Problem: OPTIONS:
- Sandra
- not enough information
- Jon
- Daven
Q: Read the following context and answer the question. Context: Jon's back ached. Frost had come early this year and the ground broke like stone. Jon had spent eight seasons breaking this ground to plant spring's crops and every year it got harder. Sweat beaded on his brow and he felt his cotton shirt stick to his skin under his coat. Jon took off his soft-brimmed hat and wiped his forehead. He examined the hat as he let his breath return. The hat had kept the burning sun and beating rain off his head for as long as Jon owned the farm. He wore it every day. It had been a gift given to him on the day he married Alasandra but he could not remember who gave it to him. Jon put it back on his head and pushed the tiller deep into the stubborn earth. Daven ran over the hill and down the cart path leading to their small cobblestone house. The boy had only left a short while ago and he held no sack with the bread and cheese his mother had told him to buy. Jon furrowed his brow. The boy continued to run and soon the wind carried his cry to his father's ears. "Papa! A carriage is coming! Two horses!" Jon's furrowed brow remained. Surely the boy meant a cart from a neighboring farm. No carriage made it out this far. "It's from the city! A soldier drives it!" Jon felt ice water flow over him. He turned to the house. "Sandra! Get the musket out of the pantry!" Jon saw his wife's face appear at one foggy window. Jon gestured wildly at her. "Get it!" They were too late. As Daven reached Jon, the black carriage already approached. A single figure sat on the bench, guiding the two brown horses down Jon's path. Question: Who examined their hat? Answer:
Answer: Jon

Problem:OPTIONS:
- head of distribution
- English professor
- a magician
- not enough information

Read the following context and answer the question. Context: That fall came and I went back to Michigan and the school year went by and summer came and I never really thought about it. I'm not even sure if I was officially asked, I just wound up heading back to New Jersey when school was out. I think my parents thought it was a good enough deal. They were already having some problems and without Nonna there anymore to take care of me I think my cousin's house on the coast seemed like as good a spot as any to stick me for the summer. It certainly wasn't because of any great love between me and my cousin. We weren't really very good friends at that point. I think she saw me as sort of foisted off on her and getting in the way of her summers. Which was a fair enough judgment. But she could have been nicer. It's pretty amazing that she wound up as my Maid of Honor. Time does strange things. Your lovable jack-ass of a father would mention something about magic in here. You know if you took a group of fifty strangers, had them chat with your father for half an hour then with me for half an hour, then told them that one of us was an English Professor and one of us was head of distribution in the northeast for a large soft drink manufacturing concern, I'm pretty sure all fifty would peg your father as the English Professor and me as the head of distribution. He's honestly so good at what he does that I can almost allow him to claim it's magic except that it'd be nice if he took credit for some of the things he's done with his life. Of course he has this idea that he deserves credit for all sorts of things that he had no control over. Like our first kiss. Question: What is my mom's profession? Answer:
****
A: not enough information

Read the following context and answer the question. Context: As a day trip from Brussels (only a half hour train), I've found that either many people haven't heard of Ghent, preferring to explore the chocolate box streets of Bruges, or they adore Ghent so much that when a blogger (me) visits, they spam them via instastories with recollections of days spent there and memories made. True story. Disclaimer: I was a press guest of VisitFlanders in Ghent, but all planning, mischief and thoughts are all mine. We fell into the former camp on our trip to Brussels and explored Bruges, but genuinely regretted only being able to fit one city in, vowing to return one day. Luckily an invite to explore Ghent appeared in my email inbox, so I gleefully accepted, hopping on the Eurostar one sleepy morning, and spending a long weeked gambolling through the streets (under blues skies and then grey clouds.) As guests of the tourism board, we were given city passes which allowed us to hop on the local transport (trams & busses), pop in and out of the museums and climb aboard a canal cruise, exploring the city by water. GALAVANT THROUGH THE GRAVESTEEN We didn't galavant so much as gallop up through the castle, so intent we were on completing a challenge to the top, but strolled back down through exhibitions. The exhibits share the history of The quintessential 12th-century stone castle, which comes complete with moat, turrets and arrow slits. And the view from atop the towers? Well, it's ok I guess. HOP ONTO A CANAL CRUISE Sit back, relax, and let the world glide by. The 40-minute tour included in the city card takes in the city by canal, led by a knowedgable driver/guide and is a lovely way to get to know the city a little bit better. There are also other operators, a couple of whom offer picnics as you float through the medieval city. Question: Where is the narrator from? Answer:
OPTIONS:
- London
- Africa
- not enough information
- America
not enough information

input: OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- four petals
- five petals
- ten petals Now, answer this question: Read the following context and answer the question. Context: It was a good feast. Celenda's manservant had purchased two of the biggest and strongest oxen in Fena Kef and they now roasted over the hall's two huge braziers. The smell filled Celenda's nostrils. She closed her eyes and laid back on her silk divan, enjoying the sights and sounds. Her finger fiddled with a torn seam on the divan's armrest and her pleasure faded. She would have flogged her seamstress for allowing such a thing but the woman had fled a year ago. She could barely afford clothing acceptable to a woman of her position, though few could say for certain what that position was, so she simply wore less clothes overall. She raised her arms behind her back and let the warmth of the braziers flow over her body. Though the number shrank, many still enjoyed Celenda's frequent celebrations. Some laughed and shouted on one side, some coupled in the dark shadows and behind silk curtains. Most feasted and drank and everyone partook in the red lotus. Celenda beckoned a thin slave boy, one of her last few, and he came holding a bronze bowl. Dried red leaves covered the bottom of the bowl. 'Why is this bowl not full?' she shouted at the boy. He cringed but she could tell he was not really frightened. She could not afford to injure or kill him and everyone knew it. She slapped him, but not hard. If she hit too hard she would find herself with one less slave along with her diminishing supply of the red leaf. Instantly the thoughts of the crumbling villa, the torn furniture, and the diminishing coffers fled from her mind. Euphoria flowed in. She felt it in her fingers and toes. Question: What Celenda grabbed from the bowl? Answer:
A:
output:
four petals