In this task, you're given an article and an answer. Your task is to generate the question for the answer based on the given article.

Ex Input:
Article: A clique(,) is a group of friends who hang out together and act in similar ways. Cliques are common feature of the teen years. Members of a clique usually have certain things in common. For example, they might all be good students. Membership in a clique is limited. Not everyone who wants to belong can join. Cliques can have a positive or negative influence. Because most teens have a strong need to belong, they want to feel that they fit into a group. Cliques can help them meet this need. Sometimes teens feel unsure of themselves, and they use a clique to gain approval of what they wear or how they act. Cliques can become harmful, however, if they pressure members to behave the same way as the group that may damage their health. Cliques may discourage members from making their own decisions, giving their own opinions, or having other friends who aren't accepted by the clique. Cliques may even pressure members to act in ways that go against their own values and beliefs, such as lying to parents or teachers. Cliques can also hurt people outside the group. For example, members might make fun of a teen who isn't in the clique. If you find yourself under this type of pressure from a clique, here are some actions you can take to improve your situation. * Suggest other activities. Offer ideas that don't involve hurting others or putting anyone at risk. * Find new friends. If staying in the clique is becoming a negative experience, you will be better off with new friends.
Answer: Because it meets teens' need of belonging.

Ex Output:
Why do teens want to be a member of a clique?

Ex Input:
Article: I hated dinner parties. But I decided to give them another shot because I'm in London. And my friend Mallery invited me. And because dinner parties in London are very different from those back in New York. There, 'I'm having a dinner party' means: 'I'm booking a table for 12 at a restaurant you can't afford and we'll be sharing the checque evenly, no matter what you eat.' Worse, in Manhattan there is always someone who leaves before the bill arrives. They'll throw down cash, half of what they owe, and then people like me, who don't drink, end up paying even more. But if I try to use the same trick, the hostess will shout: "Where are you going?" And it's not like I can say I have somewhere to go: everyone knows I have nowhere to go. But in London, dinner parties are in people's homes. Not only that, the guests are an interesting mix. The last time I went to one, the guests were from France, India, Denmark and Nigeria; it was like a gathering at the United Nations in New York. The mix is less striking. It's like a gathering at Bloomingdale's, a well-known department store. For New Yorkers, talking about other parts of the world means Brooklyn and Queens in New York. But at Mallery's, when I said that I had been to Myanmar recently, people knew where it was. In New York people would think it was a usual new club
Answer: More interesting.

Ex Output:
What does the author think of the parties in London?

Ex Input:
Article: On the wall in my mother's bedroom there was a photo, which showed a soldier with a gun. Below the photo was the word "Speaking". "Who's that soldier called Speaking?" I asked one day. "He was Harold." She said. "He was my only brother. When the Second World War began, Harold was eighteen. I was twelve then, and my sisters were ten and nine". "Harold liked to play with us, and we often quarreled. When we quarreled, we said:We're not speaking to you. But before long we were all happy again, and then we said: I'm speaking now. Are you speaking to me?" "When the war broke out, Harold joined the army. A month later, he came to see us. He brought the gun to show us. Then he went miles away to the war. We didn't see him for three years, three long, empty years. We didn't often hear from him. But one day in May there was a loud bang on the front door..." "I ran to open it. It was Harold! He was an old Harold, a thinner Harold. He looked at me with his two green eyes and smiled. That smile was just the same as before, then he said one word: 'speaking'". "I didn't...I couldn't...answer. I just fell into his arms and he dropped his gun. He stayed with us for a month. We played all our old games again. Then he went back to the war, and never came back again. So I wrote the word on the photo."
Answer: Twenty-one.

Ex Output:
How old was the storyteller when Harold came back for the last time?