Joey got a German Shepherd for his birthday present. He had never had any pets before, but was always excited to see the other dogs and cats in his neighborhood. Since his birthday was in June, he spent a lot of time playing outside with his new puppy, which he named Max. Max and Joey would often run through fields in a game of chase. They also liked to go through the small forest behind the house, making a game of hide and seek. They never went near the lake because Joey was afraid of water. One day, Max hid a little too well and Joey couldn't find him. Joey spent the afternoon looking for his German Shepherd where they often played, like the field and forest. Joey was a shy boy who often read by himself, and Max was his best friend. After dinner, he went to look for Max one last time before he had to take a bath and go to bed. He heard some barking on the next street, so he ran to see if it was his puppy. Sure enough, he saw Max playing with a poodle. The dogs were having so much fun. Joey brought Max home, happy that he had his puppy back. Max seemed to be happy to have his human by his side as well as a new doggy friend. All summer long, Joey took Max to the poodle's house so they could play without having to worry about losing his present.

Question: "What are the games Joey and Max played often?"

Response: "Game of chase"

A: yes

Rolfe put down the little dog he had been holding, and went out into the hall. The dog accompanied him, frisking about him in friendly fashion. Rolfe first examined the bedroom that he had seen Inspector Chippenfield enter. It was a small room, containing a double bed. It was prettily furnished in white, with white curtains, and toilet-table articles in ivory to match. A glance round the room convinced Rolfe that it was impossible for a man to secrete himself in it. The door of the wardrobe had been flung open by the inspector, and the dresses and other articles of feminine apparel it contained flung out on the floor. There was no other hiding-place possible, except beneath the bed, and the ruthless hand of the inspector had torn off the white muslin bed hangings, revealing emptiness underneath. Rolfe went out into the hall again, and entered the room next the bedroom. This apartment was apparently used as a dining-room, for it contained a large table, a few chairs, a small sideboard, a spirit-stand, a case of books and ornaments, and two small oak presses. Plainly, there was no place in it where a man could hide himself. The next room was the bathroom, which was also empty. Opposite the bathroom was a small bedroom, very barely furnished, offering no possibility of concealment. Then the passage opened into a large roomy kitchen, the full width of the rooms on both sides of the hall, and the kitchen completed the flat.

Question: "Which room was furnished in white?"

Response: "The second bedroom"

A: no

Hotel California My first thought: I was going crazy. Twenty-four hours of silence (vacuum, remember); was I hallucinating noises now? I heard it again. It was a fine bell, reminiscent of ancient stone churches and the towering cathedrals I'd seen in documentaries. And accompanying the bell, I saw a light. Now, there were two things here that made ridiculously small amounts of sense. First, the whole in-a-vacuum why's-there-a-bell thing. Second, I was floating in the dark remnants of my broken ship, and any conceivable light sources were not within view; starlight is a distinctly different color and significantly less bright. These signals were the heralds of my saviors. The first words they said to me meant nothing. I wasn't listening; I didn't care; I was going to live; I was going to keep breathing. Next to those, nothing else mattered. The recycled air tasted sweet in my mouth, and all thoughts that crossed my mind were cheap metaphors about life-giving substances and how breathing was like sex, only better. (I reserved the right to revise this opinion later.) When I was done mentally exclaiming over my impossible rescue, I looked around. The ship, it was odd and old, either so outdated or so heavily modified that I couldn't tell what make it was, and somehow, the crew standing around me fit the same description, a singularly atypical amalgamation of folk. And me, I guess I was one more piece in their puzzle. I was one more scrap to weld onto the rest, one more stranded survivor who was found. I was now one of them.

Question: "Why did the first words the writer's saviours said mean nothing to him?"

Response: "He was still a stranded folk"

A:
no