep as the wall of a cathedral. He had often looked with wonder at the rock, and mauled bitterly and resentfully as man does in the face of a forbidding Providence. At his left was the sheer precipice. Behind him...was the frozen perpendicular wall of a mountain stream. Before him was the way to his home. When the rabbit came out, she was trapped; her little cloven feet could not scale such unbroken steeps. So, the Cat waited. The tangle of trees and bushes clinging to the mountain-side with a stern clutch of roots, the prostrate trunks and branches, the vines embracing everything with strong knots and coils of growth, had a curious effect, as of things which had whirled for ages in a current of raging fiercest points of onset. It was as if ice needles pricked his skin through his beautiful thick fur, but he never faltered and never once cried. He had nothing to gain from crying, and everything to lose; the rabbit would hear him cry and know he was waiting.[Excerpts from a Short story, , ,The Cat" by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman]
Direction for Q.No : 11 - 15
Read the passage given below and answer the question that follows: The snow was falling, and the Cat's fur was stiffly pointed with it, but he was imperturbable. He sat crouched, ready for the death-spring, as he had sat for hours. It was night but that made no difference, all times were as one to the Cat when he was in wait for prey. Then, too, he was under no constraint of human will, for he was living alone that winter. Nowhere in the world was any voice calling him; on no hearth was there a waiting dish. He was quite free except for his own desires, which tyrannized over him when unsatisfied as now. The Cat was very hungry. almost famished, in fact. For days the weather had been very bitter...and the Cat's long hunt had availed him nothing. But he waited with the inconceivable patience and persistency of his race; besides, he was certain. The Cat was a creature of steep as the wall of a cathedral. He had often looked with wonder at the rock, and mauled bitterly and resentfully as man does in the face of a forbidding Providence. At his left was the sheer precipice. Behind him...was the frozen perpendicular wall of a mountain stream. Before him was the way to his home. When the rabbit came out, she was trapped; her little cloven feet could not scale such unbroken steeps. So, the Cat waited. The tangle of trees and bushes clinging to the mountain-side with a stern clutch of roots, the prostrate trunks and branches, the vines embracing everything with strong knots and coils of growth, had a curious effect, as of things which had whirled for ages in a current of raging fiercest points of onset. It was as if ice needles pricked his skin through his beautiful thick fur, but he never faltered and never once cried. He had nothing to gain from crying, and everything to lose; the rabbit would hear him cry and know he was waiting.[Excerpts from a Short story, , ,The Cat" by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman]
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