Input: How would the universe look without gravity? It would have no planets and no stars. Thats how it looked when it was young. When the universe was young, there was only gas and dust. From this gas and dust, everything we now see was made. How were stars and planets created from just gas and dust? The answer is gravity. The same gravity that holds you down on Earth. The same force that causes your pencil to roll off your desk. The same force that causes it to fall to the floor. The invisible force of gravity caused dust and gas particles to be pulled together. This force is what formed all the objects in our solar system. This force formed the smallest moons. It also formed our Sun. This force caused more than just our solar system to form. It caused all the other solar systems to form. It caused the formation of all the galaxies of the universe.

Does the response "By black holes" correctly answer the question "How was the universe made?"?
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Output: no

Input: The mighty fane, with its three massive towers, rises majestically over the red roofs of the town. Its most striking feature is the great Norman screen, running up without buttresses or projections to the parapet and hiding the bases of the square, richly decorated towers of the west front. The plain centre of the screen is the work of Remigius, the first bishop. The rest of it is relieved with rich arcading of Late Norman and Early English periods. The wooden spires which crowned the towers were removed in 1807. In 1192 Hugh of Avalon determined to rebuild the Norman building of Remigius, which an earthquake had shaken. To him we owe the choir and eastern transept. His successors completed the western transept and began the west end of the nave. So much money had to be spent in rebuilding the central tower, which fell in 1239, that the canons could not rebuild the nave entirely, but had to incorporate the Norman end by Remigius. Unfortunately the axis of the west front does not correspond to that of the nave, which is too wide for its height. The low vaulting is a serious defect in the choir built by St. Hugh, but of the superb beauty of the Angel Choir, which encloses his shrine, there can be no doubt. In its richness of sculpture it is one of the masterpieces of Gothic architecture in England. The interior of the cathedral is remarkable for the harmony of its style, which is Lancet-Gothic, and the dim lighting of the nave only adds to its impressiveness.

Does the response "King of Avon" correctly answer the question "Who is responsible for the rebuilding of the choir and eastern transept?"?
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Output: no

Input: Here the omnibus came up, and I rode back to Manchester. The whole conversation took up very little more time than it will take to read it; but I thought it worth recording, as characteristic of the people now suffering in Lancashire from no fault of their own. I know the people well. The greatest number of them would starve themselves to that degree that they would not be of much more physical use in this world, before they would condescend to beg. But starving to death is hard work. What will winter bring to them when severe weather begins to tell upon constitutions lowered in tone by a starvation diet--a diet so different to what they have been used to when in work? What will the 1s. 6d. a-head weekly do for them in that hard time? If something more than this is not done for them, when more food, clothing, and fire are necessary to everybody, calamities may arise which will cost England a hundred times more than a sufficient relief--a relief worthy of those who are suffering, and of the nation they belong to--would have cost. In the meantime the cold wings of winter already begin to overshadow the land; and every day lost involves the lives, or the future usefulness, of thousands of our best population.

Does the response "Because the were starving themselves to the degree that they would not be of much more physical use in this world" correctly answer the question "Why were the people of Lancashire suffering?"?
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Output: yes

Input: I had drunk too much, I confess, though we all had. Somehow, Tasha and I began to argue the worth of Solevgrad jazz, as inconsequential a topic as I can imagine. She had studied it in school, so she thought herself as an expert. I once had a neighbor who played it constantly, loudly, and badly, so I thought I knew it better. Malaquez tried to mediate, but I saw him as siding with Tasha. So, I think, did she. The subject shifted from music to Tasha's obsession with fame, undoubtedly by a leap that I made. She had no choice but to follow. (I do not remember any of this well, just now, nor do I care to. Those who are truly curious may look at the last act of "Captured Moments.") I remember suggesting, with characteristic tact, that she add Emil to her small list of major accomplishments. Malaquez glanced away, embarrassed. Tasha looked at me as if to say, "I will." She said, "I feel sorry for you, Nardo. I'll see Emil home." "Yes," I said, "Do that," and did not care what she did, or why. Emil asked, "You're all right?" I muttered something he must have interpreted as assent. They both walked up to Emil's home while I watched the scarlet moonlight ripple on distant waves. Disgusted with Tasha but more disgusted with myself, I finally realized she would not return that night and went into The Sleeping Flamingo to drink myself to sleep. She had not come home when I woke in mid-morning.

Does the response "Psychology" correctly answer the question "What did Nardo think he knew better?"?
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Output:
no