(bolded words are GRE practice)
Staring at the arabesque lines adorning the ceiling, Kylie bit her tongue and tried to ignore the cacophony emerging from the kitchen. Above her head red, gold and green leaves swirled ornately around the antique molding. In contrast to the ascetic white of the walls, she’d always loved the byzantine wind of the ceiling patterns in the old house.
In antithesis to the peaceful scene over her head, the din assailing her earlobes reminded her that once again, her uncle was attempting to cajole her mother into selling the place. Passed down from her grandmother, the house was over one hundred years old and to Kylie, was the only heirloom that mattered. If the cachinnation sailing through the door was anything to go on, her uncle wasn’t getting anywhere. Although it was true that the home was a bit grand for three, Kylie and her sister Kate rallied like bellicose patriots to keep it. An amalgamation of victorian and antebellum architecture, this was the home of their childhood, rich with memories, secret hiding places, and first kisses on the veranda.
Her beleaguered uncle failed to see that at nineteen, Kylie’s repudiation of a chic apartment had less to do with the loss of a private bedroom, but with genuine fondness for the home herself. Kate learned to ride a bike in the dim basement; together they’d told tales of the folk that lived beyond the crown of the molding and under the grain of the knotty floorboards. It was home. Belying his claim of concern for their safety, Kylie suspected her Uncle would rather his inheritance exist in more portable property. Avering to do what she could to help the cause, Kyle stood and went to assuage the situation in the kitchen, plans for attack already burgeoning in her head.