Write a question from the passage such that it identifies a character (a person or a thing) in the passage.

Example Input: The sound of the clacking grew unbearable, so we turned the volume down.
"Mute it."
We muted it.
"Turn it up; we might miss something."
It's a silent movie. We won't miss anything.
The sound of clacking gradually fills the room as my brother reluctantly turns up the volume. I can tell he's pressing hard on the button, jamming his thumb down in defiance or muted anger. He doesn't like for anyone to tell him what to do with the remote. But my grandmother wants the volume up, so we turn it up.
We're all sitting along the edges of the tiny living room, staring at the fuzzy black-and-white images as they hazily walk across the television screen. I can hear a siren outside, barely discernable and then gone entirely.
"Who's that?" my brother asks, evidently past his momentary and barely-noticeable indignation over the remote.
"Uncle Arehl, and maybe his sister, Edna," my grandmother says, leaning in closer. "I think it's Edna," she says, in the tone of a doctor diagnosing a disease, as if the verdict was somehow relevant to someone who has only the vaguest idea who Arehl's sister is, or was. Uncle Arehl (I don't know precisely whose uncle he is, or for what the two initials of his name once stood) saunters slowly across a dry, patchy lawn, and the camera follows him. For some reason I'm more interested in the lawn--if it can be called that--than in the people on it. The sun in the movie is blazing, and everyone filmed looks only briefly at the camera before averting their faces once again to look at the stubbly grass. The camera pans once again and I can see an incredibly rutted path leading from the porch to the fence at the edge of the yard, broken pieces of concrete amid deep tire tracks fossilized in sun-baked mud. The fence is low, wire like a chain-link, but lower, with metal stakes holding it up instead of tubes.
Example Output: Whose sister is Edna?

Example Input: Diane's heart felt leaden as she prepared to leave. Each face she looked at, she knew she was seeing for the last time. As if she were dying and they all were going to live on. Oh, why must I leave? Now, when all of you are about to put on the martyr's crown, how can you cast me out? I want to die with you. I do not want to go on, stumbling through this world alone.
For years these people had been her only family. When she was a child, her faith was preached and practiced openly all over the south of France. The crusade was already twenty years old then, but the perfecti still taught crowds of people in the streets of great cities like Toulouse and Beziers, still won converts away from the Church of Rome. From the lords and ladies in their castles to the peasants on the mountainsides, over half the people were Cathars. Now this year, one thousand two hundred forty-four, might come to be remembered as the year Catharism in France disappeared. From now on there would be nothing but a remnant in hiding, having to sneak about. No, she didn't want to live that way. She longed to throw herself down and beg Bishop Bertran once again to let her stay. But duty pressed down upon her like a mail shirt. It was burdensome, but it protected her from error. She quietly made ready.
Before long, Diane and Roland were standing on the northeast wall amid a group of perfecti. From a family that had taken refuge on Mont Segur had come a red and green costume for Diane, the tunic and hose of a well-to-do boy, an equerry. They had cut her hair short and tucked it under a cap topped with a long partridge feather. They had sewn the red cross back on Roland's black surcoat, and had made one for Diane's tunic from a gentlewoman's crimson scarf. A rope to form a sling was tied around her waist and another around her knees. Roland was similarly tied.
Example Output: Who Diane begged to let her stay?

Example Input: One of the more surprising objects in the Getty Villa's newly reinstalled gallery of later Roman sculpture is a marble bust of a youth leaning out of a circular frame, mounted high on the gallery wall. J. Paul Getty originally acquired this particular sculpture in 1973, but it has been off view for many years. The recent reinstallation of the Getty Museum's antiquities collection at the Villa provided the opportunity to resurrect many such objects from storage and put them on display.
Bringing this strange object back to the public eye enabled us to askand answerseveral questions about it. Whoif anyonedoes it represent? When was it carved? Where was it made, and how did it end up in Los Angeles? In preparation for its display, we researched and reinterpreted the object, exploring both its ancient function and modern history.
In its new display, this object is fittingly surrounded by other examples of late Roman sculpture from the third and fourth centuries. Its inclusion in this gallery was not always a given, however, as the figure was long misidentified as a portrait of young Caracalla, who at ten years old became joint emperor with his father in A.D. 198.(1) But recent scholarship questioned the Caracalla identification and the object's date, suggesting it was carved at least a hundred years later.(2) In light of this research, curator Jens Daehner pushed to reexamine the sculpture and consider including it in the reinstallation.
In early 2015, the Antiquities Department brought this tondo and many other potential objects for the new galleries out of storage for viewing, providing curators, conservators, mount makers, preps, and registrars a chance to approve and prepare artworks for possible display.
After the storage viewing and subsequent research, we updated the object record to conform with what scholars had suggested: this is not a second-century portrait of Caracalla but a fourth-century bust of a youth or divinity. To answer our next question of who the tondo represents, we then had to take a closer look at the curious origin and function of this sculpture type.
Example Output:
Who owned the large estate?