LSAT Practice Test 3 – Reading Comprehension

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1 / 28

1. Which one of the following best expresses the main idea of the passage?


Until recently many astronomers believed that
asteroids travel about the solar system
unaccompanied by satellites. These astronomers
assumed this because they considered asteroid
(5) satellite systems inherently unstable. Theoreticians
could have told them otherwise: even minuscule
bodies in the solar system can theoretically have
satellites, as long as everything is in proper scale. If a
bowling ball were orbiting about the Sun in the
(10) asteroid belt, it could have a pebble orbiting it as far
away as a few hundred radii (or about 50 meters)
without losing the pebble to the Sun’s gravitational
pull.


Observations now suggest that asteroid satellites
(15) may exist not only in theory but also in reality.
Several astronomers have noticed, while watching
asteroids pass briefly in front of stars, that something
besides the known asteroid sometimes blocks out the
star as well. Is that something a satellite?


(20) The most convincing such report concerns the
asteroid Herculina, which was due to pass in front of
a star in 1978. Astronomers waiting for the predicted
event found not just one occultation, or eclipse, of the
star, but two distinct drops in brightness. One was
(25) the predicted occultation, exactly on time. The other,
lasting about five seconds, preceded the predicted
event by about two minutes. The presence of a
secondary body near Herculina thus seemed strongly
indicated. To cause the secondary occultation, an
(30) unseen satellite would have to be about 45 kilometers
in diameter, a quarter of the size of Herculina, and at
a distance of 990 kilometers from the asteroid at the
time. These values are within theoretical bounds, and
such an asteroid-satellite pair could be stable.


(35) With the Herculina event, apparent secondary
occultations became “respectable”—and more
commonly reported. In fact, so common did reports
of secondary events become that they are now simply
too numerous for all of them to be accurate. Even if
(40) every asteroid has as many satellites as can be fitted
around it without an undue number of collisions, only
one in every hundred primary occultations would be
accompanied by a secondary event (one in every
thousand if asteroidal satellite systems resembled
(45) those of the planets).


Yet even astronomers who find the case for
asteroid satellites unconvincing at present say they
would change their minds if a photoelectric record
were made of a well-behaved secondary event. By
(50) “well-behaved” they mean that during occultation
the observed brightness must drop sharply as the star
winks out and must rise sharply as it reappears from
behind the obstructing object, but the brightness
during the secondary occultation must drop to that of
(55) the asteroid, no higher and no lower. This would
make it extremely unlikely that an airplane or a
glitch in the instruments was masquerading as an
occulting body.

2 / 28

2. Which one of the following is mentioned in the passage as providing evidence that Herculina has a satellite?


Until recently many astronomers believed that
asteroids travel about the solar system
unaccompanied by satellites. These astronomers
assumed this because they considered asteroid
(5) satellite systems inherently unstable. Theoreticians
could have told them otherwise: even minuscule
bodies in the solar system can theoretically have
satellites, as long as everything is in proper scale. If a
bowling ball were orbiting about the Sun in the
(10) asteroid belt, it could have a pebble orbiting it as far
away as a few hundred radii (or about 50 meters)
without losing the pebble to the Sun’s gravitational
pull.


Observations now suggest that asteroid satellites
(15) may exist not only in theory but also in reality.
Several astronomers have noticed, while watching
asteroids pass briefly in front of stars, that something
besides the known asteroid sometimes blocks out the
star as well. Is that something a satellite?


(20) The most convincing such report concerns the
asteroid Herculina, which was due to pass in front of
a star in 1978. Astronomers waiting for the predicted
event found not just one occultation, or eclipse, of the
star, but two distinct drops in brightness. One was
(25) the predicted occultation, exactly on time. The other,
lasting about five seconds, preceded the predicted
event by about two minutes. The presence of a
secondary body near Herculina thus seemed strongly
indicated. To cause the secondary occultation, an
(30) unseen satellite would have to be about 45 kilometers
in diameter, a quarter of the size of Herculina, and at
a distance of 990 kilometers from the asteroid at the
time. These values are within theoretical bounds, and
such an asteroid-satellite pair could be stable.


(35) With the Herculina event, apparent secondary
occultations became “respectable”—and more
commonly reported. In fact, so common did reports
of secondary events become that they are now simply
too numerous for all of them to be accurate. Even if
(40) every asteroid has as many satellites as can be fitted
around it without an undue number of collisions, only
one in every hundred primary occultations would be
accompanied by a secondary event (one in every
thousand if asteroidal satellite systems resembled
(45) those of the planets).


Yet even astronomers who find the case for
asteroid satellites unconvincing at present say they
would change their minds if a photoelectric record
were made of a well-behaved secondary event. By
(50) “well-behaved” they mean that during occultation
the observed brightness must drop sharply as the star
winks out and must rise sharply as it reappears from
behind the obstructing object, but the brightness
during the secondary occultation must drop to that of
(55) the asteroid, no higher and no lower. This would
make it extremely unlikely that an airplane or a
glitch in the instruments was masquerading as an
occulting body.

3 / 28

3. According to the passage, the attitude of astronomers toward asteroid satellites since the Herculina event can best be described as


Until recently many astronomers believed that
asteroids travel about the solar system
unaccompanied by satellites. These astronomers
assumed this because they considered asteroid
(5) satellite systems inherently unstable. Theoreticians
could have told them otherwise: even minuscule
bodies in the solar system can theoretically have
satellites, as long as everything is in proper scale. If a
bowling ball were orbiting about the Sun in the
(10) asteroid belt, it could have a pebble orbiting it as far
away as a few hundred radii (or about 50 meters)
without losing the pebble to the Sun’s gravitational
pull.


Observations now suggest that asteroid satellites
(15) may exist not only in theory but also in reality.
Several astronomers have noticed, while watching
asteroids pass briefly in front of stars, that something
besides the known asteroid sometimes blocks out the
star as well. Is that something a satellite?


(20) The most convincing such report concerns the
asteroid Herculina, which was due to pass in front of
a star in 1978. Astronomers waiting for the predicted
event found not just one occultation, or eclipse, of the
star, but two distinct drops in brightness. One was
(25) the predicted occultation, exactly on time. The other,
lasting about five seconds, preceded the predicted
event by about two minutes. The presence of a
secondary body near Herculina thus seemed strongly
indicated. To cause the secondary occultation, an
(30) unseen satellite would have to be about 45 kilometers
in diameter, a quarter of the size of Herculina, and at
a distance of 990 kilometers from the asteroid at the
time. These values are within theoretical bounds, and
such an asteroid-satellite pair could be stable.


(35) With the Herculina event, apparent secondary
occultations became “respectable”—and more
commonly reported. In fact, so common did reports
of secondary events become that they are now simply
too numerous for all of them to be accurate. Even if
(40) every asteroid has as many satellites as can be fitted
around it without an undue number of collisions, only
one in every hundred primary occultations would be
accompanied by a secondary event (one in every
thousand if asteroidal satellite systems resembled
(45) those of the planets).


Yet even astronomers who find the case for
asteroid satellites unconvincing at present say they
would change their minds if a photoelectric record
were made of a well-behaved secondary event. By
(50) “well-behaved” they mean that during occultation
the observed brightness must drop sharply as the star
winks out and must rise sharply as it reappears from
behind the obstructing object, but the brightness
during the secondary occultation must drop to that of
(55) the asteroid, no higher and no lower. This would
make it extremely unlikely that an airplane or a
glitch in the instruments was masquerading as an
occulting body.

4 / 28

4. The author implies that which one of the following was true prior to reports of the Herculina event?


Until recently many astronomers believed that
asteroids travel about the solar system
unaccompanied by satellites. These astronomers
assumed this because they considered asteroid
(5) satellite systems inherently unstable. Theoreticians
could have told them otherwise: even minuscule
bodies in the solar system can theoretically have
satellites, as long as everything is in proper scale. If a
bowling ball were orbiting about the Sun in the
(10) asteroid belt, it could have a pebble orbiting it as far
away as a few hundred radii (or about 50 meters)
without losing the pebble to the Sun’s gravitational
pull.


Observations now suggest that asteroid satellites
(15) may exist not only in theory but also in reality.
Several astronomers have noticed, while watching
asteroids pass briefly in front of stars, that something
besides the known asteroid sometimes blocks out the
star as well. Is that something a satellite?


(20) The most convincing such report concerns the
asteroid Herculina, which was due to pass in front of
a star in 1978. Astronomers waiting for the predicted
event found not just one occultation, or eclipse, of the
star, but two distinct drops in brightness. One was
(25) the predicted occultation, exactly on time. The other,
lasting about five seconds, preceded the predicted
event by about two minutes. The presence of a
secondary body near Herculina thus seemed strongly
indicated. To cause the secondary occultation, an
(30) unseen satellite would have to be about 45 kilometers
in diameter, a quarter of the size of Herculina, and at
a distance of 990 kilometers from the asteroid at the
time. These values are within theoretical bounds, and
such an asteroid-satellite pair could be stable.


(35) With the Herculina event, apparent secondary
occultations became “respectable”—and more
commonly reported. In fact, so common did reports
of secondary events become that they are now simply
too numerous for all of them to be accurate. Even if
(40) every asteroid has as many satellites as can be fitted
around it without an undue number of collisions, only
one in every hundred primary occultations would be
accompanied by a secondary event (one in every
thousand if asteroidal satellite systems resembled
(45) those of the planets).


Yet even astronomers who find the case for
asteroid satellites unconvincing at present say they
would change their minds if a photoelectric record
were made of a well-behaved secondary event. By
(50) “well-behaved” they mean that during occultation
the observed brightness must drop sharply as the star
winks out and must rise sharply as it reappears from
behind the obstructing object, but the brightness
during the secondary occultation must drop to that of
(55) the asteroid, no higher and no lower. This would
make it extremely unlikely that an airplane or a
glitch in the instruments was masquerading as an
occulting body.

5 / 28

5. The information presented in the passage implies which one of the following about the frequency of reports of secondary occultations after the Herculina event?


Until recently many astronomers believed that
asteroids travel about the solar system
unaccompanied by satellites. These astronomers
assumed this because they considered asteroid
(5) satellite systems inherently unstable. Theoreticians
could have told them otherwise: even minuscule
bodies in the solar system can theoretically have
satellites, as long as everything is in proper scale. If a
bowling ball were orbiting about the Sun in the
(10) asteroid belt, it could have a pebble orbiting it as far
away as a few hundred radii (or about 50 meters)
without losing the pebble to the Sun’s gravitational
pull.


Observations now suggest that asteroid satellites
(15) may exist not only in theory but also in reality.
Several astronomers have noticed, while watching
asteroids pass briefly in front of stars, that something
besides the known asteroid sometimes blocks out the
star as well. Is that something a satellite?


(20) The most convincing such report concerns the
asteroid Herculina, which was due to pass in front of
a star in 1978. Astronomers waiting for the predicted
event found not just one occultation, or eclipse, of the
star, but two distinct drops in brightness. One was
(25) the predicted occultation, exactly on time. The other,
lasting about five seconds, preceded the predicted
event by about two minutes. The presence of a
secondary body near Herculina thus seemed strongly
indicated. To cause the secondary occultation, an
(30) unseen satellite would have to be about 45 kilometers
in diameter, a quarter of the size of Herculina, and at
a distance of 990 kilometers from the asteroid at the
time. These values are within theoretical bounds, and
such an asteroid-satellite pair could be stable.


(35) With the Herculina event, apparent secondary
occultations became “respectable”—and more
commonly reported. In fact, so common did reports
of secondary events become that they are now simply
too numerous for all of them to be accurate. Even if
(40) every asteroid has as many satellites as can be fitted
around it without an undue number of collisions, only
one in every hundred primary occultations would be
accompanied by a secondary event (one in every
thousand if asteroidal satellite systems resembled
(45) those of the planets).


Yet even astronomers who find the case for
asteroid satellites unconvincing at present say they
would change their minds if a photoelectric record
were made of a well-behaved secondary event. By
(50) “well-behaved” they mean that during occultation
the observed brightness must drop sharply as the star
winks out and must rise sharply as it reappears from
behind the obstructing object, but the brightness
during the secondary occultation must drop to that of
(55) the asteroid, no higher and no lower. This would
make it extremely unlikely that an airplane or a
glitch in the instruments was masquerading as an
occulting body.

6 / 28

6. The primary purpose of the passage is to


Until recently many astronomers believed that
asteroids travel about the solar system
unaccompanied by satellites. These astronomers
assumed this because they considered asteroid
(5) satellite systems inherently unstable. Theoreticians
could have told them otherwise: even minuscule
bodies in the solar system can theoretically have
satellites, as long as everything is in proper scale. If a
bowling ball were orbiting about the Sun in the
(10) asteroid belt, it could have a pebble orbiting it as far
away as a few hundred radii (or about 50 meters)
without losing the pebble to the Sun’s gravitational
pull.


Observations now suggest that asteroid satellites
(15) may exist not only in theory but also in reality.
Several astronomers have noticed, while watching
asteroids pass briefly in front of stars, that something
besides the known asteroid sometimes blocks out the
star as well. Is that something a satellite?


(20) The most convincing such report concerns the
asteroid Herculina, which was due to pass in front of
a star in 1978. Astronomers waiting for the predicted
event found not just one occultation, or eclipse, of the
star, but two distinct drops in brightness. One was
(25) the predicted occultation, exactly on time. The other,
lasting about five seconds, preceded the predicted
event by about two minutes. The presence of a
secondary body near Herculina thus seemed strongly
indicated. To cause the secondary occultation, an
(30) unseen satellite would have to be about 45 kilometers
in diameter, a quarter of the size of Herculina, and at
a distance of 990 kilometers from the asteroid at the
time. These values are within theoretical bounds, and
such an asteroid-satellite pair could be stable.


(35) With the Herculina event, apparent secondary
occultations became “respectable”—and more
commonly reported. In fact, so common did reports
of secondary events become that they are now simply
too numerous for all of them to be accurate. Even if
(40) every asteroid has as many satellites as can be fitted
around it without an undue number of collisions, only
one in every hundred primary occultations would be
accompanied by a secondary event (one in every
thousand if asteroidal satellite systems resembled
(45) those of the planets).


Yet even astronomers who find the case for
asteroid satellites unconvincing at present say they
would change their minds if a photoelectric record
were made of a well-behaved secondary event. By
(50) “well-behaved” they mean that during occultation
the observed brightness must drop sharply as the star
winks out and must rise sharply as it reappears from
behind the obstructing object, but the brightness
during the secondary occultation must drop to that of
(55) the asteroid, no higher and no lower. This would
make it extremely unlikely that an airplane or a
glitch in the instruments was masquerading as an
occulting body.

7 / 28

7. The passage suggests that which one of the following would most help to resolve the question of whether asteroids have satellites?


Until recently many astronomers believed that
asteroids travel about the solar system
unaccompanied by satellites. These astronomers
assumed this because they considered asteroid
(5) satellite systems inherently unstable. Theoreticians
could have told them otherwise: even minuscule
bodies in the solar system can theoretically have
satellites, as long as everything is in proper scale. If a
bowling ball were orbiting about the Sun in the
(10) asteroid belt, it could have a pebble orbiting it as far
away as a few hundred radii (or about 50 meters)
without losing the pebble to the Sun’s gravitational
pull.


Observations now suggest that asteroid satellites
(15) may exist not only in theory but also in reality.
Several astronomers have noticed, while watching
asteroids pass briefly in front of stars, that something
besides the known asteroid sometimes blocks out the
star as well. Is that something a satellite?


(20) The most convincing such report concerns the
asteroid Herculina, which was due to pass in front of
a star in 1978. Astronomers waiting for the predicted
event found not just one occultation, or eclipse, of the
star, but two distinct drops in brightness. One was
(25) the predicted occultation, exactly on time. The other,
lasting about five seconds, preceded the predicted
event by about two minutes. The presence of a
secondary body near Herculina thus seemed strongly
indicated. To cause the secondary occultation, an
(30) unseen satellite would have to be about 45 kilometers
in diameter, a quarter of the size of Herculina, and at
a distance of 990 kilometers from the asteroid at the
time. These values are within theoretical bounds, and
such an asteroid-satellite pair could be stable.


(35) With the Herculina event, apparent secondary
occultations became “respectable”—and more
commonly reported. In fact, so common did reports
of secondary events become that they are now simply
too numerous for all of them to be accurate. Even if
(40) every asteroid has as many satellites as can be fitted
around it without an undue number of collisions, only
one in every hundred primary occultations would be
accompanied by a secondary event (one in every
thousand if asteroidal satellite systems resembled
(45) those of the planets).


Yet even astronomers who find the case for
asteroid satellites unconvincing at present say they
would change their minds if a photoelectric record
were made of a well-behaved secondary event. By
(50) “well-behaved” they mean that during occultation
the observed brightness must drop sharply as the star
winks out and must rise sharply as it reappears from
behind the obstructing object, but the brightness
during the secondary occultation must drop to that of
(55) the asteroid, no higher and no lower. This would
make it extremely unlikely that an airplane or a
glitch in the instruments was masquerading as an
occulting body.

8 / 28

8. Which one of the following best summarizes the main idea of the passage?


Historians attempting to explain how scientific
work was done in the laboratory of the seventeenth
century chemist and natural philosopher Robert
Boyle must address a fundamental discrepancy
(5) between how such experimentation was actually
performed and the seventeenth-century rhetoric
describing it. Leaders of the new Royal Society of
London in the 1660s insisted that authentic science
depended upon actual experiments performed,
(10) observed, and recorded by the scientists themselves.
Rejecting the traditional contempt for manual
operations, these scientists, all members of the
English upper class, were not to think themselves
demeaned by the mucking about with chemicals,
(15) furnaces, and pumps; rather, the willingness of each
of them to become, as Boyle himself said, a mere
“drudge”and “under-builder”in the search for
God’s truth in nature was taken as a sign of their
nobility and Christian piety.


(20) This rhetoric has been so effective that one
modern historian assures us that Boyle himself
actually performed all of the thousand or more
experiments he reported. In fact, due to poor
eyesight, fragile health, and frequent absences from
(25) his laboratory, Boyle turned over much of the labor
of obtaining and recording experimental results to
paid technicians, although published accounts of the
experiments rarely, if ever, acknowledged the
technicians’ contributions. Nor was Boyle unique in
(30) relying on technicians without publicly crediting
their work.


Why were the contributions of these technicians
not recognized by their employers? One reason is the
historical tendency, which has persisted into the
(35) twentieth century, to view scientific discovery as
resulting from momentary flashes of individual
insight rather than from extended periods of
cooperative work by individuals with varying levels of
knowledge and skill. Moreover, despite the clamor of
(40) seventeenth-century scientific rhetoric commending a
hands-on approach, science was still overwhelmingly
an activity of the English upper class, and the
traditional contempt that genteel society maintained
for manual labor was pervasive and deeply rooted.
(45) Finally, all of Boyle’s technicians were “servants,”
which in seventeenth-century usage meant anyone
who worked for pay. To seventeenth-century
sensibilities, the wage relationship was charged with
political significance. Servants, meaning wage
(50) earners, were excluded from the franchise because
they were perceived as ultimately dependent on their
wages and thus controlled by the will of their
employers. Technicians remained invisible in the
political economy of science for the same reasons
(55) that underlay servants’ general political exclusion.
The technicians’ contributions, their observations
and judgment, if acknowledged, would not have been
perceived in the larger scientific community as
objective because the technicians were dependent on
(60) the wages paid to them by their employers. Servants
might have made the apparatus work, but their
contributions to the making of scientific knowledge
were largely—and conveniently—ignored by their
employers.

9 / 28

9. It can be inferred from the passage that the “seventeenth-century rhetoric” mentioned in line 6 would have more accurately described the experimentation performed in Boyle’s laboratory if which one of the following were true?


Historians attempting to explain how scientific
work was done in the laboratory of the seventeenth
century chemist and natural philosopher Robert
Boyle must address a fundamental discrepancy
(5) between how such experimentation was actually
performed and the seventeenth-century rhetoric
describing it. Leaders of the new Royal Society of
London in the 1660s insisted that authentic science
depended upon actual experiments performed,
(10) observed, and recorded by the scientists themselves.
Rejecting the traditional contempt for manual
operations, these scientists, all members of the
English upper class, were not to think themselves
demeaned by the mucking about with chemicals,
(15) furnaces, and pumps; rather, the willingness of each
of them to become, as Boyle himself said, a mere
“drudge”and “under-builder”in the search for
God’s truth in nature was taken as a sign of their
nobility and Christian piety.


(20) This rhetoric has been so effective that one
modern historian assures us that Boyle himself
actually performed all of the thousand or more
experiments he reported. In fact, due to poor
eyesight, fragile health, and frequent absences from
(25) his laboratory, Boyle turned over much of the labor
of obtaining and recording experimental results to
paid technicians, although published accounts of the
experiments rarely, if ever, acknowledged the
technicians’ contributions. Nor was Boyle unique in
(30) relying on technicians without publicly crediting
their work.


Why were the contributions of these technicians
not recognized by their employers? One reason is the
historical tendency, which has persisted into the
(35) twentieth century, to view scientific discovery as
resulting from momentary flashes of individual
insight rather than from extended periods of
cooperative work by individuals with varying levels of
knowledge and skill. Moreover, despite the clamor of
(40) seventeenth-century scientific rhetoric commending a
hands-on approach, science was still overwhelmingly
an activity of the English upper class, and the
traditional contempt that genteel society maintained
for manual labor was pervasive and deeply rooted.
(45) Finally, all of Boyle’s technicians were “servants,”
which in seventeenth-century usage meant anyone
who worked for pay. To seventeenth-century
sensibilities, the wage relationship was charged with
political significance. Servants, meaning wage
(50) earners, were excluded from the franchise because
they were perceived as ultimately dependent on their
wages and thus controlled by the will of their
employers. Technicians remained invisible in the
political economy of science for the same reasons
(55) that underlay servants’ general political exclusion.
The technicians’ contributions, their observations
and judgment, if acknowledged, would not have been
perceived in the larger scientific community as
objective because the technicians were dependent on
(60) the wages paid to them by their employers. Servants
might have made the apparatus work, but their
contributions to the making of scientific knowledge
were largely—and conveniently—ignored by their
employers.

10 / 28

10. According to the author, servants in seventeenth- century England were excluded from the franchise because of the belief that


Historians attempting to explain how scientific
work was done in the laboratory of the seventeenth
century chemist and natural philosopher Robert
Boyle must address a fundamental discrepancy
(5) between how such experimentation was actually
performed and the seventeenth-century rhetoric
describing it. Leaders of the new Royal Society of
London in the 1660s insisted that authentic science
depended upon actual experiments performed,
(10) observed, and recorded by the scientists themselves.
Rejecting the traditional contempt for manual
operations, these scientists, all members of the
English upper class, were not to think themselves
demeaned by the mucking about with chemicals,
(15) furnaces, and pumps; rather, the willingness of each
of them to become, as Boyle himself said, a mere
“drudge”and “under-builder”in the search for
God’s truth in nature was taken as a sign of their
nobility and Christian piety.


(20) This rhetoric has been so effective that one
modern historian assures us that Boyle himself
actually performed all of the thousand or more
experiments he reported. In fact, due to poor
eyesight, fragile health, and frequent absences from
(25) his laboratory, Boyle turned over much of the labor
of obtaining and recording experimental results to
paid technicians, although published accounts of the
experiments rarely, if ever, acknowledged the
technicians’ contributions. Nor was Boyle unique in
(30) relying on technicians without publicly crediting
their work.


Why were the contributions of these technicians
not recognized by their employers? One reason is the
historical tendency, which has persisted into the
(35) twentieth century, to view scientific discovery as
resulting from momentary flashes of individual
insight rather than from extended periods of
cooperative work by individuals with varying levels of
knowledge and skill. Moreover, despite the clamor of
(40) seventeenth-century scientific rhetoric commending a
hands-on approach, science was still overwhelmingly
an activity of the English upper class, and the
traditional contempt that genteel society maintained
for manual labor was pervasive and deeply rooted.
(45) Finally, all of Boyle’s technicians were “servants,”
which in seventeenth-century usage meant anyone
who worked for pay. To seventeenth-century
sensibilities, the wage relationship was charged with
political significance. Servants, meaning wage
(50) earners, were excluded from the franchise because
they were perceived as ultimately dependent on their
wages and thus controlled by the will of their
employers. Technicians remained invisible in the
political economy of science for the same reasons
(55) that underlay servants’ general political exclusion.
The technicians’ contributions, their observations
and judgment, if acknowledged, would not have been
perceived in the larger scientific community as
objective because the technicians were dependent on
(60) the wages paid to them by their employers. Servants
might have made the apparatus work, but their
contributions to the making of scientific knowledge
were largely—and conveniently—ignored by their
employers.

11 / 28

11. According to the author, the Royal Society of London insisted that scientists abandon the


Historians attempting to explain how scientific
work was done in the laboratory of the seventeenth
century chemist and natural philosopher Robert
Boyle must address a fundamental discrepancy
(5) between how such experimentation was actually
performed and the seventeenth-century rhetoric
describing it. Leaders of the new Royal Society of
London in the 1660s insisted that authentic science
depended upon actual experiments performed,
(10) observed, and recorded by the scientists themselves.
Rejecting the traditional contempt for manual
operations, these scientists, all members of the
English upper class, were not to think themselves
demeaned by the mucking about with chemicals,
(15) furnaces, and pumps; rather, the willingness of each
of them to become, as Boyle himself said, a mere
“drudge”and “under-builder”in the search for
God’s truth in nature was taken as a sign of their
nobility and Christian piety.


(20) This rhetoric has been so effective that one
modern historian assures us that Boyle himself
actually performed all of the thousand or more
experiments he reported. In fact, due to poor
eyesight, fragile health, and frequent absences from
(25) his laboratory, Boyle turned over much of the labor
of obtaining and recording experimental results to
paid technicians, although published accounts of the
experiments rarely, if ever, acknowledged the
technicians’ contributions. Nor was Boyle unique in
(30) relying on technicians without publicly crediting
their work.


Why were the contributions of these technicians
not recognized by their employers? One reason is the
historical tendency, which has persisted into the
(35) twentieth century, to view scientific discovery as
resulting from momentary flashes of individual
insight rather than from extended periods of
cooperative work by individuals with varying levels of
knowledge and skill. Moreover, despite the clamor of
(40) seventeenth-century scientific rhetoric commending a
hands-on approach, science was still overwhelmingly
an activity of the English upper class, and the
traditional contempt that genteel society maintained
for manual labor was pervasive and deeply rooted.
(45) Finally, all of Boyle’s technicians were “servants,”
which in seventeenth-century usage meant anyone
who worked for pay. To seventeenth-century
sensibilities, the wage relationship was charged with
political significance. Servants, meaning wage
(50) earners, were excluded from the franchise because
they were perceived as ultimately dependent on their
wages and thus controlled by the will of their
employers. Technicians remained invisible in the
political economy of science for the same reasons
(55) that underlay servants’ general political exclusion.
The technicians’ contributions, their observations
and judgment, if acknowledged, would not have been
perceived in the larger scientific community as
objective because the technicians were dependent on
(60) the wages paid to them by their employers. Servants
might have made the apparatus work, but their
contributions to the making of scientific knowledge
were largely—and conveniently—ignored by their
employers.

12 / 28

12. The author implies that which one of the following beliefs was held in both the seventeenth and the twentieth centuries?


Historians attempting to explain how scientific
work was done in the laboratory of the seventeenth
century chemist and natural philosopher Robert
Boyle must address a fundamental discrepancy
(5) between how such experimentation was actually
performed and the seventeenth-century rhetoric
describing it. Leaders of the new Royal Society of
London in the 1660s insisted that authentic science
depended upon actual experiments performed,
(10) observed, and recorded by the scientists themselves.
Rejecting the traditional contempt for manual
operations, these scientists, all members of the
English upper class, were not to think themselves
demeaned by the mucking about with chemicals,
(15) furnaces, and pumps; rather, the willingness of each
of them to become, as Boyle himself said, a mere
“drudge”and “under-builder”in the search for
God’s truth in nature was taken as a sign of their
nobility and Christian piety.


(20) This rhetoric has been so effective that one
modern historian assures us that Boyle himself
actually performed all of the thousand or more
experiments he reported. In fact, due to poor
eyesight, fragile health, and frequent absences from
(25) his laboratory, Boyle turned over much of the labor
of obtaining and recording experimental results to
paid technicians, although published accounts of the
experiments rarely, if ever, acknowledged the
technicians’ contributions. Nor was Boyle unique in
(30) relying on technicians without publicly crediting
their work.


Why were the contributions of these technicians
not recognized by their employers? One reason is the
historical tendency, which has persisted into the
(35) twentieth century, to view scientific discovery as
resulting from momentary flashes of individual
insight rather than from extended periods of
cooperative work by individuals with varying levels of
knowledge and skill. Moreover, despite the clamor of
(40) seventeenth-century scientific rhetoric commending a
hands-on approach, science was still overwhelmingly
an activity of the English upper class, and the
traditional contempt that genteel society maintained
for manual labor was pervasive and deeply rooted.
(45) Finally, all of Boyle’s technicians were “servants,”
which in seventeenth-century usage meant anyone
who worked for pay. To seventeenth-century
sensibilities, the wage relationship was charged with
political significance. Servants, meaning wage
(50) earners, were excluded from the franchise because
they were perceived as ultimately dependent on their
wages and thus controlled by the will of their
employers. Technicians remained invisible in the
political economy of science for the same reasons
(55) that underlay servants’ general political exclusion.
The technicians’ contributions, their observations
and judgment, if acknowledged, would not have been
perceived in the larger scientific community as
objective because the technicians were dependent on
(60) the wages paid to them by their employers. Servants
might have made the apparatus work, but their
contributions to the making of scientific knowledge
were largely—and conveniently—ignored by their
employers.

13 / 28

13. Which one of the following best describes the organization of the last paragraph?


Historians attempting to explain how scientific
work was done in the laboratory of the seventeenth
century chemist and natural philosopher Robert
Boyle must address a fundamental discrepancy
(5) between how such experimentation was actually
performed and the seventeenth-century rhetoric
describing it. Leaders of the new Royal Society of
London in the 1660s insisted that authentic science
depended upon actual experiments performed,
(10) observed, and recorded by the scientists themselves.
Rejecting the traditional contempt for manual
operations, these scientists, all members of the
English upper class, were not to think themselves
demeaned by the mucking about with chemicals,
(15) furnaces, and pumps; rather, the willingness of each
of them to become, as Boyle himself said, a mere
“drudge”and “under-builder”in the search for
God’s truth in nature was taken as a sign of their
nobility and Christian piety.


(20) This rhetoric has been so effective that one
modern historian assures us that Boyle himself
actually performed all of the thousand or more
experiments he reported. In fact, due to poor
eyesight, fragile health, and frequent absences from
(25) his laboratory, Boyle turned over much of the labor
of obtaining and recording experimental results to
paid technicians, although published accounts of the
experiments rarely, if ever, acknowledged the
technicians’ contributions. Nor was Boyle unique in
(30) relying on technicians without publicly crediting
their work.


Why were the contributions of these technicians
not recognized by their employers? One reason is the
historical tendency, which has persisted into the
(35) twentieth century, to view scientific discovery as
resulting from momentary flashes of individual
insight rather than from extended periods of
cooperative work by individuals with varying levels of
knowledge and skill. Moreover, despite the clamor of
(40) seventeenth-century scientific rhetoric commending a
hands-on approach, science was still overwhelmingly
an activity of the English upper class, and the
traditional contempt that genteel society maintained
for manual labor was pervasive and deeply rooted.
(45) Finally, all of Boyle’s technicians were “servants,”
which in seventeenth-century usage meant anyone
who worked for pay. To seventeenth-century
sensibilities, the wage relationship was charged with
political significance. Servants, meaning wage
(50) earners, were excluded from the franchise because
they were perceived as ultimately dependent on their
wages and thus controlled by the will of their
employers. Technicians remained invisible in the
political economy of science for the same reasons
(55) that underlay servants’ general political exclusion.
The technicians’ contributions, their observations
and judgment, if acknowledged, would not have been
perceived in the larger scientific community as
objective because the technicians were dependent on
(60) the wages paid to them by their employers. Servants
might have made the apparatus work, but their
contributions to the making of scientific knowledge
were largely—and conveniently—ignored by their
employers.

14 / 28

14. The author’s discussion of the political significance of the “wage relationship” (line 48) serves to


Historians attempting to explain how scientific
work was done in the laboratory of the seventeenth
century chemist and natural philosopher Robert
Boyle must address a fundamental discrepancy
(5) between how such experimentation was actually
performed and the seventeenth-century rhetoric
describing it. Leaders of the new Royal Society of
London in the 1660s insisted that authentic science
depended upon actual experiments performed,
(10) observed, and recorded by the scientists themselves.
Rejecting the traditional contempt for manual
operations, these scientists, all members of the
English upper class, were not to think themselves
demeaned by the mucking about with chemicals,
(15) furnaces, and pumps; rather, the willingness of each
of them to become, as Boyle himself said, a mere
“drudge”and “under-builder”in the search for
God’s truth in nature was taken as a sign of their
nobility and Christian piety.


(20) This rhetoric has been so effective that one
modern historian assures us that Boyle himself
actually performed all of the thousand or more
experiments he reported. In fact, due to poor
eyesight, fragile health, and frequent absences from
(25) his laboratory, Boyle turned over much of the labor
of obtaining and recording experimental results to
paid technicians, although published accounts of the
experiments rarely, if ever, acknowledged the
technicians’ contributions. Nor was Boyle unique in
(30) relying on technicians without publicly crediting
their work.


Why were the contributions of these technicians
not recognized by their employers? One reason is the
historical tendency, which has persisted into the
(35) twentieth century, to view scientific discovery as
resulting from momentary flashes of individual
insight rather than from extended periods of
cooperative work by individuals with varying levels of
knowledge and skill. Moreover, despite the clamor of
(40) seventeenth-century scientific rhetoric commending a
hands-on approach, science was still overwhelmingly
an activity of the English upper class, and the
traditional contempt that genteel society maintained
for manual labor was pervasive and deeply rooted.
(45) Finally, all of Boyle’s technicians were “servants,”
which in seventeenth-century usage meant anyone
who worked for pay. To seventeenth-century
sensibilities, the wage relationship was charged with
political significance. Servants, meaning wage
(50) earners, were excluded from the franchise because
they were perceived as ultimately dependent on their
wages and thus controlled by the will of their
employers. Technicians remained invisible in the
political economy of science for the same reasons
(55) that underlay servants’ general political exclusion.
The technicians’ contributions, their observations
and judgment, if acknowledged, would not have been
perceived in the larger scientific community as
objective because the technicians were dependent on
(60) the wages paid to them by their employers. Servants
might have made the apparatus work, but their
contributions to the making of scientific knowledge
were largely—and conveniently—ignored by their
employers.

15 / 28

15. It can be inferred from the passage that “the clamor of seventeenth-century scientific rhetoric” (lines 39–40) refers to


Historians attempting to explain how scientific
work was done in the laboratory of the seventeenth
century chemist and natural philosopher Robert
Boyle must address a fundamental discrepancy
(5) between how such experimentation was actually
performed and the seventeenth-century rhetoric
describing it. Leaders of the new Royal Society of
London in the 1660s insisted that authentic science
depended upon actual experiments performed,
(10) observed, and recorded by the scientists themselves.
Rejecting the traditional contempt for manual
operations, these scientists, all members of the
English upper class, were not to think themselves
demeaned by the mucking about with chemicals,
(15) furnaces, and pumps; rather, the willingness of each
of them to become, as Boyle himself said, a mere
“drudge”and “under-builder”in the search for
God’s truth in nature was taken as a sign of their
nobility and Christian piety.


(20) This rhetoric has been so effective that one
modern historian assures us that Boyle himself
actually performed all of the thousand or more
experiments he reported. In fact, due to poor
eyesight, fragile health, and frequent absences from
(25) his laboratory, Boyle turned over much of the labor
of obtaining and recording experimental results to
paid technicians, although published accounts of the
experiments rarely, if ever, acknowledged the
technicians’ contributions. Nor was Boyle unique in
(30) relying on technicians without publicly crediting
their work.


Why were the contributions of these technicians
not recognized by their employers? One reason is the
historical tendency, which has persisted into the
(35) twentieth century, to view scientific discovery as
resulting from momentary flashes of individual
insight rather than from extended periods of
cooperative work by individuals with varying levels of
knowledge and skill. Moreover, despite the clamor of
(40) seventeenth-century scientific rhetoric commending a
hands-on approach, science was still overwhelmingly
an activity of the English upper class, and the
traditional contempt that genteel society maintained
for manual labor was pervasive and deeply rooted.
(45) Finally, all of Boyle’s technicians were “servants,”
which in seventeenth-century usage meant anyone
who worked for pay. To seventeenth-century
sensibilities, the wage relationship was charged with
political significance. Servants, meaning wage
(50) earners, were excluded from the franchise because
they were perceived as ultimately dependent on their
wages and thus controlled by the will of their
employers. Technicians remained invisible in the
political economy of science for the same reasons
(55) that underlay servants’ general political exclusion.
The technicians’ contributions, their observations
and judgment, if acknowledged, would not have been
perceived in the larger scientific community as
objective because the technicians were dependent on
(60) the wages paid to them by their employers. Servants
might have made the apparatus work, but their
contributions to the making of scientific knowledge
were largely—and conveniently—ignored by their
employers.

16 / 28

16. Which one of the following distinctions between monopoly power and the abuse of monopoly power would the author say underlies the antitrust laws discussed in the passage?


One type of violation of the antitrust laws is the
abuse of monopoly power. Monopoly power is the
ability of a firm to raise its prices above the
competitive level—that is, above the level that would
(5) exist naturally if several firms had to
compete—without driving away so many customers
as to make the price increase unprofitable. In order to
show that a firm has abused monopoly power, and
thereby violated the antitrust laws, two essential
(10) facts must be established. First, a firm must be
shown to possess monopoly power, and second, that
power must have been used to exclude competition in
the monopolized market or related markets.


The price a firm may charge for its product is
(15) constrained by the availability of close substitutes for
the product. If a firm attempts to charge a higher
price—a supracompetitive price—customers will
turn to other firms able to supply substitute products
at competitive prices. If a firm provides a large
(20) percentage of the products actually or potentially
available, however, customers may find it difficult to
buy from alternative suppliers. Consequently, a firm
with a large share of the relevant market of
substitutable products may be able to raise its price
(25) without losing many customers. For this reason
courts often use market share as a rough indicator of
monopoly power.


Supracompetitive prices are associated with a loss
of consumers’ welfare because such prices force some
(30) consumers to buy a less attractive mix of products
than they would ordinarily buy. Supracompetitive
prices, however, do not themselves constitute an
abuse of monopoly power. Antitrust laws do not
attempt to counter the mere existence of monopoly
(35) power, or even the use of monopoly power to extract
extraordinarily high profits. For example, a firm
enjoying economies of scale—that is, low unit
production costs due to high volume—does not
violate the antitrust laws when it obtains a large
(40) market share by charging prices that are profitable
but so low that its smaller rivals cannot survive. If
the antitrust laws posed disincentives to the existence
and growth of such firms, the laws could impair
consumers’ welfare. Even if the firm, upon acquiring
(45) monopoly power, chose to raise prices in order to
increase profits, it would not be in violation of the
antitrust laws.


The antitrust prohibitions focus instead on abuses
of monopoly power that exclude competition in the
(50) monopolized market or involve leverage—the use of
power in one market to reduce competition in
another. One such forbidden practice is a tying
arrangement, in which a monopolist conditions the
sale of a product in one market on the buyer’s
(55) purchase of another product in a different market.
For example, a firm enjoying a monopoly in the
communications systems market might not sell its
products to a customer unless that customer also
buys its computer systems, which are competing with
(60) other firms’ computer systems.


The focus on the abuse of monopoly power,
rather than on monopoly itself, follows from the
primary purpose of the antitrust laws: to promote
consumers’ welfare through assurance of the quality
(65) and quantity of products available to consumers.

17 / 28

17. Would the use of leverage meet the criteria for abuse of monopoly power outlined in the first paragraph?


One type of violation of the antitrust laws is the
abuse of monopoly power. Monopoly power is the
ability of a firm to raise its prices above the
competitive level—that is, above the level that would
(5) exist naturally if several firms had to
compete—without driving away so many customers
as to make the price increase unprofitable. In order to
show that a firm has abused monopoly power, and
thereby violated the antitrust laws, two essential
(10) facts must be established. First, a firm must be
shown to possess monopoly power, and second, that
power must have been used to exclude competition in
the monopolized market or related markets.


The price a firm may charge for its product is
(15) constrained by the availability of close substitutes for
the product. If a firm attempts to charge a higher
price—a supracompetitive price—customers will
turn to other firms able to supply substitute products
at competitive prices. If a firm provides a large
(20) percentage of the products actually or potentially
available, however, customers may find it difficult to
buy from alternative suppliers. Consequently, a firm
with a large share of the relevant market of
substitutable products may be able to raise its price
(25) without losing many customers. For this reason
courts often use market share as a rough indicator of
monopoly power.


Supracompetitive prices are associated with a loss
of consumers’ welfare because such prices force some
(30) consumers to buy a less attractive mix of products
than they would ordinarily buy. Supracompetitive
prices, however, do not themselves constitute an
abuse of monopoly power. Antitrust laws do not
attempt to counter the mere existence of monopoly
(35) power, or even the use of monopoly power to extract
extraordinarily high profits. For example, a firm
enjoying economies of scale—that is, low unit
production costs due to high volume—does not
violate the antitrust laws when it obtains a large
(40) market share by charging prices that are profitable
but so low that its smaller rivals cannot survive. If
the antitrust laws posed disincentives to the existence
and growth of such firms, the laws could impair
consumers’ welfare. Even if the firm, upon acquiring
(45) monopoly power, chose to raise prices in order to
increase profits, it would not be in violation of the
antitrust laws.


The antitrust prohibitions focus instead on abuses
of monopoly power that exclude competition in the
(50) monopolized market or involve leverage—the use of
power in one market to reduce competition in
another. One such forbidden practice is a tying
arrangement, in which a monopolist conditions the
sale of a product in one market on the buyer’s
(55) purchase of another product in a different market.
For example, a firm enjoying a monopoly in the
communications systems market might not sell its
products to a customer unless that customer also
buys its computer systems, which are competing with
(60) other firms’ computer systems.


The focus on the abuse of monopoly power,
rather than on monopoly itself, follows from the
primary purpose of the antitrust laws: to promote
consumers’ welfare through assurance of the quality
(65) and quantity of products available to consumers.

18 / 28

18. What is the main purpose of the third paragraph (lines 28–47)?


One type of violation of the antitrust laws is the
abuse of monopoly power. Monopoly power is the
ability of a firm to raise its prices above the
competitive level—that is, above the level that would
(5) exist naturally if several firms had to
compete—without driving away so many customers
as to make the price increase unprofitable. In order to
show that a firm has abused monopoly power, and
thereby violated the antitrust laws, two essential
(10) facts must be established. First, a firm must be
shown to possess monopoly power, and second, that
power must have been used to exclude competition in
the monopolized market or related markets.


The price a firm may charge for its product is
(15) constrained by the availability of close substitutes for
the product. If a firm attempts to charge a higher
price—a supracompetitive price—customers will
turn to other firms able to supply substitute products
at competitive prices. If a firm provides a large
(20) percentage of the products actually or potentially
available, however, customers may find it difficult to
buy from alternative suppliers. Consequently, a firm
with a large share of the relevant market of
substitutable products may be able to raise its price
(25) without losing many customers. For this reason
courts often use market share as a rough indicator of
monopoly power.


Supracompetitive prices are associated with a loss
of consumers’ welfare because such prices force some
(30) consumers to buy a less attractive mix of products
than they would ordinarily buy. Supracompetitive
prices, however, do not themselves constitute an
abuse of monopoly power. Antitrust laws do not
attempt to counter the mere existence of monopoly
(35) power, or even the use of monopoly power to extract
extraordinarily high profits. For example, a firm
enjoying economies of scale—that is, low unit
production costs due to high volume—does not
violate the antitrust laws when it obtains a large
(40) market share by charging prices that are profitable
but so low that its smaller rivals cannot survive. If
the antitrust laws posed disincentives to the existence
and growth of such firms, the laws could impair
consumers’ welfare. Even if the firm, upon acquiring
(45) monopoly power, chose to raise prices in order to
increase profits, it would not be in violation of the
antitrust laws.


The antitrust prohibitions focus instead on abuses
of monopoly power that exclude competition in the
(50) monopolized market or involve leverage—the use of
power in one market to reduce competition in
another. One such forbidden practice is a tying
arrangement, in which a monopolist conditions the
sale of a product in one market on the buyer’s
(55) purchase of another product in a different market.
For example, a firm enjoying a monopoly in the
communications systems market might not sell its
products to a customer unless that customer also
buys its computer systems, which are competing with
(60) other firms’ computer systems.


The focus on the abuse of monopoly power,
rather than on monopoly itself, follows from the
primary purpose of the antitrust laws: to promote
consumers’ welfare through assurance of the quality
(65) and quantity of products available to consumers.

19 / 28

19. Given only the information in the passage, with which one of the following statements about competition would those responsible for the antitrust laws most likely agree?


One type of violation of the antitrust laws is the
abuse of monopoly power. Monopoly power is the
ability of a firm to raise its prices above the
competitive level—that is, above the level that would
(5) exist naturally if several firms had to
compete—without driving away so many customers
as to make the price increase unprofitable. In order to
show that a firm has abused monopoly power, and
thereby violated the antitrust laws, two essential
(10) facts must be established. First, a firm must be
shown to possess monopoly power, and second, that
power must have been used to exclude competition in
the monopolized market or related markets.


The price a firm may charge for its product is
(15) constrained by the availability of close substitutes for
the product. If a firm attempts to charge a higher
price—a supracompetitive price—customers will
turn to other firms able to supply substitute products
at competitive prices. If a firm provides a large
(20) percentage of the products actually or potentially
available, however, customers may find it difficult to
buy from alternative suppliers. Consequently, a firm
with a large share of the relevant market of
substitutable products may be able to raise its price
(25) without losing many customers. For this reason
courts often use market share as a rough indicator of
monopoly power.


Supracompetitive prices are associated with a loss
of consumers’ welfare because such prices force some
(30) consumers to buy a less attractive mix of products
than they would ordinarily buy. Supracompetitive
prices, however, do not themselves constitute an
abuse of monopoly power. Antitrust laws do not
attempt to counter the mere existence of monopoly
(35) power, or even the use of monopoly power to extract
extraordinarily high profits. For example, a firm
enjoying economies of scale—that is, low unit
production costs due to high volume—does not
violate the antitrust laws when it obtains a large
(40) market share by charging prices that are profitable
but so low that its smaller rivals cannot survive. If
the antitrust laws posed disincentives to the existence
and growth of such firms, the laws could impair
consumers’ welfare. Even if the firm, upon acquiring
(45) monopoly power, chose to raise prices in order to
increase profits, it would not be in violation of the
antitrust laws.


The antitrust prohibitions focus instead on abuses
of monopoly power that exclude competition in the
(50) monopolized market or involve leverage—the use of
power in one market to reduce competition in
another. One such forbidden practice is a tying
arrangement, in which a monopolist conditions the
sale of a product in one market on the buyer’s
(55) purchase of another product in a different market.
For example, a firm enjoying a monopoly in the
communications systems market might not sell its
products to a customer unless that customer also
buys its computer systems, which are competing with
(60) other firms’ computer systems.


The focus on the abuse of monopoly power,
rather than on monopoly itself, follows from the
primary purpose of the antitrust laws: to promote
consumers’ welfare through assurance of the quality
(65) and quantity of products available to consumers.

20 / 28

20. Which one of the following sentences would best complete the last paragraph of the passage?


One type of violation of the antitrust laws is the
abuse of monopoly power. Monopoly power is the
ability of a firm to raise its prices above the
competitive level—that is, above the level that would
(5) exist naturally if several firms had to
compete—without driving away so many customers
as to make the price increase unprofitable. In order to
show that a firm has abused monopoly power, and
thereby violated the antitrust laws, two essential
(10) facts must be established. First, a firm must be
shown to possess monopoly power, and second, that
power must have been used to exclude competition in
the monopolized market or related markets.


The price a firm may charge for its product is
(15) constrained by the availability of close substitutes for
the product. If a firm attempts to charge a higher
price—a supracompetitive price—customers will
turn to other firms able to supply substitute products
at competitive prices. If a firm provides a large
(20) percentage of the products actually or potentially
available, however, customers may find it difficult to
buy from alternative suppliers. Consequently, a firm
with a large share of the relevant market of
substitutable products may be able to raise its price
(25) without losing many customers. For this reason
courts often use market share as a rough indicator of
monopoly power.


Supracompetitive prices are associated with a loss
of consumers’ welfare because such prices force some
(30) consumers to buy a less attractive mix of products
than they would ordinarily buy. Supracompetitive
prices, however, do not themselves constitute an
abuse of monopoly power. Antitrust laws do not
attempt to counter the mere existence of monopoly
(35) power, or even the use of monopoly power to extract
extraordinarily high profits. For example, a firm
enjoying economies of scale—that is, low unit
production costs due to high volume—does not
violate the antitrust laws when it obtains a large
(40) market share by charging prices that are profitable
but so low that its smaller rivals cannot survive. If
the antitrust laws posed disincentives to the existence
and growth of such firms, the laws could impair
consumers’ welfare. Even if the firm, upon acquiring
(45) monopoly power, chose to raise prices in order to
increase profits, it would not be in violation of the
antitrust laws.


The antitrust prohibitions focus instead on abuses
of monopoly power that exclude competition in the
(50) monopolized market or involve leverage—the use of
power in one market to reduce competition in
another. One such forbidden practice is a tying
arrangement, in which a monopolist conditions the
sale of a product in one market on the buyer’s
(55) purchase of another product in a different market.
For example, a firm enjoying a monopoly in the
communications systems market might not sell its
products to a customer unless that customer also
buys its computer systems, which are competing with
(60) other firms’ computer systems.


The focus on the abuse of monopoly power,
rather than on monopoly itself, follows from the
primary purpose of the antitrust laws: to promote
consumers’ welfare through assurance of the quality
(65) and quantity of products available to consumers.

21 / 28

21. The author’s central thesis is that


Amsden has divided Navajo weaving into four
distinct styles. He argues that three of them can be
identified by the type of design used to form
horizontal bands: colored stripes, zigzags, or
(5) diamonds. The fourth, or bordered, style he identifies
by a distinct border surrounding centrally placed,
dominating figures.


Amsden believes that the diamond style appeared
after 1869 when, under Anglo influence and
(10) encouragement, the blanket became a rug with
larger designs and bolder lines. The bordered style
appeared about 1890, and, Amsden argues, it reflects
the greatest number of Anglo influences on the newly
emerging rug business. The Anglo desire that
(15) anything with graphic designs have a top, bottom,
and border is a cultural preference that the Navajo
abhorred, as evidenced, he suggests, by the fact that
in early bordered specimens strips of color
unexpectedly break through the enclosing pattern.
(20) Amsden argues that the bordered rug represents a
radical break with previous styles. He asserts that the
border changed the artistic problem facing weavers:
a blank area suggests the use of isolated figures,
while traditional, banded Navajo designs were
(25) continuous and did not use isolated figures. The old
patterns alternated horizontal decorative zones in a
regular order.


Amsden’s view raises several questions. First,
what is involved in altering artistic styles? Some
(30) studies suggest that artisans’ motor habits and
thought processes must be revised when a style
changes precipitously. In the evolution of Navajo
weaving, however, no radical revisions in the way
articles are produced need be assumed. After all, all
(35) weaving subordinates design to the physical
limitations created by the process of weaving, which
includes creating an edge or border. The habits
required to make decorative borders are, therefore,
latent and easily brought to the surface.


(40) Second, is the relationship between the banded
and bordered styles as simple as Amsden suggests?
He assumes that a break in style is a break in
psychology. But if style results from constant quests
for invention, such stylistic breaks are inevitable.
(45) When a style has exhausted the possibilities inherent
in its principles, artists cast about for new, but not
necessarily alien, principles. Navajo weaving may
have reached this turning point prior to 1890.


Third, is there really a significant stylistic gap?
(50) Two other styles lie between the banded styles and
the bordered style. They suggest that disintegration
of the bands may have altered visual and motor
habits and prepared the way for a border filled with
separate units. In the Chief White Antelope blanket,
(55) dated prior to 1865, ten years before the first Anglo
trading post on the Navajo reservation, whole and
partial diamonds interrupt the flowing design and
become separate forms. Parts of diamonds arranged
vertically at each side may be seen to anticipate the
(60) border.

22 / 28

22. It can be inferred from the passage that Amsden views the use of “strips of color” (line 18) in the early bordered style as


Amsden has divided Navajo weaving into four
distinct styles. He argues that three of them can be
identified by the type of design used to form
horizontal bands: colored stripes, zigzags, or
(5) diamonds. The fourth, or bordered, style he identifies
by a distinct border surrounding centrally placed,
dominating figures.


Amsden believes that the diamond style appeared
after 1869 when, under Anglo influence and
(10) encouragement, the blanket became a rug with
larger designs and bolder lines. The bordered style
appeared about 1890, and, Amsden argues, it reflects
the greatest number of Anglo influences on the newly
emerging rug business. The Anglo desire that
(15) anything with graphic designs have a top, bottom,
and border is a cultural preference that the Navajo
abhorred, as evidenced, he suggests, by the fact that
in early bordered specimens strips of color
unexpectedly break through the enclosing pattern.
(20) Amsden argues that the bordered rug represents a
radical break with previous styles. He asserts that the
border changed the artistic problem facing weavers:
a blank area suggests the use of isolated figures,
while traditional, banded Navajo designs were
(25) continuous and did not use isolated figures. The old
patterns alternated horizontal decorative zones in a
regular order.


Amsden’s view raises several questions. First,
what is involved in altering artistic styles? Some
(30) studies suggest that artisans’ motor habits and
thought processes must be revised when a style
changes precipitously. In the evolution of Navajo
weaving, however, no radical revisions in the way
articles are produced need be assumed. After all, all
(35) weaving subordinates design to the physical
limitations created by the process of weaving, which
includes creating an edge or border. The habits
required to make decorative borders are, therefore,
latent and easily brought to the surface.


(40) Second, is the relationship between the banded
and bordered styles as simple as Amsden suggests?
He assumes that a break in style is a break in
psychology. But if style results from constant quests
for invention, such stylistic breaks are inevitable.
(45) When a style has exhausted the possibilities inherent
in its principles, artists cast about for new, but not
necessarily alien, principles. Navajo weaving may
have reached this turning point prior to 1890.


Third, is there really a significant stylistic gap?
(50) Two other styles lie between the banded styles and
the bordered style. They suggest that disintegration
of the bands may have altered visual and motor
habits and prepared the way for a border filled with
separate units. In the Chief White Antelope blanket,
(55) dated prior to 1865, ten years before the first Anglo
trading post on the Navajo reservation, whole and
partial diamonds interrupt the flowing design and
become separate forms. Parts of diamonds arranged
vertically at each side may be seen to anticipate the
(60) border.

23 / 28

23. The author’s view of Navajo weaving suggests which one of the following?


Amsden has divided Navajo weaving into four
distinct styles. He argues that three of them can be
identified by the type of design used to form
horizontal bands: colored stripes, zigzags, or
(5) diamonds. The fourth, or bordered, style he identifies
by a distinct border surrounding centrally placed,
dominating figures.


Amsden believes that the diamond style appeared
after 1869 when, under Anglo influence and
(10) encouragement, the blanket became a rug with
larger designs and bolder lines. The bordered style
appeared about 1890, and, Amsden argues, it reflects
the greatest number of Anglo influences on the newly
emerging rug business. The Anglo desire that
(15) anything with graphic designs have a top, bottom,
and border is a cultural preference that the Navajo
abhorred, as evidenced, he suggests, by the fact that
in early bordered specimens strips of color
unexpectedly break through the enclosing pattern.
(20) Amsden argues that the bordered rug represents a
radical break with previous styles. He asserts that the
border changed the artistic problem facing weavers:
a blank area suggests the use of isolated figures,
while traditional, banded Navajo designs were
(25) continuous and did not use isolated figures. The old
patterns alternated horizontal decorative zones in a
regular order.


Amsden’s view raises several questions. First,
what is involved in altering artistic styles? Some
(30) studies suggest that artisans’ motor habits and
thought processes must be revised when a style
changes precipitously. In the evolution of Navajo
weaving, however, no radical revisions in the way
articles are produced need be assumed. After all, all
(35) weaving subordinates design to the physical
limitations created by the process of weaving, which
includes creating an edge or border. The habits
required to make decorative borders are, therefore,
latent and easily brought to the surface.


(40) Second, is the relationship between the banded
and bordered styles as simple as Amsden suggests?
He assumes that a break in style is a break in
psychology. But if style results from constant quests
for invention, such stylistic breaks are inevitable.
(45) When a style has exhausted the possibilities inherent
in its principles, artists cast about for new, but not
necessarily alien, principles. Navajo weaving may
have reached this turning point prior to 1890.


Third, is there really a significant stylistic gap?
(50) Two other styles lie between the banded styles and
the bordered style. They suggest that disintegration
of the bands may have altered visual and motor
habits and prepared the way for a border filled with
separate units. In the Chief White Antelope blanket,
(55) dated prior to 1865, ten years before the first Anglo
trading post on the Navajo reservation, whole and
partial diamonds interrupt the flowing design and
become separate forms. Parts of diamonds arranged
vertically at each side may be seen to anticipate the
(60) border.

24 / 28

24. According to the passage, Navajo weavings made prior to 1890 typically were characterized by all of the following EXCEPT


Amsden has divided Navajo weaving into four
distinct styles. He argues that three of them can be
identified by the type of design used to form
horizontal bands: colored stripes, zigzags, or
(5) diamonds. The fourth, or bordered, style he identifies
by a distinct border surrounding centrally placed,
dominating figures.


Amsden believes that the diamond style appeared
after 1869 when, under Anglo influence and
(10) encouragement, the blanket became a rug with
larger designs and bolder lines. The bordered style
appeared about 1890, and, Amsden argues, it reflects
the greatest number of Anglo influences on the newly
emerging rug business. The Anglo desire that
(15) anything with graphic designs have a top, bottom,
and border is a cultural preference that the Navajo
abhorred, as evidenced, he suggests, by the fact that
in early bordered specimens strips of color
unexpectedly break through the enclosing pattern.
(20) Amsden argues that the bordered rug represents a
radical break with previous styles. He asserts that the
border changed the artistic problem facing weavers:
a blank area suggests the use of isolated figures,
while traditional, banded Navajo designs were
(25) continuous and did not use isolated figures. The old
patterns alternated horizontal decorative zones in a
regular order.


Amsden’s view raises several questions. First,
what is involved in altering artistic styles? Some
(30) studies suggest that artisans’ motor habits and
thought processes must be revised when a style
changes precipitously. In the evolution of Navajo
weaving, however, no radical revisions in the way
articles are produced need be assumed. After all, all
(35) weaving subordinates design to the physical
limitations created by the process of weaving, which
includes creating an edge or border. The habits
required to make decorative borders are, therefore,
latent and easily brought to the surface.


(40) Second, is the relationship between the banded
and bordered styles as simple as Amsden suggests?
He assumes that a break in style is a break in
psychology. But if style results from constant quests
for invention, such stylistic breaks are inevitable.
(45) When a style has exhausted the possibilities inherent
in its principles, artists cast about for new, but not
necessarily alien, principles. Navajo weaving may
have reached this turning point prior to 1890.


Third, is there really a significant stylistic gap?
(50) Two other styles lie between the banded styles and
the bordered style. They suggest that disintegration
of the bands may have altered visual and motor
habits and prepared the way for a border filled with
separate units. In the Chief White Antelope blanket,
(55) dated prior to 1865, ten years before the first Anglo
trading post on the Navajo reservation, whole and
partial diamonds interrupt the flowing design and
become separate forms. Parts of diamonds arranged
vertically at each side may be seen to anticipate the
(60) border.

25 / 28

25. The author would most probably agree with which one of the following conclusions about the stylistic development of Navajo weaving?


Amsden has divided Navajo weaving into four
distinct styles. He argues that three of them can be
identified by the type of design used to form
horizontal bands: colored stripes, zigzags, or
(5) diamonds. The fourth, or bordered, style he identifies
by a distinct border surrounding centrally placed,
dominating figures.


Amsden believes that the diamond style appeared
after 1869 when, under Anglo influence and
(10) encouragement, the blanket became a rug with
larger designs and bolder lines. The bordered style
appeared about 1890, and, Amsden argues, it reflects
the greatest number of Anglo influences on the newly
emerging rug business. The Anglo desire that
(15) anything with graphic designs have a top, bottom,
and border is a cultural preference that the Navajo
abhorred, as evidenced, he suggests, by the fact that
in early bordered specimens strips of color
unexpectedly break through the enclosing pattern.
(20) Amsden argues that the bordered rug represents a
radical break with previous styles. He asserts that the
border changed the artistic problem facing weavers:
a blank area suggests the use of isolated figures,
while traditional, banded Navajo designs were
(25) continuous and did not use isolated figures. The old
patterns alternated horizontal decorative zones in a
regular order.


Amsden’s view raises several questions. First,
what is involved in altering artistic styles? Some
(30) studies suggest that artisans’ motor habits and
thought processes must be revised when a style
changes precipitously. In the evolution of Navajo
weaving, however, no radical revisions in the way
articles are produced need be assumed. After all, all
(35) weaving subordinates design to the physical
limitations created by the process of weaving, which
includes creating an edge or border. The habits
required to make decorative borders are, therefore,
latent and easily brought to the surface.


(40) Second, is the relationship between the banded
and bordered styles as simple as Amsden suggests?
He assumes that a break in style is a break in
psychology. But if style results from constant quests
for invention, such stylistic breaks are inevitable.
(45) When a style has exhausted the possibilities inherent
in its principles, artists cast about for new, but not
necessarily alien, principles. Navajo weaving may
have reached this turning point prior to 1890.


Third, is there really a significant stylistic gap?
(50) Two other styles lie between the banded styles and
the bordered style. They suggest that disintegration
of the bands may have altered visual and motor
habits and prepared the way for a border filled with
separate units. In the Chief White Antelope blanket,
(55) dated prior to 1865, ten years before the first Anglo
trading post on the Navajo reservation, whole and
partial diamonds interrupt the flowing design and
become separate forms. Parts of diamonds arranged
vertically at each side may be seen to anticipate the
(60) border.

26 / 28

26. The author suggests that Amsden’s claim that borders in Navajo weaving were inspired by Anglo culture could be


Amsden has divided Navajo weaving into four
distinct styles. He argues that three of them can be
identified by the type of design used to form
horizontal bands: colored stripes, zigzags, or
(5) diamonds. The fourth, or bordered, style he identifies
by a distinct border surrounding centrally placed,
dominating figures.


Amsden believes that the diamond style appeared
after 1869 when, under Anglo influence and
(10) encouragement, the blanket became a rug with
larger designs and bolder lines. The bordered style
appeared about 1890, and, Amsden argues, it reflects
the greatest number of Anglo influences on the newly
emerging rug business. The Anglo desire that
(15) anything with graphic designs have a top, bottom,
and border is a cultural preference that the Navajo
abhorred, as evidenced, he suggests, by the fact that
in early bordered specimens strips of color
unexpectedly break through the enclosing pattern.
(20) Amsden argues that the bordered rug represents a
radical break with previous styles. He asserts that the
border changed the artistic problem facing weavers:
a blank area suggests the use of isolated figures,
while traditional, banded Navajo designs were
(25) continuous and did not use isolated figures. The old
patterns alternated horizontal decorative zones in a
regular order.


Amsden’s view raises several questions. First,
what is involved in altering artistic styles? Some
(30) studies suggest that artisans’ motor habits and
thought processes must be revised when a style
changes precipitously. In the evolution of Navajo
weaving, however, no radical revisions in the way
articles are produced need be assumed. After all, all
(35) weaving subordinates design to the physical
limitations created by the process of weaving, which
includes creating an edge or border. The habits
required to make decorative borders are, therefore,
latent and easily brought to the surface.


(40) Second, is the relationship between the banded
and bordered styles as simple as Amsden suggests?
He assumes that a break in style is a break in
psychology. But if style results from constant quests
for invention, such stylistic breaks are inevitable.
(45) When a style has exhausted the possibilities inherent
in its principles, artists cast about for new, but not
necessarily alien, principles. Navajo weaving may
have reached this turning point prior to 1890.


Third, is there really a significant stylistic gap?
(50) Two other styles lie between the banded styles and
the bordered style. They suggest that disintegration
of the bands may have altered visual and motor
habits and prepared the way for a border filled with
separate units. In the Chief White Antelope blanket,
(55) dated prior to 1865, ten years before the first Anglo
trading post on the Navajo reservation, whole and
partial diamonds interrupt the flowing design and
become separate forms. Parts of diamonds arranged
vertically at each side may be seen to anticipate the
(60) border.

27 / 28

27. The author most probably mentions the Chief White Antelope blanket in order to


Amsden has divided Navajo weaving into four
distinct styles. He argues that three of them can be
identified by the type of design used to form
horizontal bands: colored stripes, zigzags, or
(5) diamonds. The fourth, or bordered, style he identifies
by a distinct border surrounding centrally placed,
dominating figures.


Amsden believes that the diamond style appeared
after 1869 when, under Anglo influence and
(10) encouragement, the blanket became a rug with
larger designs and bolder lines. The bordered style
appeared about 1890, and, Amsden argues, it reflects
the greatest number of Anglo influences on the newly
emerging rug business. The Anglo desire that
(15) anything with graphic designs have a top, bottom,
and border is a cultural preference that the Navajo
abhorred, as evidenced, he suggests, by the fact that
in early bordered specimens strips of color
unexpectedly break through the enclosing pattern.
(20) Amsden argues that the bordered rug represents a
radical break with previous styles. He asserts that the
border changed the artistic problem facing weavers:
a blank area suggests the use of isolated figures,
while traditional, banded Navajo designs were
(25) continuous and did not use isolated figures. The old
patterns alternated horizontal decorative zones in a
regular order.


Amsden’s view raises several questions. First,
what is involved in altering artistic styles? Some
(30) studies suggest that artisans’ motor habits and
thought processes must be revised when a style
changes precipitously. In the evolution of Navajo
weaving, however, no radical revisions in the way
articles are produced need be assumed. After all, all
(35) weaving subordinates design to the physical
limitations created by the process of weaving, which
includes creating an edge or border. The habits
required to make decorative borders are, therefore,
latent and easily brought to the surface.


(40) Second, is the relationship between the banded
and bordered styles as simple as Amsden suggests?
He assumes that a break in style is a break in
psychology. But if style results from constant quests
for invention, such stylistic breaks are inevitable.
(45) When a style has exhausted the possibilities inherent
in its principles, artists cast about for new, but not
necessarily alien, principles. Navajo weaving may
have reached this turning point prior to 1890.


Third, is there really a significant stylistic gap?
(50) Two other styles lie between the banded styles and
the bordered style. They suggest that disintegration
of the bands may have altered visual and motor
habits and prepared the way for a border filled with
separate units. In the Chief White Antelope blanket,
(55) dated prior to 1865, ten years before the first Anglo
trading post on the Navajo reservation, whole and
partial diamonds interrupt the flowing design and
become separate forms. Parts of diamonds arranged
vertically at each side may be seen to anticipate the
(60) border.

28 / 28

28. The passage is primarily concerned with


Amsden has divided Navajo weaving into four
distinct styles. He argues that three of them can be
identified by the type of design used to form
horizontal bands: colored stripes, zigzags, or
(5) diamonds. The fourth, or bordered, style he identifies
by a distinct border surrounding centrally placed,
dominating figures.


Amsden believes that the diamond style appeared
after 1869 when, under Anglo influence and
(10) encouragement, the blanket became a rug with
larger designs and bolder lines. The bordered style
appeared about 1890, and, Amsden argues, it reflects
the greatest number of Anglo influences on the newly
emerging rug business. The Anglo desire that
(15) anything with graphic designs have a top, bottom,
and border is a cultural preference that the Navajo
abhorred, as evidenced, he suggests, by the fact that
in early bordered specimens strips of color
unexpectedly break through the enclosing pattern.
(20) Amsden argues that the bordered rug represents a
radical break with previous styles. He asserts that the
border changed the artistic problem facing weavers:
a blank area suggests the use of isolated figures,
while traditional, banded Navajo designs were
(25) continuous and did not use isolated figures. The old
patterns alternated horizontal decorative zones in a
regular order.


Amsden’s view raises several questions. First,
what is involved in altering artistic styles? Some
(30) studies suggest that artisans’ motor habits and
thought processes must be revised when a style
changes precipitously. In the evolution of Navajo
weaving, however, no radical revisions in the way
articles are produced need be assumed. After all, all
(35) weaving subordinates design to the physical
limitations created by the process of weaving, which
includes creating an edge or border. The habits
required to make decorative borders are, therefore,
latent and easily brought to the surface.


(40) Second, is the relationship between the banded
and bordered styles as simple as Amsden suggests?
He assumes that a break in style is a break in
psychology. But if style results from constant quests
for invention, such stylistic breaks are inevitable.
(45) When a style has exhausted the possibilities inherent
in its principles, artists cast about for new, but not
necessarily alien, principles. Navajo weaving may
have reached this turning point prior to 1890.


Third, is there really a significant stylistic gap?
(50) Two other styles lie between the banded styles and
the bordered style. They suggest that disintegration
of the bands may have altered visual and motor
habits and prepared the way for a border filled with
separate units. In the Chief White Antelope blanket,
(55) dated prior to 1865, ten years before the first Anglo
trading post on the Navajo reservation, whole and
partial diamonds interrupt the flowing design and
become separate forms. Parts of diamonds arranged
vertically at each side may be seen to anticipate the
(60) border.

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