Write the right answer to the question based on the context passage.

Input: Consider Input: Moving can either be out of necessity or an act of desire. Whatever the case, moving rarely comes at a convenient time and involves so many variables that it is difficult to exhale until all of the documents are signed.
Even then, that point in the process instantaneously starts a whole new chapter in the book of moving.
No matter how long it takes to sell (or not sell) your previous home, whether you're able to find your dream kitchen or settle for less, if you're moving down the street, across the country, or around the world, the act of moving can be completely overwhelming.
Long story short: Moving is a process.
In the midst of all the uncertainties, there are a few ways to stay organized while moving. This short list is meant to guide you through steps to keep you on track during a stressful time.
The largest piece of advice I can give you is to start by decluttering your current living space. Having less to deal with will help you feel more in control of the situation.
Finding a realtor that you trust and feel comfortable working with will put your mind at ease (most of the time) about the process of listing your house and finding a buyer. Let your realtor do the work for you so you can concentrate on keeping your home "show ready" and begin to look at options on the other side of the move, like where you'll be working, spending your time, and researching schools or neighborhoods.
Make a list of people you'll need to update contact information with once you leave. This should include any and all businesses you frequent or subscribe to, like pest control services, lawn maintenance, even all of your neighborhood loyal buyer programs you participate in. Do not overlook your banks, investment companies, retirement funds, healthcare providers for you and your family members, and even you pets. And, of course, family and friends. Question: Who is moving

Output: the narrator

Input: Consider 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. Question: Who Diane begged to let her stay?

Output: Bishop Bertran

Input: Consider Input: PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a "treasure map" that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying "Arrrr" a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.
He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete's was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn't hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.
He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee's black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.
"Did you miss me?" Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.
"Of course," Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. "But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting."
"Oh, the poor darlings," Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents. Question: Who was wearing a black mini-dress?
Output: Sandee