Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: November always dragged around the station, but today was one dead Sunday. Not one car pulled off the interstate all morning. Nothing hit the drive but a thin steady rain, puddling slow rainbows in the oil. Me and Harnie just tilted back our chairs against the cigarette rack, watched the monster movie, and waited for the game to start. The big flying turtle was about set to barbeque downtown Tokyo when the drive bell rang, and up sluiced a car so damn gorgeous it hurt to look at it. A '37 Buick Roadmaster it was, painted a red so rich it was nearly black, that straight eight engine whispering like a lover while teardrops of rain rolled down the chrome grill. Out climbed this tall fellow, dressed like God's grandpa done up for a wedding or a funeral. His skin was brown as a buckwheat cake, with creases deep as drainage ditches. Took a mighty long stretch of sweat and toil, love and birth and dying, to carve a face like that. He flexed his shoulders, then rolled his neck till it cracked. He pulled a pack of Camel straights from inside his vest and flipped one out. "Got a light?" His voice was deep and warm, half gravel, half honey. I tossed him a pack of matches through the open door; he caught it left-handed, then flipped it open, folded over a match, and struck it with his thumb. "This the town with the dead fiddler?" he said after a long drag on the smoke. "You might say so," I said, ignoring the look Harnie gave me. Nobody talked about her; I wondered how this fellow had even heard about her. "Ain't a fiddle, though. It's a cello, like in the symphony." The stranger shrugged. "Close enough." "She ain't d-dead, neither," Harnie said. "M-more sleeping, like." He puffed out a wreath of smoke. Then another. "Let's go wake her up," he said. "You best not try, mister," I said. "She been sleeping for thirty some year." Question: Where does this story take place? Options: - china - not enough information - new york - the south
not enough information

(Question)
Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: I've been to Key West several times, but for some inexplicable reason 1, I never visited the Hemingway House (or the Truman Little White House 2 for that matter but that's a topic for a different post). As expected, it was about 1,000 degrees there (Celsius or Fahrenheit, you pick either way, that's way too hot). Welcome to Florida in July. 😀 We would have melted completely but fortunately, the house was air conditioned and they had some fans outside. I really wanted to see a few of the polydactyl cats 3 who live there and sure enough, there are plenty roaming around the place and by "roaming", I mean laying around sleeping as cats do. Cats normally have 4 toes on their back feet and 5 on the front but these polydactyl cats mostly have 5 on the back and 6 on the front, thanks to a genetic mutation. Their front paws are noticeably larger and look like they have mittens on. In addition to extra toes, they also have cat condos, complete with shutters on the windows for decorative purposes to match the main house and there are tiny cat houses scattered around the property for shelter and privacy. And if that's not enough, they have free reign over the main house too and clearly don't read the signs that say not to sit or lay on the furniture. These cats have a good deal. Hemingway bought this enormous home sitting on prime real estate for a whopping $8,000 back in the early 1930s in the middle of the Great Depression. At 16 feet above sea level, it sits on the second-highest point on the island and was the first house to have indoor plumbing and a swimming pool. Today, it serves as a historical site, tourist attraction, and most ironically, a wedding venue. It's a gorgeous piece of property but I'm not sure that getting married at the home of a serial philanderer who had 4 marriages and 3 divorces is exactly a good omen. Question: Why is it ironic that Hemingway's house is often chosen by newlyweds for their wedding? Options: - Because Hemingway was married four times and divorced three. - not enough information - Because the site is only 16 feet above sea level. - Because the polydactyl cats that live there have an extra toe on each paw.
(Answer)
Because Hemingway was married four times and divorced three.

Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: Once, while grating potatoes to make potato pancakes, I had a Proustian moment. I can't lay claim to much in the way of literary knowledge, but I do know that Proust's 'Remembrance of Things Past' was prompted by his biting into a pastry and feeling a sense of overwhelming pleasure with no recognizable cause. In my case, I was instantly transported back to the grandmother's kitchen as she and my mother grated potatoes in order to make 'poutine rapee', also known as 'poutines'. People will immediately flash to the Quebecker ethnic food known by the same name. However, in spite of all the Franco-culinary posturing, this is really only French Fries with gravy and, oh yeah, can I have some cheese curds on that? One etymological source indicates that 'poutine' really means 'mess'. If you come from my part of the country, the Quebecker poutine is just another entry in the long list of dishes that will cause you to keel over from a myocardial infarction while shoveling a foot of snow out of the driveway shortly after you've retired; sometimes before. Nope, poutines as I know them are a different creature entirely. They seem to be more of an Acadian thing and none of my friends had even heard of them, much less eaten a single one. Because of the work involved, my mother only made poutines for special times: Christmas, say or Easter. My mother would borrow this grater that was about two feet long and she and my grandmother would set to work. Generally, they started off with an enormous paper sack of potatoes, about 25 pounds or so (We used to buy potatoes by the cartload and store them in a wooden bin in the basement. Because we were cheap labour, the kids would be sent down to retrieve a few for the family meal. It was creepy to descend into the dank cellar, feel our way through the dim obstacle course formed by my grandfather's thousands of tools and bits of wood and locate the bin. After a time in storage, the eyes on potatoes began to sprout pale tendrils and it didn't take much imagination to visualize all kinds... Question: Why did she go into the basement? Options: - to make poutine - to look at tools - to retrieve potatoes - not enough information
to retrieve potatoes