In Meadowvale , California , on June 9 , 1970 , three babies are born at the height of a total eclipse . Due to the sun and moon blocking Saturn , which controls emotions , the babies develop into children who are heartless and uncaring , with no feelings of remorse for their awful offences . Ten years later , in 1980 , Curtis , Debbie and Steven begin to kill the adults around them and are able to escape detection because of their youthful and innocent fa ades . However , when Timmy and Joyce discover their crimes , they find themselves as the targets of the evil children . Their attempt to warn their neighbors about them are ignored . Soon enough , Beverly discovers Debbie 's horrible secret with the newspaper clippings as evidence as proof and learns that she , Curtis and Steven were responsible for the murders . She realizes that Joyce and Timmy were telling the truth all along and confronts her sister for it . Beverly and Mrs. Brody forbids Debbie from hanging out with Curtis and Steven . Debbie responds by killing her older sister in retaliation with a bow and arrow . They soon attempt to murder Joyce and Timmy . However , they fight back and manages to capture Steven and Curtis . While Timmy calls the police from a neighbor 's house , Debbie manages to escape from the backyard and gets inside her mother 's car . She manages to lie about Curits and Steven trying to set her up to take the fall for the attacks . At the end , Curtis and Steven are arrested by the police much to the shock and anger of the town .
What question would one ask from this paragraph?
Answer: Who attempts to warn the neighbors about the criminals?

Bin Laden and his aides did not need a very large sum to finance their planned attack on America. The 9/11 plotters eventually spent somewhere between $400,000 and $500,000 to plan and conduct their attack. Consistent with the importance of the project, al Qaeda funded the plotters. KSM provided his operatives with nearly all the money they needed to travel to the United States, train, and live. The plotters' tradecraft was not especially sophisticated, but it was good enough. They moved, stored, and spent their money in ordinary ways, easily defeating the detection mechanisms in place at the time. The origin of the funds remains unknown, although we have a general idea of how al Qaeda financed itself during the period leading up to 9/11. General Financing As we explained in chapter 2, Bin Laden did not fund al Qaeda through a personal fortune and a network of businesses in Sudan. Instead, al Qaeda relied primarily on a fund-raising network developed over time. The CIA now estimates that it cost al Qaeda about $30 million per year to sustain its activities before 9/11 and that this money was raised almost entirely through donations. For many years, the United States thought Bin Laden financed al Qaeda's expenses through a vast personal inheritance. Bin Laden purportedly inherited approximately $300 million when his father died, and was rumored to have had access to these funds to wage jihad while in Sudan and Afghanistan and to secure his leadership position in al Qaeda. In early 2000, the U.S. government discovered a different reality: roughly from 1970 through 1994, Bin Laden received about $1 million per year-a significant sum, to be sure, but not a $300 million fortune that could be used to fund jihad. Then, as part of a Saudi government crackdown early in the 1990s, the Bin Laden family was forced to find a buyer for Usama's share of the family company in 1994. The Saudi government subsequently froze the proceeds of the sale. This action had the effect of divesting Bin Laden of what otherwise might indeed have been a large fortune. Nor were Bin Laden's assets in Sudan a source of money for al Qaeda. When Bin Laden lived in Sudan from 1991 to 1996, he owned a number of businesses and other assets.
What question would one ask from this paragraph?
Answer: What source of money did bin Laden hold in Sudan?

Nathan read the package of words in silence, his only motions the steady progress of his eyes and occasional replacement of pages. Allan sat nervously across from him in a chair Nathan had probably upholstered himself, a patchwork design of fabric containing easily more stuffing than any other furniture item of the period. At long last, Nathan reached the end and set down his reading on the table between them. Allan leaned forward unconsciously. "It's the best story you've ever written." Allan exhaled and leaned back into the chair, his face relaxing in imitation of his thoughts. "So," he asked, "you don't think it's a waste of ink and paper, a futile expedition into morbidity or literary debauchery?" "Heavens, no," said Nathan, aghast. "This is one of the strongest works I've read in ages. It speaks to the deepest storyteller's instinct within us all, yet is entirely original. My dear friend, you have done it. Oh, they may rail against you at first; they may decry you as a heathen or a literary savage; but while those in power say such things, others will read your tales and see their true worth. Believe me when I say that you will be read a century from now." Allan, though dubious as to that possibility, felt some temptation from the compliment; mainly, it granted him the encouragement he still needed. Nathan promised to show the story to a printer he knew and Allan left it with him, then walked home under the spreading maples with a smile lingering on his face. He felt now that perhaps Nathan was right; although the man was somewhat peculiar, he had both an unimpeachable honesty and a certain propensity for insight. Certainly, it was undeniable that the stories had an originality to them. His mind's strangest fruit had ripened at last, and he found the taste less bitter than expected. These thoughts and others like them filled his head as he walked the long road home. It was evening, and the sky burned orange in the west when he neared home at last.
What question would one ask from this paragraph?
Answer: What is Nathan reading?

Johnnie had a set of small volumes of English verse, extensively annotated by his own hand, which Stoddard had brought to her early in their acquaintance, leaving it with her more as a gift than as a loan. She kept these little books after all the others had gone back. She had read and reread them--cullings from Chaucer, from Spenser, from the Elizabethan lyrists, the border balladry, fierce, tender, oh, so human--till she knew pages of them by heart, and their vocabulary influenced her own, their imagery tinged all her leisure thoughts. It seemed to her, whenever she debated returning them, that she could not bear it. She would get them out and sit with one of them open in her hands, not reading, but staring at the pages with unseeing eyes, passing her fingers over it, as one strokes a beloved hand, or turning through each book only to find the pencilled words in the margins. She would be giving up part of herself when she took these back. Yet it had to be done, and one miserable morning she made them all into a neat package, intending to carry them to the mill and place them on Stoddard's desk thus early, when nobody would be in the office. Then the children came in; Deanie was half sick; and in the distress of getting the ailing child comfortably into her own bed, Johnnie forgot the books. Taking them in at noon, she met Stoddard himself.
What question would one ask from this paragraph?
Answer:
Since the books were given more as a gift than as a loan, why would Johnnie feel the need to return the books to Stoddard?