Bob and Carol both visited Plymouth, but only she took photographs. What is the antecedent of the underlined pronoun?

QUESTION POSTED AT 16/04/2020 - 07:05 PM

Answered by admin AT 16/04/2020 - 07:05 PM

The antecedent of the underlined pronoun is Carol, assuming she is underlined.
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QUESTION POSTED AT 29/05/2020 - 04:45 PM

What does this text rely on? U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Announces Expanded Reporting for Birds Captured and Collected During Deep water Horizon Response September 15, 2010 | 3:05:00 PM EDT The rescue of oiled wildlife impacted by the Deep water Horizon oil spill continues to be an important mission for the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. State and federal field biologists patrol coastal waters and marshes daily searching for wildlife in distress, including thousands of coastal shorebirds, wading birds and migratory species. Based on a rigorous review by a team of U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service biologists of previously released preliminary data, the Service has compiled an expanded report of the birds rescued and collected during the response to the Deepwater Horizon oil spill. The initial report released by the Fish and Wildlife Service today showed that as of Sept. 14, 2010, a total of 3,634 dead birds and 1,042 live birds have been found in areas affected by the Deep water Horizon spill. These numbers are subject to verification and cannot be considered final. Of the dead birds, the largest numbers are laughing gulls, followed by brown pelicans and northern gannets. Birds have been collected at sea, along the coast and inland. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service is the principal federal agency responsible for conserving, protecting and enhancing fish, wildlife and plants and their habitats for the continuing benefit of the American people. The Blackness Why is it so quiet? Why can't I move? And why is it so dark? I try to recall where I am, but I cannot remember. Blackness surrounds me. I hear a familiar voice that makes my heart flutter like a thousand butterflies. It is the voice of my friend, Mandy. She visits her grandparents here on the Gulf of Mexico every summer. She usually brings me crumbs, but today, I cannot smell anything except the sour smell of oil. Her voice sounds worried, different from the usual cheerful greeting that she calls me with every day at dusk. I try to turn towards her, but I can't move very well. My feet feel mired as if in quicksand. I hear her come closer. Her words help me understand that something has happened to my home. "Oh, grandma! What is all this? They are all covered in it! It's black. Ugh! The smell is so strong I can't stand it." Mandy's tears stream down her face, mingling with mine. I hear her crying, but all is dark, like a moonless night. Where is the smiling sun? I try to stretch out to feel the warmth, but my wings do not respond. Dazed, I call out to my friends hoping they will find me in the blackness, but everything is so still. I hear nothing, except for Mandy's desperation. Her sobs, uncontrollable. "Go get some towels, Mandy. Run!" Her grandma tells her, a quiet urgency in her voice. "Hey little one," grandma coos as she bends over me. I can feel her breath on my head. "We've got you and you are going to do all we can for you." All they can? I hear Mandy's hurried footsteps and feel the towel's softness enveloping me as she picks me up in her arms. She is gentle, her sobs quieting as she takes me to her home, seemingly miles and miles from my nest along the shoreline. I hear the phone ring. I hear the news on the television. "Spill...oil...negligence...BP...blame..." "What are we going to do?" I hear the door banging and neighbors' voices, shrill and urgent, coming in and out of the house. All of the sounds tell me that the emergency is intensifying. I still cannot see anything. Maybe it is good that I cannot see. If I could, I might see my home, blackened with the oil of a mishandled well deep in the ocean. I would see my friends, covered in slick crudeness. I would desperately observe the choking, billowing smoke, polluting the Gulf sky, my home. I would see my family unable to fly through the air, unable to dive into the ocean for the delicious meals we used to find there. I fear our fish are no more; they are stuck in the depths of the black, watery grave. What are we going to do? What are we going to do? I hope the humans will do something to bring light to all of the blackness. I hear Mandy, making sweet, soothing sounds as she begins to clean my feathers gently. I hear that sound often. It's the sound humans make on the beach when their babies are frightened.

QUESTION POSTED AT 29/05/2020 - 10:21 AM