Write a question from the passage such that it identifies a character (a person or a thing) in the passage.
One example is below.
Q: I really struggle to feel bad for people who actively choose to be miserable and manipulative. I'm dorky and like to use little proverbs all the time. One of my favorites is this: "you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink." At the end of the day, if someone has a problem, they can never resolve it if they don't truly wish to. You can give someone all the resources in the world, but you can't force them to utilize them. When I was 16, I dated a horrible guy. He was abusive verbally, emotionally, and sexually. He was an incredibly troubled young man and refused to seek help for his severe mental health issues. I eventually came to understand that he reveled in his misery. It was his identity. He acted like he wanted a cure and I'd set him up with resources, but he refused every single one. He may have struggled with serious mental illnesses, but being miserable perversely made him happy and he loved to use his struggles to justify his inexcusable behavior. He wanted to drag as many people into his fiery pit of anguish as possible. I later suffered from severe depression myself, and I never once used it as an excuse to hurt other people. My ex wasn't struggling with his mental health in terms of deliberating and carefully harming others. He was simply exhibiting a personality trait, one he chose to cultivate and it wasn't my problem. I ended up cutting him off completely in spite of all the threats. I will never feel bad for the awful plight he refuses to help himself out of. I have no patience for that type of person. Know what we call them? Toxic. Poison. A waste of time.
A: Who was abusive to the author?
Rationale: The question is based on the following sentences in the passage - 'When I was 16, I dated a horrible guy. He was abusive verbally, emotionally, and sexually.'. The sentence clearly explains that the author's boyfriend was abusive to her.
Q: "That's Glenn Miller," my father said. "But it can't be."
He had the back of the hospital bed cranked upright, the lower lid of his left eye creeping up in a warning signal I'd learned to recognize as a child. My older sister Ann had settled deep in the recliner, and she glared at me too, blaming me for winding him up. The jam box sat on the rolling tray table and my father was working the remote as he talked, backing up my newly burned CD and letting it spin forward to play a few seconds of low fidelity trombone solo.
"You know the tune, of course," he said.
"'King Porter Stomp.'" Those childhood years of listening to him play Glenn Miller on the console phonograph were finally paying off.
"He muffed the notes the same way on the Victor version."
"So why can't it be Miller?" I asked.
"He wouldn't have played with a rabble like that." The backup musicians teetered on the edge of chaos, playing with an abandon somewhere between Dixieland and bebop. "They sound drunk."
My father had a major emotional investment in Miller. He and my mother had danced to the Miller band at Glen Island Casino on Long Island Sound in the summer of 1942, when they were both sixteen. That signature sound of clarinet and four saxes was forever tied up for him with first love and the early, idealistic months of the war.
But there was a better reason why it couldn't have been Miller playing that solo. If the date on the original recording was correct, he was supposed to have died three days earlier.
The date was in India ink on a piece of surgical tape, stuck to the top of a spool of recording wire. The handwritten numerals had the hooks and day-first order of Europe: 18/12/44. I'd won it on eBay the week before as part of a lot that included a wire recorder and a stack of 78s by French pop stars like Charles Trenent and Edith Piaf.
A:
Who had a major emotional investment in Miller?