In this section you are going to read a passage followed by some questions. For each question there are four suggested answers marked A, B, C and D. You should choose the One best answer. The plane was taking off in twenty minutes and I was close to tears. My suitcase was still sitting in the middle of the concourse at St Petersburg airport and the potato-faced Russian official fingering my passport was unmoved. "Your visa has expired, he said. This was true, unfortunately. But what was also true was that when I had checked with the visa office, they had shouted, "No problem! " pushing me firmly out of the door. But according to Mr Potato Head, my visa was a problem, and one that would cost $200 to solve, $100 for each day since it expired. I was nineteen, taking a year out after school, and the $25 in my pocket was all I had. My ticket was a cheap one and was unchangeable. If I was not on the plane when it left in fifteen minutes, I would have to pay for another flight, $200 for the overdue visa, and would have to find some way of getting back into town, as well as somewhere to stay. While I was trying to make this clear, firmly and without crying, a queue had built up. Suddenly there was a voice behind me: “ if an English chequebook ’s any good...? ” Bless posh Englishman. He was young, with a pink face and floppy hair, and had come from several places back in the queue to offer 200 dollars to a complete stranger. Sadly, however, an English chequebook wasn ’t any good. It had to be cash. Turning away, I wandered miserably around the concourse, trying to think. I had been in St Petersburg for six months, teaching English. When I had arrived in February, without a word of Russian, the city was buried beneath a grimy crust of old snow. The snow melted and I saw the white nights, when the citizens walk the street in the dizzying half-light of a sun that never quite disappears. I fell in love. I lived off marrow fritters fried in rancid oil, boiled eggs, tea and vodka. It had been very interesting but tiring, and I was very ready to come home. What on earth could I do? I had an idea: I somehow persuaded the airport officials to let me into the departure lounge. I found the man who had been so sweet before and asked him if he would help with my plan. We went from passenger to passenger, explaining the situation, asking a small loan and an address to return the money. People were understandably silent. We were getting nowhere. It was less than ten minutes to take-off. Time for a dramatic gesture. I stood in the middle of the floor and cleared my throat. “Ladies and gentlemen... ” Perfect silence followed. I felt embarrassed. Then, from behind me, I heard a voice, “ come on, ladies, it could be your daughter. ” and then came the cash. Dollar bills were thrust at me----almost faster than I could keep count. Not one passenger would give me an address to return money. A quiet man in a smart suit standing by my shoulder said, “ how much do you need? I need $20. He gave it to me and I shook my head at the next person holding out money. “ I ’ve got it. ” I heard the news sweep the room: “ she ’s got it. She ’s got it. ” A plane ’s worth of people clapped. “Don ’t let them leave without me! ” I raced back to the desk and practically threw the money at the official. He gaped. Five minutes later I was on the plane to Heathrow.