Cefr practice reading tests complete the text true or false

 
 
Q1 
Q2 
Q3 
Q4 
Q5 
Q6 
Q7 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

---

 
 
 
Get guaranteed intensive CEFR courses from Mr Aslanov!!!
Call and join our team now: 
+ 998 94 633 32 30
 
CEFR READING PART PRACTICE – MULTIPLE CHOICE
Read the text and answer the questions 1-7. 
 
TASK 6 
Brunetti was at the post office at seven-thirty the next morning, located the person in charge of the postmen, showed 
his warrant card, and explained that he wanted to speak to the postman who delivered mail to the area in Cannaregio 
near the 
Palazzo
del Cammello. She told him to go to the first floor and ask in the second room on the left, where 
the Cannaregio postmen sorted their mail. The room was high-ceilinged, the entire space filled with long counters 
with sorting racks behind them. Ten or twelve people stood around, putting letters into slots or pulling them out and 
packing them into leather satchels. He asked the first person he encountered, a long-haired woman with a strangely 
reddened complexion, where he could find the person who delivered the mail to the Canale della Misericordia area. 
She looked at him with open curiosity, then pointed to a man halfway along the table and called out, “Mario, 
someone wants to talk to you.” 
 
The man called Mario looked at them, then down at the letters in his hands. One by one, merely glancing at the 
names and addresses, he slipped them quickly into the slots in front of him, then walked over to Brunetti. He was in 
his late thirties, Brunetti guessed, with light brown hair that fell in a thick wedge across his forehead. Brunetti 
introduced himself and started to take his warrant card out again, but the postman stopped him with a gesture and 
suggested they talk over coffee.
They walked down to the bar, where Mario ordered two coffees and asked Brunetti what he could do for him.
 
“Did 
you deliver mail to Maria Battestini at Cannaregio ...?” “Yes. I delivered her mail for three years. I must have taken 
her, in that time, thirty or forty items of registered mail, had to climb all those steps to get her to sign for them.” 
Brunetti anticipated his anger at never having been tipped and waited for him to give voice to it, but the man simply 
said, “I don't expect to be tipped, especially by old people, but she never even said thank you.” ‘’Isn't that a lot of 
registered mail?” Brunetti asked. “How often did they come?” “Once a month,” the postman answered. “As regular 
as a Swiss watch. And it wasn't letters, but those padded envelopes, you know, the sort you send photos or CDs in.” 
Or money, thought Brunetti, and asked, “Do you remember where they came from?” “There were a couple of 
addresses, I think,” Mario answered. “They sounded like charity things, you know, Care and Share, and Child Aid. 
That sort of thing.” “Can you remember any of them exactly?” “I deliver mail to almost four hundred people,” he 
said by way of answer. “Do you remember when they started?” “Oh, she was getting them already when I started on 
that route.” “Who had the route before you?” Brunetti asked. “Nicolo Matucci, but he retired and went back to 
Sicily.” Brunetti left the subject of the registered packages and asked, “Did you bring her bank statements?” - “Yes, 
every month,” he said, and recited the names of the banks. “Those and the bills were the only things she ever got, 
except for some other registered letters.” were the only things she ever got, except for some other registered letters.”
 
“Do you remember where those were from?” “Most of them came from people in the neighbourhood, complaining 
about the television.” Before Brunetti could ask him about how he knew this, Mario said, “They all told me about 
them, wanted to be sure that the letters were delivered. Everyone heard it, that noise, but there was nothing they 
could do. She's old. That is, she was old, and the police wouldn't do anything. They're useless.” He looked up 
suddenly at Brunetti and said, “Excuse me.” Brunetti smiled and waved it away with an easy smile. “No, you're 
right,” Brunetti went on, “there's nothing we can do, not really. The person who complains can bring a case, but that 
means that people from some department - I don't know what its name is, but it takes care of complaints about noise 
- have to go in to measure the decibels of the noise to see if it's really something called 'aural aggression’, but they 
don't work at night, or if they get called at night, they don't come until the next morning, by which time whatever it 
was has been turned down.” Like all policemen in the city, he was familiar with the situation, and like them, he 
knew it had no solution. 

---