Which point of view does the narrator use in the passage?"Be careful," the bus driver said as Stanley walked down the steps.
Stanley wasn't sure if the bus driver meant for him to be careful going down the steps, or if he was telling him to be careful at Camp Green Lake. "Thanks for the ride," he said. His mouth was dry and his throat hurt. He stepped onto the hard, dry dirt.
From Louis Sachar, Holes. Copyright 1998 by Louis Sachar
1)first person
2)second person
3)third person

Answers

Answer 1
Answer:

Answer:

third person

Explanation:

the narrator shows us the thoughts and feelings of one character.

Answer 2
Answer:

Answer:

The answer is 3rd person


Related Questions

What’s a descriptive essay?
Squidward Tentacles got so dirty playing soccer that he thought he would never get clean; in fact, he went through two whole bars of soap that night.whats wrong with the punctuation or grammer​
I'm not a bird, but I can fly through the sky. I'm not a river, but I'm full of water. What am I? [Riddle]
Which are the following assort independently ?
A work of literature that is loosely based on a real event is known as?

1. Which statement is completely true? A. Romanticists focus on everyday life and even social problems.
B. Naturalism is a reaction against Postmodernism.
C. Literature produced during each literary movement tends to share similar characteristics.
D. Writers influenced by Postmodernism value logic, clarity, balance, restraint, and respect for tradition.

Answers

The correct answer is C. Literature produced during each literary movement tends to share similar characteristics.

It's not A because romanticists never dealt with everyday life and social problems. It's not B because Naturalism existed some 100 years before Postmodernism, and it's not D because postmodernism is about complete disrespect for tradition.

A metaphor is a type of ?a. personification
c. style
b. mood
d. figure of speech

Answers

A metaphor is a : D. figure of speech 

Answer:

d

Explanation:

What is mduhiins unscrambled?

Answers

Hinduism is mduhiins unscrambled. It was actually pretty easy, considering my dad is from india. 

Answer:

indiums

Explanation:

this is the possible match.

I'm really good at unscrambling words since i was littele.

hope this helps.

What is the similarity between the story of Adam and Eve and the story of Prometheus?

Answers


both involved sin and punishment/discipline

Read the sentence.She already told you that we know how to drive the car because it is ours.
Which of the pronouns used in this sentence is in the possessive case?
she
you
we
it
ours

Answers

Answer: E) Ours.

Explanation: The possessive case is a structure usually used to show possession in a sentence. It applies to nouns, adjectives and pronouns. The possessive case of nouns is form by adding " 's" to the end of the noun, for example: my sister's book. The possessive adjectives are my, your, his, her, its, our, and their. And the possessive pronouns are mine, yours, his, hers, its, ours, and theirs, so the pronoun in the given sentence that is in the possessive case is "ours."

The possessive case would be "ours". She is saying that she knows how to drive OUR car.

I developed the method of teaching guides that student toward understanding a new idea through questions.Who am I?

Answers

I am Socrates. The style of teaching that was made popular by Socrates is also known by the name of "the Socratic method". Socrates was the person who relentlessly put forward questions towards those that thought that they knew the answers. this style of teaching became very popular later on and it yielded great results.
Other Questions
In line 44, ‘“drollery”’ most likely means(A) boredom (B) contention (C) sadness (D) dark absurdity (E) insanity Passage 3. Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness “I left in a French steamer, and she called in every blamed port they have out there, for, as far as I could see, the sole purpose of landing soldiers and custom- house offi cers. I watched the coast. Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thinking about an enigma. Th ere it is before you—smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering, ‘Come and fi nd out.’ Th is one was almost featureless, as if still in the making, with an aspect of monotonous grimness. Th e edge of a colossal jungle, so dark-green as to be almost black, fringed with white surf, ran straight, like a ruled line, far, far away along a blue sea whose glitter was blurred by a creeping mist. Th e sun was fi erce, the land seemed to glisten and drip with steam. Here and there greyish-whitish specks showed up clustered inside the white surf, with a fl ag fl ying above them perhaps. Settlements some centuries old, and still no bigger than pinheads on the untouched expanse of their background. We pounded along, stopped, landed soldiers; went on, landed custom-house clerks to levy toll in what looked like a God-forsaken wilderness, with a tin shed and a fl ag-pole lost in it; landed more soldiers—to take care of the custom-house clerks, presumably. Some, I heard, got drowned in the surf; but whether they did or not, nobody seemed particularly to care. Th ey were just fl ung out there, and on we went. Every day the coast looked the same, as though we had not moved; but we passed various places—trading places—with names like Gran’ Bassam, Little Popo; names that seemed to belong to some sordid farce acted in front of a sinister back-cloth. Th e idleness of a passenger, my isolation amongst all these men with whom I had no point of contact, the oily and languid sea, the uniform sombreness of the coast, seemed to keep me away from the truth of things, within the toil of a mournful and senseless delusion. Th e voice of the surf heard now and then was a positive pleasure, like the speech of a brother. It was something natural, that had its reason, that had a meaning. Now and then a boat from the shore gave one a momentary contact with reality. It was paddled by black fellows. You could see from afar the white of their eyeballs glistening. Th ey shouted, sang; their bodies streamed with perspiration; they had faces like grotesque masks—these chaps; but they had bone, muscle, a wild vitality, an intense energy of movement, that was as natural and true as the surf along their coast. Th ey wanted no excuse for being there. Th ey were a great comfort to look at. For a time I would feel I belonged still to a world of straightforward facts; but the feeling would not last long. Something would turn up to scare it away. Once, I remember, we came upon a man-of-war anchored off the coast. Th ere wasn’t even a shed there, and she was shelling the bush. It appears the French had one of their wars going on thereabouts. Her ensign dropped limp like a rag; the muzzles of the long six-inch guns stuck out all over the low hull; the greasy, slimy swell swung her up lazily and let her down, swaying her thin masts. In the empty immensity of earth, sky, and water, there she was, incomprehensible, fi ring into a continent. Pop, would go one of the six-inch guns; a small fl ame would dart and vanish, a little white smoke would disappear, a tiny projectile would give a feeble screech—and nothing happened. Nothing could happen. Th ere was a touch of insanity in the proceeding, a sense of lugubrious drollery in the sight; and it was not dissipated by somebody on board assuring me earnestly there was a camp of natives—he called them enemies!—hidden out of sight somewhere.”