Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville Row, Burlington Gardens. ... He was one of the most noticeable members of the Reform
Club,1 though he seemed always to avoid attracting attention; a
[mysterious) personage, about whom little was known, except that he was a
polished man of the world. ...
2 Was Phileas Fogg rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him best
could not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg was the last
person to whom to apply for the information. He was not lavish, nor, on the
contrary, [greedy]; for, whenever he knew that money was needed for a
noble, useful, or benevolent purpose, he supplied it quietly and sometimes
anonymously. He was, in short, the least communicative of men. He talked
very little, and seemed all the more mysterious for his taciturn4 manner. His
daily habits were quite open to observation; but whatever he did was so
exactly the same thing that he had always done before, that the wits of the
curious were fairly puzzled.
3 Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world
more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear to
have an intimate acquaintance with it. He often corrected, with a few clear
words, the thousand conjectures 5 advanced by members of the club as to

Which excerpts from the war of the worldseffectively use setting to provide a contrast to the horror of the plot? (select all that apply.)the war of the worldshe remained standing at the edge of the pit that the thing had made for itself, staring at its strange appearance, astonished chiefly at its unusual shape and colour, and dimly perceiving even then some evidence of design in its arrival. the early morning was wonderfully still, and the sun, just clearing the pine trees towards weybridge, was already warm. they shouted consolation and promises, and went off back to the town again to get . one can imagine them, covered with sand, excited and disordered, running up the little street in the bright sunlight just as the shop folks were taking down their shutters and people were opening their bedroom windows. it was glaringly hot, not a cloud in the sky nor a breath of wind, and the only shadow was that of the few scattered pine trees. the burning heather had been extinguished, but the level ground towards ottershaw was blackened as far as one could see, and still giving off vertical streamers of smoke. an enormous hole had been made by the impact of the projectile, and the sand and gravel had been flung violently in every direction over the heath, forming heaps visible a mile and a half away. the heather was on fire eastward, and a thin blue smoke rose against the dawn.