Datasets:

eraser_multi_rc

like 3

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What was Allan writing on at his desk ? || In an old book

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What was Allan writing on at his desk ? || Pages

1True

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What was Allan writing on at his desk ? || Paper

1True

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What was Allan writing on at his desk ? || Parchment

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What was Allan writing on at his desk ? || A will

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

Did Allan write his story in a single session ? || No

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

Did Allan write his story in a single session ? || Yes

1True

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

Did Allan write his story in a single session ? || It took a week

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

Did Allan write his story in a single session ? || He wrote it in one night

1True

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

Did Arthur grab Allan 's paper ? || Maybe

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

Did Arthur grab Allan 's paper ? || Yes

1True

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

Did Arthur grab Allan 's paper ? || He also tore them

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What did Allan contemplate over his desk ? || A story he had constructed long ago

1True

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What did Allan contemplate over his desk ? || Arthur

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What did Allan contemplate over his desk ? || An outline he'd written previously

1True

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What did Allan contemplate over his desk ? || Grimm

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What did Allan contemplate over his desk ? || What to write about

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What did Allan contemplate over his desk ? || An old story of his

1True

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

When Allan fills pages without stricture , how does Arthur react ? || With congratulations

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

When Allan fills pages without stricture , how does Arthur react ? || He is angry

1True

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

When Allan fills pages without stricture , how does Arthur react ? || Anger and disgust

1True

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

When Allan fills pages without stricture , how does Arthur react ? || He raises his voice and yells at Allan

1True

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

When Allan fills pages without stricture , how does Arthur react ? || Joy

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

When Allan fills pages without stricture , how does Arthur react ? || He is proud

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What does Arthur think of Allan 's non - traditional stories ? || They are glorified Grimm's tales

1True

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What does Arthur think of Allan 's non - traditional stories ? || He does not like them

1True

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What does Arthur think of Allan 's non - traditional stories ? || They are drivel

1True

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What does Arthur think of Allan 's non - traditional stories ? || He adores them

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What does Arthur think of Allan 's non - traditional stories ? || They are exciting

0False

Allan crouched over his desk once more , pen in hand and mind blank . He contemplated a story , an outline he had laboriously constructed some time ago . He had filled his pen and raised it , the nib descending towards the paper , before the sound came : the gentle , persistent tapping of the gnarled , primeval willow touching the window with long , insistent fingers . His eyes awoke with a passionate , determined flame , though the only light came from the glutted moon . Allan filled page after page , the words escaping from his mind onto the paper . Where before they had marched in regiments , practiced in ranks and followed their leaders ' commands , the words now escaped in their true forms , unhindered by any stricture . He continued long into the night , until the eldritch orb had sunk into the waiting hands of the willow , raised perpetually skyward . Arthur looked up from the results of a night 's frenzied labors and looked Allan in the eye . " What is this ? " he queried , indicating the pages he held in his left hand . " I decided that … since I was n't having much success with more – traditional – stories , I might see what sort of work I produced if I let my imagination go freely , " Allan replied , somewhat less self - assured than he had been the previous night . " What in G - d 's name could have possessed you to do such a thing , " cried Arthur , nearly raising his voice . " After all I said the day before , why have you abandoned centuries of literary progress for some self - indulgent fantasy ? " He shook the papers at Allan , raising them like a belt above the head of a disobedient son . " This is nothing but a glorified Grimm 's tale , a miscarried child of Stoker , a creation less fit to be published than to be told around an open fire at the hovel of some peasant ! " He spoke the last word with such heavy intonation that Allan shrank back before the physical wave of sound emanating from Arthur 's throat . " Do you hate the modern system of literature ? Do you personally despise the works the Enlightenment or the progress made since Shakespeare ? " For a moment , Allan could hardly do more than shake his head . " No , of course not … I– " " Then why , " Arthur barreled on , " do you disregard them all and return to this superstitious babble , this morbid , paganistic drivel ?

What does Arthur think of Allan 's non - traditional stories ? || They are inventive

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did the author 's papa store in the stopbox received on his birthday ? || Baby tomatoes, cucumbers, and strawberries

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did the author 's papa store in the stopbox received on his birthday ? || Mink jacket

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did Papa use his birthday present for ? ||

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did Papa use his birthday present for ? || Begged them for its release

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did Papa use his birthday present for ? || Mink jacket

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did Papa use his birthday present for ? || For spring-time meals in the middle of winter

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did Papa use his birthday present for ? || To preserve baby tomatoes, cucumbers, and strawberries in translucent cubes

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did Papa use his birthday present for ? || To spend so many pesos on a toy

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

Who would not let her return the toys ? ||

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

Who would not let her return the toys ? || President

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

Who would not let her return the toys ? || Uncle

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

Who would not let her return the toys ? || The author

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

Who would not let her return the toys ? || Papa

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did they find it stopboxes while cleaning their Papa 's apartment ? || Stamp collection

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did they find it stopboxes while cleaning their Papa 's apartment ? || Baby shoes

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did papa preserve ? || Tomatoes, cucumbers, and strawberries

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did papa preserve ? || Baby tomatoes, cucumbers, and strawberries

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did papa preserve ? || Baby shoes

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did papa preserve ? || Spring-time meals in the middle of winter

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

The item found by the author and their siblings in their Papa 's stopbox after his death were stored where in the author 's home ? || Above her computer while she worked

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

The item found by the author and their siblings in their Papa 's stopbox after his death were stored where in the author 's home ? || On top of their computer

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

The item found by the author and their siblings in their Papa 's stopbox after his death were stored where in the author 's home ? || Stopboxes

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

The item found by the author and their siblings in their Papa 's stopbox after his death were stored where in the author 's home ? || Our baby shoes

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

Father died how many years after mother ? || Immediately

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

Father died how many years after mother ? || A year

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

Father died how many years after mother ? || 1year

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did they find when they cleaned their parents ' apartment ? || The stopbox

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did they find when they cleaned their parents ' apartment ? || Mink jacket

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did they find when they cleaned their parents ' apartment ? || Capturador, a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did they find when they cleaned their parents ' apartment ? || A treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did they find when they cleaned their parents ' apartment ? || My computer

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What did they find when they cleaned their parents ' apartment ? || Their baby shoes protected in stopboxes

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What sat above my computer while I worked ? || Stopboxes

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What sat above my computer while I worked ? || My compute

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What sat above my computer while I worked ? || Baby shoes

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What sat on the computer ? || A treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What sat on the computer ? || My computer

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What sat on the computer ? || Will Shetterly

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What sat on the computer ? || Stopboxes

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What sat on the computer ? || The baby shoes

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What color was the item Papa would not Mama return ? || Teal blue

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What color was the item Papa would not Mama return ? || Translucent

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What color was the item Papa would not Mama return ? || Papa's stopbox

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What reason did the author give for coughing after breathing in the air from the stopbox the baby shoes were stored in ? || Symbol of their love for her

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What reason did the author give for coughing after breathing in the air from the stopbox the baby shoes were stored in ? || Baby shoes had not been cleaned before they were encased

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What reason did the author give for coughing after breathing in the air from the stopbox the baby shoes were stored in ? || The baby shoes were not cleaned

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What reason did the author give for coughing after breathing in the air from the stopbox the baby shoes were stored in ? || Warhead

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What was mamas mink jacket ? || A friend hand-me-down

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What was mamas mink jacket ? || A family hand me down

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What was mamas mink jacket ? || Stamp collection

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What item would Papa not let Mama return ? || A Tiempo Capturado

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What item would Papa not let Mama return ? || Stopbox, a teal blue Tiempo Capturado

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What item would Papa not let Mama return ? || Mink jacket

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What made the speaker cough ? || Because I laughed

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What made the speaker cough ? || Symbol of their love for me

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What made the speaker cough ? || The scent

0False

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What made the speaker cough ? || Baby shoes had not been cleaned

1True

Captured Moments by Will Shetterly I remember Papa 's stopbox , a teal blue Tiempo Capturado that Mama brought home for his birthday . It was huge and inefficient , and she should never have spent so many pesos on a toy , but Papa would not let her return it . He used it to preserve baby tomatoes , cucumbers , and strawberries in translucent cubes that he stored in the pantry for spring - time meals in the middle of winter . Mama kept her mink jacket , a family hand - me - down , safe from time in a stopbox , and lent the capturador to my uncle for his stamp collection . Sometimes they would let us little ones to seal a treasured toy or a last piece of birthday cake until we begged them for its release , usually a few hours after enclosing it . When my father died , a year after my mother , my sisters and I cleaned out their apartment . We found our baby shoes protected in stopboxes . I took mine home , where they sat above my computer while I worked on my first play . One night when I did not believe love had ever existed for anyone , I used my own capturador , a sleek titanium Sanyo Tardar Ahora , to undo the stopbox . Bringing my face close to the shoes , I breathed deeply of air that my parents had trapped while closing up that symbol of their love for me . The instant would have been improved had my baby shoes been cleaned before they were encased . But as soon as I coughed , I laughed , and I did not try to kill myself that night .

What made the speaker cough ? || Because I did not try to kill myself that night

0False

Let me begin again . I like life on the resort worlds -- always have and , after the upcoming mindwipe , always will . Last year , I rented a small house on Vega IV , a sea world , all islands and reefs and archipelagos , turquoise waters and aquamarine skies , sunrises like symphonies and sunsets like stars gone supernova . There 's only one city : called Nuevo Acapulco in La Enciclopedia del Empirio de la Humanidad , it 's N'apulco to the locals . The N'apulcans are mostly emigrants from Polaris II ; the only difference between them and their Carribbean ancestors is that the ancestors fleeced NorAm tourists . Now the N'apulcans profit from their Hispanic siblings . I do n't mean to sound cynical . I suppose I wish to show that I 'm still capable of a certain authorial distance , a semblance of dispassionate observation . The following events may indicate otherwise . In fine tourist tradition , most homes on Vega IV are named . Mine was The Sleeping Flamingo , and its outer walls were coral pink . Were they mood - sensitive , they would have changed as I first viewed them . The rental agent , an attractive N'apulcan named Tasha Cortez , was not mood - sensitive either . She said , " It 's beautiful , is n't it , Señor Flynn ? " My instinct was to gesture curtly with a cupped hand that she lift the wind boat and take me elsewhere . But she was young and attractive ( as I have said and may say again ) and eager and so happy to be assisting the infamous Bernardo Flynn that I merely raised an eyebrow in mild scepticism . And then , because a playwright can not resist a promising line , I said , " Your Sleeping Flamingo should be put to sleep . "

What is the full name of the city Tasha Cortez came from ? || Vega IV

0False

Let me begin again . I like life on the resort worlds -- always have and , after the upcoming mindwipe , always will . Last year , I rented a small house on Vega IV , a sea world , all islands and reefs and archipelagos , turquoise waters and aquamarine skies , sunrises like symphonies and sunsets like stars gone supernova . There 's only one city : called Nuevo Acapulco in La Enciclopedia del Empirio de la Humanidad , it 's N'apulco to the locals . The N'apulcans are mostly emigrants from Polaris II ; the only difference between them and their Carribbean ancestors is that the ancestors fleeced NorAm tourists . Now the N'apulcans profit from their Hispanic siblings . I do n't mean to sound cynical . I suppose I wish to show that I 'm still capable of a certain authorial distance , a semblance of dispassionate observation . The following events may indicate otherwise . In fine tourist tradition , most homes on Vega IV are named . Mine was The Sleeping Flamingo , and its outer walls were coral pink . Were they mood - sensitive , they would have changed as I first viewed them . The rental agent , an attractive N'apulcan named Tasha Cortez , was not mood - sensitive either . She said , " It 's beautiful , is n't it , Señor Flynn ? " My instinct was to gesture curtly with a cupped hand that she lift the wind boat and take me elsewhere . But she was young and attractive ( as I have said and may say again ) and eager and so happy to be assisting the infamous Bernardo Flynn that I merely raised an eyebrow in mild scepticism . And then , because a playwright can not resist a promising line , I said , " Your Sleeping Flamingo should be put to sleep . "

What is the full name of the city Tasha Cortez came from ? || Polaris II

0False

Let me begin again . I like life on the resort worlds -- always have and , after the upcoming mindwipe , always will . Last year , I rented a small house on Vega IV , a sea world , all islands and reefs and archipelagos , turquoise waters and aquamarine skies , sunrises like symphonies and sunsets like stars gone supernova . There 's only one city : called Nuevo Acapulco in La Enciclopedia del Empirio de la Humanidad , it 's N'apulco to the locals . The N'apulcans are mostly emigrants from Polaris II ; the only difference between them and their Carribbean ancestors is that the ancestors fleeced NorAm tourists . Now the N'apulcans profit from their Hispanic siblings . I do n't mean to sound cynical . I suppose I wish to show that I 'm still capable of a certain authorial distance , a semblance of dispassionate observation . The following events may indicate otherwise . In fine tourist tradition , most homes on Vega IV are named . Mine was The Sleeping Flamingo , and its outer walls were coral pink . Were they mood - sensitive , they would have changed as I first viewed them . The rental agent , an attractive N'apulcan named Tasha Cortez , was not mood - sensitive either . She said , " It 's beautiful , is n't it , Señor Flynn ? " My instinct was to gesture curtly with a cupped hand that she lift the wind boat and take me elsewhere . But she was young and attractive ( as I have said and may say again ) and eager and so happy to be assisting the infamous Bernardo Flynn that I merely raised an eyebrow in mild scepticism . And then , because a playwright can not resist a promising line , I said , " Your Sleeping Flamingo should be put to sleep . "

What is the full name of the city Tasha Cortez came from ? || Nuevo Acapulco

1True

Let me begin again . I like life on the resort worlds -- always have and , after the upcoming mindwipe , always will . Last year , I rented a small house on Vega IV , a sea world , all islands and reefs and archipelagos , turquoise waters and aquamarine skies , sunrises like symphonies and sunsets like stars gone supernova . There 's only one city : called Nuevo Acapulco in La Enciclopedia del Empirio de la Humanidad , it 's N'apulco to the locals . The N'apulcans are mostly emigrants from Polaris II ; the only difference between them and their Carribbean ancestors is that the ancestors fleeced NorAm tourists . Now the N'apulcans profit from their Hispanic siblings . I do n't mean to sound cynical . I suppose I wish to show that I 'm still capable of a certain authorial distance , a semblance of dispassionate observation . The following events may indicate otherwise . In fine tourist tradition , most homes on Vega IV are named . Mine was The Sleeping Flamingo , and its outer walls were coral pink . Were they mood - sensitive , they would have changed as I first viewed them . The rental agent , an attractive N'apulcan named Tasha Cortez , was not mood - sensitive either . She said , " It 's beautiful , is n't it , Señor Flynn ? " My instinct was to gesture curtly with a cupped hand that she lift the wind boat and take me elsewhere . But she was young and attractive ( as I have said and may say again ) and eager and so happy to be assisting the infamous Bernardo Flynn that I merely raised an eyebrow in mild scepticism . And then , because a playwright can not resist a promising line , I said , " Your Sleeping Flamingo should be put to sleep . "

What is the full name of the city Tasha Cortez came from ? || N'apulco

0False

Let me begin again . I like life on the resort worlds -- always have and , after the upcoming mindwipe , always will . Last year , I rented a small house on Vega IV , a sea world , all islands and reefs and archipelagos , turquoise waters and aquamarine skies , sunrises like symphonies and sunsets like stars gone supernova . There 's only one city : called Nuevo Acapulco in La Enciclopedia del Empirio de la Humanidad , it 's N'apulco to the locals . The N'apulcans are mostly emigrants from Polaris II ; the only difference between them and their Carribbean ancestors is that the ancestors fleeced NorAm tourists . Now the N'apulcans profit from their Hispanic siblings . I do n't mean to sound cynical . I suppose I wish to show that I 'm still capable of a certain authorial distance , a semblance of dispassionate observation . The following events may indicate otherwise . In fine tourist tradition , most homes on Vega IV are named . Mine was The Sleeping Flamingo , and its outer walls were coral pink . Were they mood - sensitive , they would have changed as I first viewed them . The rental agent , an attractive N'apulcan named Tasha Cortez , was not mood - sensitive either . She said , " It 's beautiful , is n't it , Señor Flynn ? " My instinct was to gesture curtly with a cupped hand that she lift the wind boat and take me elsewhere . But she was young and attractive ( as I have said and may say again ) and eager and so happy to be assisting the infamous Bernardo Flynn that I merely raised an eyebrow in mild scepticism . And then , because a playwright can not resist a promising line , I said , " Your Sleeping Flamingo should be put to sleep . "

What is the full name of the city Tasha Cortez came from ? || The Sleeping Flamingo

0False

Let me begin again . I like life on the resort worlds -- always have and , after the upcoming mindwipe , always will . Last year , I rented a small house on Vega IV , a sea world , all islands and reefs and archipelagos , turquoise waters and aquamarine skies , sunrises like symphonies and sunsets like stars gone supernova . There 's only one city : called Nuevo Acapulco in La Enciclopedia del Empirio de la Humanidad , it 's N'apulco to the locals . The N'apulcans are mostly emigrants from Polaris II ; the only difference between them and their Carribbean ancestors is that the ancestors fleeced NorAm tourists . Now the N'apulcans profit from their Hispanic siblings . I do n't mean to sound cynical . I suppose I wish to show that I 'm still capable of a certain authorial distance , a semblance of dispassionate observation . The following events may indicate otherwise . In fine tourist tradition , most homes on Vega IV are named . Mine was The Sleeping Flamingo , and its outer walls were coral pink . Were they mood - sensitive , they would have changed as I first viewed them . The rental agent , an attractive N'apulcan named Tasha Cortez , was not mood - sensitive either . She said , " It 's beautiful , is n't it , Señor Flynn ? " My instinct was to gesture curtly with a cupped hand that she lift the wind boat and take me elsewhere . But she was young and attractive ( as I have said and may say again ) and eager and so happy to be assisting the infamous Bernardo Flynn that I merely raised an eyebrow in mild scepticism . And then , because a playwright can not resist a promising line , I said , " Your Sleeping Flamingo should be put to sleep . "

What is the full name of the city Tasha Cortez came from ? || Nuevo Acapulco in La Enciclopedia del Empirio de la Humanidad

1True

Let me begin again . I like life on the resort worlds -- always have and , after the upcoming mindwipe , always will . Last year , I rented a small house on Vega IV , a sea world , all islands and reefs and archipelagos , turquoise waters and aquamarine skies , sunrises like symphonies and sunsets like stars gone supernova . There 's only one city : called Nuevo Acapulco in La Enciclopedia del Empirio de la Humanidad , it 's N'apulco to the locals . The N'apulcans are mostly emigrants from Polaris II ; the only difference between them and their Carribbean ancestors is that the ancestors fleeced NorAm tourists . Now the N'apulcans profit from their Hispanic siblings . I do n't mean to sound cynical . I suppose I wish to show that I 'm still capable of a certain authorial distance , a semblance of dispassionate observation . The following events may indicate otherwise . In fine tourist tradition , most homes on Vega IV are named . Mine was The Sleeping Flamingo , and its outer walls were coral pink . Were they mood - sensitive , they would have changed as I first viewed them . The rental agent , an attractive N'apulcan named Tasha Cortez , was not mood - sensitive either . She said , " It 's beautiful , is n't it , Señor Flynn ? " My instinct was to gesture curtly with a cupped hand that she lift the wind boat and take me elsewhere . But she was young and attractive ( as I have said and may say again ) and eager and so happy to be assisting the infamous Bernardo Flynn that I merely raised an eyebrow in mild scepticism . And then , because a playwright can not resist a promising line , I said , " Your Sleeping Flamingo should be put to sleep . "

Who rented a small house on Vega IV ? || Tasha Cortez

0False

Let me begin again . I like life on the resort worlds -- always have and , after the upcoming mindwipe , always will . Last year , I rented a small house on Vega IV , a sea world , all islands and reefs and archipelagos , turquoise waters and aquamarine skies , sunrises like symphonies and sunsets like stars gone supernova . There 's only one city : called Nuevo Acapulco in La Enciclopedia del Empirio de la Humanidad , it 's N'apulco to the locals . The N'apulcans are mostly emigrants from Polaris II ; the only difference between them and their Carribbean ancestors is that the ancestors fleeced NorAm tourists . Now the N'apulcans profit from their Hispanic siblings . I do n't mean to sound cynical . I suppose I wish to show that I 'm still capable of a certain authorial distance , a semblance of dispassionate observation . The following events may indicate otherwise . In fine tourist tradition , most homes on Vega IV are named . Mine was The Sleeping Flamingo , and its outer walls were coral pink . Were they mood - sensitive , they would have changed as I first viewed them . The rental agent , an attractive N'apulcan named Tasha Cortez , was not mood - sensitive either . She said , " It 's beautiful , is n't it , Señor Flynn ? " My instinct was to gesture curtly with a cupped hand that she lift the wind boat and take me elsewhere . But she was young and attractive ( as I have said and may say again ) and eager and so happy to be assisting the infamous Bernardo Flynn that I merely raised an eyebrow in mild scepticism . And then , because a playwright can not resist a promising line , I said , " Your Sleeping Flamingo should be put to sleep . "

Who rented a small house on Vega IV ? || Flynn

1True

Let me begin again . I like life on the resort worlds -- always have and , after the upcoming mindwipe , always will . Last year , I rented a small house on Vega IV , a sea world , all islands and reefs and archipelagos , turquoise waters and aquamarine skies , sunrises like symphonies and sunsets like stars gone supernova . There 's only one city : called Nuevo Acapulco in La Enciclopedia del Empirio de la Humanidad , it 's N'apulco to the locals . The N'apulcans are mostly emigrants from Polaris II ; the only difference between them and their Carribbean ancestors is that the ancestors fleeced NorAm tourists . Now the N'apulcans profit from their Hispanic siblings . I do n't mean to sound cynical . I suppose I wish to show that I 'm still capable of a certain authorial distance , a semblance of dispassionate observation . The following events may indicate otherwise . In fine tourist tradition , most homes on Vega IV are named . Mine was The Sleeping Flamingo , and its outer walls were coral pink . Were they mood - sensitive , they would have changed as I first viewed them . The rental agent , an attractive N'apulcan named Tasha Cortez , was not mood - sensitive either . She said , " It 's beautiful , is n't it , Señor Flynn ? " My instinct was to gesture curtly with a cupped hand that she lift the wind boat and take me elsewhere . But she was young and attractive ( as I have said and may say again ) and eager and so happy to be assisting the infamous Bernardo Flynn that I merely raised an eyebrow in mild scepticism . And then , because a playwright can not resist a promising line , I said , " Your Sleeping Flamingo should be put to sleep . "

Who rented a small house on Vega IV ? || Sleeping Flamingo

0False

Let me begin again . I like life on the resort worlds -- always have and , after the upcoming mindwipe , always will . Last year , I rented a small house on Vega IV , a sea world , all islands and reefs and archipelagos , turquoise waters and aquamarine skies , sunrises like symphonies and sunsets like stars gone supernova . There 's only one city : called Nuevo Acapulco in La Enciclopedia del Empirio de la Humanidad , it 's N'apulco to the locals . The N'apulcans are mostly emigrants from Polaris II ; the only difference between them and their Carribbean ancestors is that the ancestors fleeced NorAm tourists . Now the N'apulcans profit from their Hispanic siblings . I do n't mean to sound cynical . I suppose I wish to show that I 'm still capable of a certain authorial distance , a semblance of dispassionate observation . The following events may indicate otherwise . In fine tourist tradition , most homes on Vega IV are named . Mine was The Sleeping Flamingo , and its outer walls were coral pink . Were they mood - sensitive , they would have changed as I first viewed them . The rental agent , an attractive N'apulcan named Tasha Cortez , was not mood - sensitive either . She said , " It 's beautiful , is n't it , Señor Flynn ? " My instinct was to gesture curtly with a cupped hand that she lift the wind boat and take me elsewhere . But she was young and attractive ( as I have said and may say again ) and eager and so happy to be assisting the infamous Bernardo Flynn that I merely raised an eyebrow in mild scepticism . And then , because a playwright can not resist a promising line , I said , " Your Sleeping Flamingo should be put to sleep . "

Who rented a small house on Vega IV ? || Polaris II

0False

Let me begin again . I like life on the resort worlds -- always have and , after the upcoming mindwipe , always will . Last year , I rented a small house on Vega IV , a sea world , all islands and reefs and archipelagos , turquoise waters and aquamarine skies , sunrises like symphonies and sunsets like stars gone supernova . There 's only one city : called Nuevo Acapulco in La Enciclopedia del Empirio de la Humanidad , it 's N'apulco to the locals . The N'apulcans are mostly emigrants from Polaris II ; the only difference between them and their Carribbean ancestors is that the ancestors fleeced NorAm tourists . Now the N'apulcans profit from their Hispanic siblings . I do n't mean to sound cynical . I suppose I wish to show that I 'm still capable of a certain authorial distance , a semblance of dispassionate observation . The following events may indicate otherwise . In fine tourist tradition , most homes on Vega IV are named . Mine was The Sleeping Flamingo , and its outer walls were coral pink . Were they mood - sensitive , they would have changed as I first viewed them . The rental agent , an attractive N'apulcan named Tasha Cortez , was not mood - sensitive either . She said , " It 's beautiful , is n't it , Señor Flynn ? " My instinct was to gesture curtly with a cupped hand that she lift the wind boat and take me elsewhere . But she was young and attractive ( as I have said and may say again ) and eager and so happy to be assisting the infamous Bernardo Flynn that I merely raised an eyebrow in mild scepticism . And then , because a playwright can not resist a promising line , I said , " Your Sleeping Flamingo should be put to sleep . "

Who rented a small house on Vega IV ? || Nuevo Acapulco

0False

Let me begin again . I like life on the resort worlds -- always have and , after the upcoming mindwipe , always will . Last year , I rented a small house on Vega IV , a sea world , all islands and reefs and archipelagos , turquoise waters and aquamarine skies , sunrises like symphonies and sunsets like stars gone supernova . There 's only one city : called Nuevo Acapulco in La Enciclopedia del Empirio de la Humanidad , it 's N'apulco to the locals . The N'apulcans are mostly emigrants from Polaris II ; the only difference between them and their Carribbean ancestors is that the ancestors fleeced NorAm tourists . Now the N'apulcans profit from their Hispanic siblings . I do n't mean to sound cynical . I suppose I wish to show that I 'm still capable of a certain authorial distance , a semblance of dispassionate observation . The following events may indicate otherwise . In fine tourist tradition , most homes on Vega IV are named . Mine was The Sleeping Flamingo , and its outer walls were coral pink . Were they mood - sensitive , they would have changed as I first viewed them . The rental agent , an attractive N'apulcan named Tasha Cortez , was not mood - sensitive either . She said , " It 's beautiful , is n't it , Señor Flynn ? " My instinct was to gesture curtly with a cupped hand that she lift the wind boat and take me elsewhere . But she was young and attractive ( as I have said and may say again ) and eager and so happy to be assisting the infamous Bernardo Flynn that I merely raised an eyebrow in mild scepticism . And then , because a playwright can not resist a promising line , I said , " Your Sleeping Flamingo should be put to sleep . "

Who rented a small house on Vega IV ? || Senor Flynn

1True