Which excerpt from "Freeway 280" by Lorna Dee Cervantes best exemplifies the theme of home and belonging

The excerpt is from a longer essay on huckleberry finn by mark twain. what kind of support is used to develop the writer's main idea regarding how twain brought his characters to life?

Iwill give brainliest1.when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six-year-old daughter why she can't go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see the tears welling up in her little eyes when she is told that fun town is closed to colored children, and see the depressing clouds of inferiority begin to form in her little mental sky… •type of figurative language: •meaning of figurative language: •effect on tone and mood: •effect on audience: 2.like a boil that can never be cured as long as it is covered up but must be opened with all its pus-flowing ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must likewise be exposed, with all of the tension its exposing creates, to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured. •type of figurative language: •meaning of figurative language: •effect on tone and mood: •effect on audience: 3.over and over again i have found myself asking: "who worships here? who is their god? where were their voices when the lips of governor barnett dripped with words of interposition and nullification? where were their voices of support when tired, bruised, and weary negro men and women decided to rise from the dark dungeons of complacency to the bright hills of creative protest? " •type of figurative language: •meaning of figurative language: •effect on tone and mood:

Select the contred text in the passage which sentence in this excerpt from john galsworthy's narrative essay "gone" reflects his view that there is no afterlife? an old woman and mrs. herd's sister were in the sitting-room, they showed us to the crazy, narrow stairway. though we lived distant but four hundred yards of a crows flight, we had never seen mrs. herd before, for that is the way of things in this land of minding one's own business a slight dark girlish-looking woman, almost quite refined away, and with those eyes of the dying, where the spirit is coming through, as it only does when it knows that al is over except just the passing. she lay in a double bed with clean white sheets. a white-washed room, so low that the ceiling almost touched our heads, some flowers in a bow, the small lattice window open. though it was hot in there, it was better far than the rooms of most families in towns, living on a wage of twice as much, for here was no sign of defeat in decency or cleanliness. in her face, as in poor herd's, was that same strange minging of resigned despair and almost eager appeal, so terrible to disappoint. yet, trying not to disappoint it, one felt guilty of treachery: what was the good, the kindness in making this poor bird flutter still with hope against the bars, when fast prison had so surely closed in round her? but what else could we do? we could not give her those glib assurances that naive souls make so easily to others concerning their after state. and the night was so beautiful, so utterly glamourously beautiful, with its star-flowers, and its silence and its trees clothed in moonlight. all was tranquil as a dream of sleep. but it was long before our hearts wandering with poor herd, would let us remember that she had slipped away into so beautiful a dream