Tim had always a red bike. His birthday party was coming up and he hoped that his parents would finally get him the bike. When his friends came over for the party, Tim was very worried that he wouldn't get the bike. He looked at all the presents and none of them seemed big enough to have a bike in them. Tim was sad. When it was time to open the presents he opened them one at a time. The first present was not a bike. The second present was not a bike. The third present was the biggest one. Tim knew if the bike was going to be in any of the presents it was going to be in this box. Tim opened it and there was no bike inside. Just as Tim tried not to look too upset, his Dad brought in the biggest present of them all. His Dad had been hiding the present all along. Tim opened it and his new bike was inside the box. Tim put the bike together with his Dad's help.
What question would one ask from this paragraph?
Answer: What was Tims party for and who gave him the biggest present?

Mr. Thorndike had risen, and, in farewell, was holding out his hand to Andrews. He turned, and across the court-room the eyes of the financier and the stenographer met. At the sight of the great man, Spear flushed crimson, and then his look of despair slowly disappeared; and into his eyes there came incredulously hope and gratitude. He turned his head suddenly to the wall. Mr. Thorndike stood irresolute, and then sank back into his chair. The first man in the line was already at the railing, and the questions put to him by the judge were being repeated to him by the other assistant district attorney and a court attendant. His muttered answers were in turn repeated to the judge. "Says he's married, naturalized citizen, Lutheran Church, die- cutter by profession." The probation officer, her hands filled with papers, bustled forward and whispered. "Mrs. Austin says," continued the district attorney, "she's looked into this case, and asks to have the man turned over to her. He has a wife and three children; has supported them for five years." "Is the wife in court?" the judge said. A thin, washed-out, pretty woman stood up, and clasped her hands in front of her. "Has this man been a good husband to you, madam?" asked the young judge. The woman broke into vehement assurances. No man could have been a better husband. Would she take him back? Indeed she would take him back. She held out her hands as though she would physically drag her husband from the pillory. The judge bowed toward the probation officer, and she beckoned the prisoner to her.
What question would one ask from this paragraph?
Answer: Did the woman speak good things about her husband?

Life for the partners of Cates, Katalinic & Lund holds little of the glamour one might expect from a career in law. Instead of lunches at Lutce, they caucus at the Palace Diner in Queens. Wooing clients means passing out fliers on street corners, not securing box seats at Madison Square Garden. To make ends meet, one partner stacks pipe and cleans the yard at a plumbing warehouse. Another handles urine samples in a hospital lab. A sign of failure, of a feeble economy, perhaps? Hardly. They are heeding the call of a growing pool of law schools, which are for the first time pointing graduates in a new direction and teaching them how to get there. Forget the lure of large firms, the security of a government post. Here is how to grapple "in the service of justice," as many of the schools put it, instead. Convinced that corporate largess and government programs barely dent the nation's legal needs, the law schools are urging graduates to buck tradition, pass up big salaries and ignore mushrooming student debt to join tiny neighborhood practices or simply start their own, all with an eye toward charging no more than their clients can afford. This is not pro bono legal work; it is "low bono," a term the schools coined to define the atypical kind of law career they are training students for. While its practitioners do charge for their services, they are also dead set on turning no one away - or at least as few as possible. "When you go into this kind of social justice law, it's really brutal and you're almost guaranteed to struggle for a couple of years before there's a light at the end of the tunnel," said Fred Rooney, director of the Community Legal Resource Network at City University of New York School of Law, from which the lawyers of the newly formed Cates, Katalinic & Lund graduated last May. "But if our graduates don't do it, the millions of people who cannot access justice in this country will continue to soar." The movement, primly called the consortium, started four years ago by CUNY, Northeastern University, the University of Maryland and St. Mary's Law School in Texas. (St. Mary's later dropped out.) Since then, it has drawn seven additional law schools to its ranks: the University of Michigan, Rutgers and Syracuse Law Schools, New York Law School, University of New Mexico School of Law, Thomas M. Cooley Law School and Touro Law School. It has elicited at least initial interest from 19 more.
What question would one ask from this paragraph?
Answer: Is the difficult lifestyle portrayed by partners of Cates, Katalinic & Lund the result of a feeble economy?

But I think it is certain that most of the early Christians understood these words of our Lord's ascension and coming again in glory. They believed that He was coming again in a very little while during their own life-time, in a few months or years, to make an end of the world and to judge the quick and the dead. And as they waited for His coming, one generation after another, and yet He did not come, a sadness fell upon them. Christ seemed to have left the world. The little while that He had promised to be away seemed to have become a very long while. Hundreds of years passed, and yet Christ did not come in glory. And, as I said, a sadness fell on all the Church. Surely, they said, this is the time of which Christ said we were to weep and lament till we saw Him again--this is the time of which He said that the bridegroom should be taken from us, and we should fast in those days. And they did fast, and weep, and lament; and their religion became a very sad and melancholy one--most sad in those who were most holy, and loved their Lord best, and longed most for His coming in glory.
What question would one ask from this paragraph?
Answer:
Why did a sadness fall over the early Christians?