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f081_7 | f081 | 7 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | "Did you ever have one of those days," inquired Julia of her cat, Cecil, who lay in the crook of her arm and was pushing his head into the fingers of Julia's right hand, "when you think you've noticed something everyone else has missed?"
Cecil didn't respond directly, but instead rubbed the side of his cheeks against the spine of Gravity's Rainbow which Julia held lopsidedly in her left hand.
"Pynchon keeps bleating about the preterit, right?" Cecil, who began licking his paw and washing his face, did not respond. "-and the elect who are out to destroy them, but he's the one who's treating his characters savagely. I mean, how can you go off on God for malpractice when you treat your characters like you treat cockroaches?" Cecil looked at her for a moment, and resumed washing.
"OK, listen to this: 'Nobody ever said a day has to be juggled into any kind of sense at day's end.' I can see that. But I don't throw you against the wall and call the universe evil, do I?" Cecil snorted a tiny snort through his nostrils.
"But as far as making trying to make sense of everything... I can see that. That's why I wonder sometimes. Like about Uncle Justin," she continued, aware that Cecil was now standing, arching his back, and attempting to find a comfortable position on her stomach, "who was a science teacher for twenty-two years, who gave up everything, just because... you know..."
Julia shook her head and returned the book to its level reading elevation.
As a matter of interest, Cecil did not know, but was content enough to curl up again, feeling Julia's hand press against his fur, causing his throat to vibrate with greater volume. That is, until the book slipped and roundly thumped Cecil on the head. | Who's name was Cecil? | Character_identity | [
"Julia's cat",
"Julia's friend",
"Julia's mother",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 7 |
f081_8 | f081 | 8 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | "Did you ever have one of those days," inquired Julia of her cat, Cecil, who lay in the crook of her arm and was pushing his head into the fingers of Julia's right hand, "when you think you've noticed something everyone else has missed?"
Cecil didn't respond directly, but instead rubbed the side of his cheeks against the spine of Gravity's Rainbow which Julia held lopsidedly in her left hand.
"Pynchon keeps bleating about the preterit, right?" Cecil, who began licking his paw and washing his face, did not respond. "-and the elect who are out to destroy them, but he's the one who's treating his characters savagely. I mean, how can you go off on God for malpractice when you treat your characters like you treat cockroaches?" Cecil looked at her for a moment, and resumed washing.
"OK, listen to this: 'Nobody ever said a day has to be juggled into any kind of sense at day's end.' I can see that. But I don't throw you against the wall and call the universe evil, do I?" Cecil snorted a tiny snort through his nostrils.
"But as far as making trying to make sense of everything... I can see that. That's why I wonder sometimes. Like about Uncle Justin," she continued, aware that Cecil was now standing, arching his back, and attempting to find a comfortable position on her stomach, "who was a science teacher for twenty-two years, who gave up everything, just because... you know..."
Julia shook her head and returned the book to its level reading elevation.
As a matter of interest, Cecil did not know, but was content enough to curl up again, feeling Julia's hand press against his fur, causing his throat to vibrate with greater volume. That is, until the book slipped and roundly thumped Cecil on the head. | When did Cecil snort? | Temporal_order | [
"not enough information",
"While Julia talked to Justin",
"Before Julia asked a question",
"After Julia asked a question"
] | 3 | 5 |
f081_9 | f081 | 9 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | "Did you ever have one of those days," inquired Julia of her cat, Cecil, who lay in the crook of her arm and was pushing his head into the fingers of Julia's right hand, "when you think you've noticed something everyone else has missed?"
Cecil didn't respond directly, but instead rubbed the side of his cheeks against the spine of Gravity's Rainbow which Julia held lopsidedly in her left hand.
"Pynchon keeps bleating about the preterit, right?" Cecil, who began licking his paw and washing his face, did not respond. "-and the elect who are out to destroy them, but he's the one who's treating his characters savagely. I mean, how can you go off on God for malpractice when you treat your characters like you treat cockroaches?" Cecil looked at her for a moment, and resumed washing.
"OK, listen to this: 'Nobody ever said a day has to be juggled into any kind of sense at day's end.' I can see that. But I don't throw you against the wall and call the universe evil, do I?" Cecil snorted a tiny snort through his nostrils.
"But as far as making trying to make sense of everything... I can see that. That's why I wonder sometimes. Like about Uncle Justin," she continued, aware that Cecil was now standing, arching his back, and attempting to find a comfortable position on her stomach, "who was a science teacher for twenty-two years, who gave up everything, just because... you know..."
Julia shook her head and returned the book to its level reading elevation.
As a matter of interest, Cecil did not know, but was content enough to curl up again, feeling Julia's hand press against his fur, causing his throat to vibrate with greater volume. That is, until the book slipped and roundly thumped Cecil on the head. | What does Julia think she's noticed? | Belief_states | [
"Something that everyone else has missed",
"Cecil laying on her arm",
"Pynchon treating his characters like cockroaches",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 9 |
f081_10 | f081 | 10 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | "Did you ever have one of those days," inquired Julia of her cat, Cecil, who lay in the crook of her arm and was pushing his head into the fingers of Julia's right hand, "when you think you've noticed something everyone else has missed?"
Cecil didn't respond directly, but instead rubbed the side of his cheeks against the spine of Gravity's Rainbow which Julia held lopsidedly in her left hand.
"Pynchon keeps bleating about the preterit, right?" Cecil, who began licking his paw and washing his face, did not respond. "-and the elect who are out to destroy them, but he's the one who's treating his characters savagely. I mean, how can you go off on God for malpractice when you treat your characters like you treat cockroaches?" Cecil looked at her for a moment, and resumed washing.
"OK, listen to this: 'Nobody ever said a day has to be juggled into any kind of sense at day's end.' I can see that. But I don't throw you against the wall and call the universe evil, do I?" Cecil snorted a tiny snort through his nostrils.
"But as far as making trying to make sense of everything... I can see that. That's why I wonder sometimes. Like about Uncle Justin," she continued, aware that Cecil was now standing, arching his back, and attempting to find a comfortable position on her stomach, "who was a science teacher for twenty-two years, who gave up everything, just because... you know..."
Julia shook her head and returned the book to its level reading elevation.
As a matter of interest, Cecil did not know, but was content enough to curl up again, feeling Julia's hand press against his fur, causing his throat to vibrate with greater volume. That is, until the book slipped and roundly thumped Cecil on the head. | What did Julia inquire of her cat Cecil? | Factual | [
"If you've observed something others have not",
"Why did Uncle Justin give up everything?",
"not enough information",
"Why does a day have to make sense at the end?"
] | 0 | 7 |
f081_11 | f081 | 11 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | "Did you ever have one of those days," inquired Julia of her cat, Cecil, who lay in the crook of her arm and was pushing his head into the fingers of Julia's right hand, "when you think you've noticed something everyone else has missed?"
Cecil didn't respond directly, but instead rubbed the side of his cheeks against the spine of Gravity's Rainbow which Julia held lopsidedly in her left hand.
"Pynchon keeps bleating about the preterit, right?" Cecil, who began licking his paw and washing his face, did not respond. "-and the elect who are out to destroy them, but he's the one who's treating his characters savagely. I mean, how can you go off on God for malpractice when you treat your characters like you treat cockroaches?" Cecil looked at her for a moment, and resumed washing.
"OK, listen to this: 'Nobody ever said a day has to be juggled into any kind of sense at day's end.' I can see that. But I don't throw you against the wall and call the universe evil, do I?" Cecil snorted a tiny snort through his nostrils.
"But as far as making trying to make sense of everything... I can see that. That's why I wonder sometimes. Like about Uncle Justin," she continued, aware that Cecil was now standing, arching his back, and attempting to find a comfortable position on her stomach, "who was a science teacher for twenty-two years, who gave up everything, just because... you know..."
Julia shook her head and returned the book to its level reading elevation.
As a matter of interest, Cecil did not know, but was content enough to curl up again, feeling Julia's hand press against his fur, causing his throat to vibrate with greater volume. That is, until the book slipped and roundly thumped Cecil on the head. | How long did Cecil curl up next to Julia before the book thumped him on the head? | Event_duration | [
"a few hours",
"a day",
"a few minutes",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 10 |
f081_12 | f081 | 12 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | "Did you ever have one of those days," inquired Julia of her cat, Cecil, who lay in the crook of her arm and was pushing his head into the fingers of Julia's right hand, "when you think you've noticed something everyone else has missed?"
Cecil didn't respond directly, but instead rubbed the side of his cheeks against the spine of Gravity's Rainbow which Julia held lopsidedly in her left hand.
"Pynchon keeps bleating about the preterit, right?" Cecil, who began licking his paw and washing his face, did not respond. "-and the elect who are out to destroy them, but he's the one who's treating his characters savagely. I mean, how can you go off on God for malpractice when you treat your characters like you treat cockroaches?" Cecil looked at her for a moment, and resumed washing.
"OK, listen to this: 'Nobody ever said a day has to be juggled into any kind of sense at day's end.' I can see that. But I don't throw you against the wall and call the universe evil, do I?" Cecil snorted a tiny snort through his nostrils.
"But as far as making trying to make sense of everything... I can see that. That's why I wonder sometimes. Like about Uncle Justin," she continued, aware that Cecil was now standing, arching his back, and attempting to find a comfortable position on her stomach, "who was a science teacher for twenty-two years, who gave up everything, just because... you know..."
Julia shook her head and returned the book to its level reading elevation.
As a matter of interest, Cecil did not know, but was content enough to curl up again, feeling Julia's hand press against his fur, causing his throat to vibrate with greater volume. That is, until the book slipped and roundly thumped Cecil on the head. | Who was Julia talking to? | Factual | [
"Uncle Justin",
"Pynchon",
"Cecil",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 6 |
f081_13 | f081 | 13 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | "Did you ever have one of those days," inquired Julia of her cat, Cecil, who lay in the crook of her arm and was pushing his head into the fingers of Julia's right hand, "when you think you've noticed something everyone else has missed?"
Cecil didn't respond directly, but instead rubbed the side of his cheeks against the spine of Gravity's Rainbow which Julia held lopsidedly in her left hand.
"Pynchon keeps bleating about the preterit, right?" Cecil, who began licking his paw and washing his face, did not respond. "-and the elect who are out to destroy them, but he's the one who's treating his characters savagely. I mean, how can you go off on God for malpractice when you treat your characters like you treat cockroaches?" Cecil looked at her for a moment, and resumed washing.
"OK, listen to this: 'Nobody ever said a day has to be juggled into any kind of sense at day's end.' I can see that. But I don't throw you against the wall and call the universe evil, do I?" Cecil snorted a tiny snort through his nostrils.
"But as far as making trying to make sense of everything... I can see that. That's why I wonder sometimes. Like about Uncle Justin," she continued, aware that Cecil was now standing, arching his back, and attempting to find a comfortable position on her stomach, "who was a science teacher for twenty-two years, who gave up everything, just because... you know..."
Julia shook her head and returned the book to its level reading elevation.
As a matter of interest, Cecil did not know, but was content enough to curl up again, feeling Julia's hand press against his fur, causing his throat to vibrate with greater volume. That is, until the book slipped and roundly thumped Cecil on the head. | Why was Cecil thumped on the head? | Causality | [
"The book slipped",
"Julia's hands pressed against his fur",
"not enough information",
"He licked his paw to wash his face"
] | 0 | 7 |
f081_14 | f081 | 14 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | "Did you ever have one of those days," inquired Julia of her cat, Cecil, who lay in the crook of her arm and was pushing his head into the fingers of Julia's right hand, "when you think you've noticed something everyone else has missed?"
Cecil didn't respond directly, but instead rubbed the side of his cheeks against the spine of Gravity's Rainbow which Julia held lopsidedly in her left hand.
"Pynchon keeps bleating about the preterit, right?" Cecil, who began licking his paw and washing his face, did not respond. "-and the elect who are out to destroy them, but he's the one who's treating his characters savagely. I mean, how can you go off on God for malpractice when you treat your characters like you treat cockroaches?" Cecil looked at her for a moment, and resumed washing.
"OK, listen to this: 'Nobody ever said a day has to be juggled into any kind of sense at day's end.' I can see that. But I don't throw you against the wall and call the universe evil, do I?" Cecil snorted a tiny snort through his nostrils.
"But as far as making trying to make sense of everything... I can see that. That's why I wonder sometimes. Like about Uncle Justin," she continued, aware that Cecil was now standing, arching his back, and attempting to find a comfortable position on her stomach, "who was a science teacher for twenty-two years, who gave up everything, just because... you know..."
Julia shook her head and returned the book to its level reading elevation.
As a matter of interest, Cecil did not know, but was content enough to curl up again, feeling Julia's hand press against his fur, causing his throat to vibrate with greater volume. That is, until the book slipped and roundly thumped Cecil on the head. | Why did Uncle Justin give up? | Unanswerable | [
"He noticed something that everyone else missed",
"not enough information",
"He disliked being a science teacher",
"He wanted to become a writer"
] | 1 | 6 |
f081_15 | f081 | 15 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | "Did you ever have one of those days," inquired Julia of her cat, Cecil, who lay in the crook of her arm and was pushing his head into the fingers of Julia's right hand, "when you think you've noticed something everyone else has missed?"
Cecil didn't respond directly, but instead rubbed the side of his cheeks against the spine of Gravity's Rainbow which Julia held lopsidedly in her left hand.
"Pynchon keeps bleating about the preterit, right?" Cecil, who began licking his paw and washing his face, did not respond. "-and the elect who are out to destroy them, but he's the one who's treating his characters savagely. I mean, how can you go off on God for malpractice when you treat your characters like you treat cockroaches?" Cecil looked at her for a moment, and resumed washing.
"OK, listen to this: 'Nobody ever said a day has to be juggled into any kind of sense at day's end.' I can see that. But I don't throw you against the wall and call the universe evil, do I?" Cecil snorted a tiny snort through his nostrils.
"But as far as making trying to make sense of everything... I can see that. That's why I wonder sometimes. Like about Uncle Justin," she continued, aware that Cecil was now standing, arching his back, and attempting to find a comfortable position on her stomach, "who was a science teacher for twenty-two years, who gave up everything, just because... you know..."
Julia shook her head and returned the book to its level reading elevation.
As a matter of interest, Cecil did not know, but was content enough to curl up again, feeling Julia's hand press against his fur, causing his throat to vibrate with greater volume. That is, until the book slipped and roundly thumped Cecil on the head. | After the end of this story, Cecil is probably | Subsequent_state | [
"not enough information",
"happy",
"hurt",
"excited"
] | 2 | 7 |
f081_16 | f081 | 16 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | "Did you ever have one of those days," inquired Julia of her cat, Cecil, who lay in the crook of her arm and was pushing his head into the fingers of Julia's right hand, "when you think you've noticed something everyone else has missed?"
Cecil didn't respond directly, but instead rubbed the side of his cheeks against the spine of Gravity's Rainbow which Julia held lopsidedly in her left hand.
"Pynchon keeps bleating about the preterit, right?" Cecil, who began licking his paw and washing his face, did not respond. "-and the elect who are out to destroy them, but he's the one who's treating his characters savagely. I mean, how can you go off on God for malpractice when you treat your characters like you treat cockroaches?" Cecil looked at her for a moment, and resumed washing.
"OK, listen to this: 'Nobody ever said a day has to be juggled into any kind of sense at day's end.' I can see that. But I don't throw you against the wall and call the universe evil, do I?" Cecil snorted a tiny snort through his nostrils.
"But as far as making trying to make sense of everything... I can see that. That's why I wonder sometimes. Like about Uncle Justin," she continued, aware that Cecil was now standing, arching his back, and attempting to find a comfortable position on her stomach, "who was a science teacher for twenty-two years, who gave up everything, just because... you know..."
Julia shook her head and returned the book to its level reading elevation.
As a matter of interest, Cecil did not know, but was content enough to curl up again, feeling Julia's hand press against his fur, causing his throat to vibrate with greater volume. That is, until the book slipped and roundly thumped Cecil on the head. | When did Cecil begin to lick his paw and wash his face? | Temporal_order | [
"not enough information",
"After Julia shook her head",
"After Julia began to talk to him",
"After the book slipped"
] | 2 | 10 |
f081_17 | f081 | 17 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | "Did you ever have one of those days," inquired Julia of her cat, Cecil, who lay in the crook of her arm and was pushing his head into the fingers of Julia's right hand, "when you think you've noticed something everyone else has missed?"
Cecil didn't respond directly, but instead rubbed the side of his cheeks against the spine of Gravity's Rainbow which Julia held lopsidedly in her left hand.
"Pynchon keeps bleating about the preterit, right?" Cecil, who began licking his paw and washing his face, did not respond. "-and the elect who are out to destroy them, but he's the one who's treating his characters savagely. I mean, how can you go off on God for malpractice when you treat your characters like you treat cockroaches?" Cecil looked at her for a moment, and resumed washing.
"OK, listen to this: 'Nobody ever said a day has to be juggled into any kind of sense at day's end.' I can see that. But I don't throw you against the wall and call the universe evil, do I?" Cecil snorted a tiny snort through his nostrils.
"But as far as making trying to make sense of everything... I can see that. That's why I wonder sometimes. Like about Uncle Justin," she continued, aware that Cecil was now standing, arching his back, and attempting to find a comfortable position on her stomach, "who was a science teacher for twenty-two years, who gave up everything, just because... you know..."
Julia shook her head and returned the book to its level reading elevation.
As a matter of interest, Cecil did not know, but was content enough to curl up again, feeling Julia's hand press against his fur, causing his throat to vibrate with greater volume. That is, until the book slipped and roundly thumped Cecil on the head. | After the end of this story, Cecil is probably: | Subsequent_state | [
"Washing himself",
"Content and purring",
"Surprised and annoyed that the book thumped him on his head",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 7 |
f082_0 | f082 | 0 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | The conversation probably lated: | Event_duration | [
"15 minutes",
"few days",
"few hours",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 4 |
f082_1 | f082 | 1 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | How old is Zeke? | Entity_properties | [
"About 40",
"Over 50",
"Under 25",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 5 |
f082_2 | f082 | 2 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | Who is Zeke: | Unanswerable | [
"A construction worker",
"A bartender",
"not enough information",
"A vietnam veteran"
] | 2 | 5 |
f082_3 | f082 | 3 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | Who wanted a beer? | Character_identity | [
"Zeke's wife",
"Zeke",
"not enough information",
"Justin"
] | 1 | 6 |
f082_4 | f082 | 4 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | When Zeke handed Justin his mail, he anticipated: | Temporal_order | [
"to relax out of the sun",
"not enough information",
"to go under the porch",
"a cool drink and a shade"
] | 3 | 7 |
f082_5 | f082 | 5 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | What did Zeke want? | Factual | [
"not enough information",
"A drink",
"A stake",
"Lemonade"
] | 1 | 5 |
f082_6 | f082 | 6 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | Zeke is worried that Justin: | Belief_states | [
"Has heat stroke",
"not enough information",
"Fell off his ladder",
"Has been drinking too much"
] | 0 | 7 |
f082_7 | f082 | 7 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | Why did Justin ask about gravity? | Causality | [
"He had fallen off his ladder",
"He had been outside too long",
"He saw something in the sky that wasn't falling",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 7 |
f082_8 | f082 | 8 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | What is probably true about Justin: | Entity_properties | [
"He is handicapped",
"He is curious",
"not enough information",
"He likes to make lemonade"
] | 0 | 8 |
f082_9 | f082 | 9 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | How long has Justin probably been outside? | Event_duration | [
"A few hours",
"not enough information",
"A minute or two",
"Two weeks"
] | 0 | 6 |
f082_10 | f082 | 10 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | How long has Zeke been a mail man? | Unanswerable | [
"Three years",
"few months",
"not enough information",
"30 years"
] | 2 | 6 |
f082_11 | f082 | 11 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | Justin believes that: | Belief_states | [
"He still had some beer in the house",
"not enough information",
"Zeke had beer in his fridge",
"The weather balloon is almost out of helium"
] | 3 | 5 |
f082_12 | f082 | 12 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | Why did Zeke know about the weather balloon? | Causality | [
"because he launched them himself while in the Army",
"because he wanted a drink",
"because it is made of helium",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 7 |
f082_13 | f082 | 13 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | Whose mail truck was parked on the street? | Character_identity | [
"the Army's",
"Zeke's",
"Justin's",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 8 |
f082_14 | f082 | 14 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | Zeke delivered the mail: | Temporal_order | [
"After he talked to Justin",
"Before he talked to Justin",
"not enough information",
"After he saw the weather balloon"
] | 1 | 5 |
f082_15 | f082 | 15 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | After the end of the story, Zeke is probably: | Subsequent_state | [
"not enough information",
"Wondering if he should haul Justin back to town",
"Still thirsty",
"Warm"
] | 2 | 7 |
f082_16 | f082 | 16 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | What does Zeke want to drink? | Factual | [
"Lemonade",
"not enough information",
"A beer",
"Water"
] | 2 | 8 |
f082_17 | f082 | 17 | fiction | {
"author": "Daniel Callahan",
"title": "Any Coincidence Is",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/callahanetext04anyci10/0.html"
} | Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky.
"You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly.
"No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little.
"You ever fall off your ladder?"
"Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah."
"How long did it take you to fall?"
Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started.
"A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks...
"That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so."
Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?"
Justin pointed.
Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?"
Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?"
"Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." | How does Justin feel after Zeke identifies the weather balloon? | Subsequent_state | [
"not enough information",
"Excited",
"Happy",
"Disappointed"
] | 3 | 9 |
f083_0 | f083 | 0 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | Why are Brighteyes' babies weak? | Subsequent_state | [
"They are sick.",
"not enough information",
"They are dying.",
"They have been poisoned."
] | 0 | 6 |
f083_1 | f083 | 1 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | How long has Tuft been gone? | Event_duration | [
"A few minutes.",
"Days.",
"Hours.",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 6 |
f083_2 | f083 | 2 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | When did Patch run back to his tree? | Temporal_order | [
"After the conversation with Brighteyes",
"Before looking into his mother's drey",
"not enough information",
"Before speaking to Brighteyes"
] | 3 | 8 |
f083_3 | f083 | 3 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | How does Patch know Brighteyes? | Unanswerable | [
"not enough information",
"She is Patch's aunt",
"She is a family friend",
"She is a cousin"
] | 0 | 6 |
f083_4 | f083 | 4 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | After visiting his mother's drey, who did Patch speak to? | Temporal_order | [
"His mother.",
"Brighteyes.",
"not enough information",
"His brother."
] | 1 | 8 |
f083_5 | f083 | 5 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | What is Brighteyes' relationship to Tuft? | Entity_properties | [
"She is his friend.",
"She is his mate.",
"She is his sister.",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 8 |
f083_6 | f083 | 6 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | Why did Patch looked for his mother? | Causality | [
"Because she was missing for three days",
"Because all of the acorns had disappeared",
"not enough information",
"Because she was very pretty"
] | 0 | 7 |
f083_7 | f083 | 7 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | Why Patch's tail felt stiffen? | Causality | [
"The scent of a squirrel he didn't recognize.",
"not enough information",
"Uneasiness.",
"The winter wind."
] | 0 | 5 |
f083_8 | f083 | 8 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | Where is Silver? | Unanswerable | [
"She went to find acorns",
"She died",
"not enough information",
"Patch's neighbor"
] | 2 | 5 |
f083_9 | f083 | 9 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | Why does Patch think it is not normal for his mother to be absent? | Belief_states | [
"The acorns are gone.",
"It's the middle of winter.",
"Her drey is warm and comfortable.",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 13 |
f083_10 | f083 | 10 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | Brighteyes said what to Patch? | Belief_states | [
"not enough information",
"Come in",
"Good morning, Patch",
"Goodbye Patch"
] | 1 | 8 |
f083_11 | f083 | 11 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | Who hadn't Patch seen in three days? | Character_identity | [
"Silver.",
"His father.",
"Brighteyes.",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 7 |
f083_12 | f083 | 12 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | How long was Tuft probably gone? | Event_duration | [
"A month",
"not enough information",
"A year",
"A few hours"
] | 3 | 5 |
f083_13 | f083 | 13 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | Who abandoned their drey? | Character_identity | [
"Brighteyes",
"not enough information",
"Patch",
"Patch's mother"
] | 3 | 6 |
f083_14 | f083 | 14 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | What is Brighteyes probably normally like? | Entity_properties | [
"not enough information",
"Sad",
"Hospitable and happy",
"Not friendly"
] | 2 | 5 |
f083_15 | f083 | 15 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | Where did Patch go after checking his mother's drey? | Factual | [
"His own tree.",
"His brother's drey.",
"The maple tree next door.",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 10 |
f083_16 | f083 | 16 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | What happened to all the acorns? | Factual | [
"Tuft took all the acorns for his babies",
"not enough information",
"They disappeared",
"Silver could not find them"
] | 2 | 7 |
f083_17 | f083 | 17 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | Patch's mother was named Silver, because high summer sun made her fur shine that colour. She had a marvellous drey high up a spruce tree, carved out long ago by a woodpecker, and since extended into a two-chambered home full of bright things. The journey along the sky-road to her drey did not take long. When Patch looked inside, he saw a hundred colours glittering in the sunlight, shining from bits of metal and glass set into Silver's walls and floor. But his mother was not there.
He could tell by the faintness of her smell that no squirrel had been here in some time. There were two faint traces of scent, several days old; that of Silver, and that of another squirrel, a musky scent that Patch did not recognize. A scent that made his tail stiffen as if danger was near.
Patch stared into his mother's empty drey for a moment. It wasn't normal for a squirrel to abandon her drey for days, not in the middle of winter. And he hadn't seen Silver for three days. Not since all the acorns had disappeared from the earth.
Patch ran back to his own tree, and then to the maple tree next door, to his brother Tuft's drey. He ran very fast. He was hungrier than ever, and he was beginning to be very worried. He was relieved when he looked into Tuft's drey and found it occupied. Tuft himself was not present, but Brighteyes was, and their babies, and it was clear from the smells that Tuft had only just departed.
"Hello, Patch," Brighteyes said weakly. "Would you like to come in?"
Patch entered. Brighteyes was curled up with her babies in the drey's deepest, warmest corner. The last time Patch had visited, a week ago, this had been a den of noise and chaos, with all Brighteyes' four babies running and jumping and playfighting. Today they lay weakly beside Brighteyes, and the once-shining eyes from which their mother had taken her name were dim and clouded. | After the story, the babies will likely be discovered to be: | Subsequent_state | [
"Sick",
"Missing",
"Happy",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 9 |
f084_0 | f084 | 0 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | Where has no squirrel ever been? | Factual | [
"The Center Kingdom",
"not enough information",
"Silver's Drey",
"The mountains"
] | 3 | 5 |
f084_1 | f084 | 1 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | Who was the leader of the Seeker clan? | Character_identity | [
"not enough information",
"Toro",
"Silver",
"Robin"
] | 2 | 8 |
f084_2 | f084 | 2 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | Patch's body is: | Entity_properties | [
"scaly",
"furry",
"slimy",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 5 |
f084_3 | f084 | 3 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | How does Patch thinks when the bluejay steals his acorn? | Belief_states | [
"happy",
"amused",
"not enough information",
"angry"
] | 3 | 9 |
f084_4 | f084 | 4 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | When did Patch first enter the robin's nest? | Temporal_order | [
"Winter",
"Early spring",
"Autumn",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 7 |
f084_5 | f084 | 5 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | Patch learned to speak Bird: | Temporal_order | [
"not enough information",
"before he met Toro",
"before a bluejay stole his acorn.",
"after a bluejay stole his acorn."
] | 2 | 8 |
f084_6 | f084 | 6 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | Why did Patch shout at the bluejay? | Causality | [
"because the bluejay told him to leave the Robins alone.",
"because the bluejay stole his acorn.",
"because he wanted to have a conversation in Bird.",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 7 |
f084_7 | f084 | 7 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | At the end of this story, the bluejay is: | Subsequent_state | [
"Curious",
"Angree",
"not enough information",
"Unamused"
] | 1 | 7 |
f084_8 | f084 | 8 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | Which character in the story is the oldest? | Unanswerable | [
"Silver",
"Patch",
"Toro",
"not enough information"
] | 3 | 6 |
f084_9 | f084 | 9 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | Why did Silver apologize? | Causality | [
"not enough information",
"Patch learned to speak bird",
"Patch crawled into the robin's nest",
"Patch shouted at the bluejay"
] | 2 | 5 |
f084_10 | f084 | 10 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | Why does the bluejay likely want the acorn? | Entity_properties | [
"Bluejays like acorns",
"not enough information",
"Bluejays like to steal",
"Bluejays like robins"
] | 0 | 6 |
f084_11 | f084 | 11 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | Who is Toro? | Unanswerable | [
"Another Squirrel in the Seeker clan",
"not enough information",
"One of the robin chicks Patch knew",
"The bluejay who stole Patch's Acorn"
] | 1 | 5 |
f084_12 | f084 | 12 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | What kind of animal is Patch? | Factual | [
"a robin.",
"a squirrel",
"not enough information",
"a bluejay"
] | 1 | 6 |
f084_13 | f084 | 13 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | After the end of the story, Patch probably: | Subsequent_state | [
"flew back to the Center Kingdom.",
"forgot how to speak Bird.",
"tried to take back his acorn.",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 7 |
f084_14 | f084 | 14 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | About how long did it probably take Patch to become fluent in Bird? | Event_duration | [
"five minutes",
"five seconds.",
"months or years.",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 11 |
f084_15 | f084 | 15 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | How quickly did it likely take the bluejay to return to Patch? | Event_duration | [
"Days",
"Seconds",
"A few seasons",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 10 |
f084_16 | f084 | 16 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | Who taught Patch to leave the robins alone? | Character_identity | [
"Silver",
"not enough information",
"Toro",
"a bluejay."
] | 0 | 9 |
f084_17 | f084 | 17 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | It was not entirely true that Patch knew there was food in the mountains. He had never been to the mountains. No squirrel in all the Center Kingdom, as far as he knew, had ever been to the mountains. For between the kingdom and the mountains, surrounding it on all sides like a moat around a castle, there lay a blasted concrete wasteland, as wide as fifty squirrels laid nose to tail, and horrific death machines roared up and down this wasteland at terrifying speeds, all day and night. What's more, humans and dogs often crossed between the mountains and the kingdoms. And sometimes the dogs were not leashed. A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands.
It was Toro who had told Patch about the food in the mountains. Toro was Patch's friend. And that itself was extraordinary.
Patch had always talked to birds. The drey he had grown up in -- Silver's old drey, before she became leader of the Seeker clan -- had been only a few branches away from a nest of robins. Once, in early spring when he was still a baby, Patch had crawled out of Silver's drey and into the robin's nest, and had spent a whole day among the chicks before Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief, intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch, and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to peck at the acorn. | What did Bluejay say to Patch? | Belief_states | [
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!",
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!",
"not enough information",
"A squirrel would have to be very desperate indeed to dare the wastelands"
] | 0 | 7 |
f085_0 | f085 | 0 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | Where do rats live? | Factual | [
"Below the ground",
"Aboveground",
"not enough information",
"Abandoned drey"
] | 0 | 5 |
f085_1 | f085 | 1 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | What color is Patch's fur? | Unanswerable | [
"Gray",
"not enough information",
"Brown",
"Black"
] | 1 | 6 |
f085_2 | f085 | 2 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | When did Patch meet Snout? | Temporal_order | [
"not enough information",
"While he was in the seed pod",
"After he found his way out of the seed pod",
"Before he entered the seed pod"
] | 2 | 6 |
f085_3 | f085 | 3 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | How long has Snout and Patch known each other? | Event_duration | [
"not enough information",
"They are old enemies",
"They recognize each other from before",
"They just crossed paths"
] | 3 | 6 |
f085_4 | f085 | 4 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | Who owns the food in the Center Kingdom? | Factual | [
"Squirrels of The Treetops Tribe",
"Rats",
"Nobody",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 7 |
f085_5 | f085 | 5 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | What happens after Patch finds his way out of the seed-pod? | Temporal_order | [
"He meets Snout",
"not enough information",
"He meets Toro",
"He finds rats all around"
] | 3 | 11 |
f085_6 | f085 | 6 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | Who did Patch meet in the Center Kingdom? | Character_identity | [
"Silver",
"not enough information",
"His friend",
"Scout"
] | 3 | 7 |
f085_7 | f085 | 7 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | Snout belives: | Belief_states | [
"He owns a dosen of rats",
"He owns the Seeker clan of the Center Kingdom",
"He owns food and mountains",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 4 |
f085_8 | f085 | 8 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | For how long Patch could feel familiar unsavory squirrel-smell? | Event_duration | [
"Few minutes",
"Many years.",
"One week.",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 8 |
f085_9 | f085 | 9 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | Patch would rather: | Entity_properties | [
"Fight with Snout",
"not enough information",
"Avoid light",
"Find food"
] | 3 | 5 |
f085_10 | f085 | 10 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | Patch met Snout: | Unanswerable | [
"not enough information",
"In july",
"At Silver's house",
"On Monday"
] | 0 | 5 |
f085_11 | f085 | 11 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | Why do squirrels dislike rats? | Causality | [
"Legends of wars",
"not enough information",
"Rats can suck the marrow from the broken bones",
"All animals found rats disgusting"
] | 3 | 6 |
f085_12 | f085 | 12 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | Why does Snout say that all food belongs to him? | Causality | [
"Because Patch was trespassing underground.",
"Because Patch got trapped in the seed pod.",
"not enough information",
"Because rats were far more numerous"
] | 3 | 10 |
f085_13 | f085 | 13 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | What does Patch probably do after his conversation with Scout? | Subsequent_state | [
"He goes searching for food.",
"not enough information",
"He ruturns to the Seeker clan",
"He goes searching for Silver"
] | 0 | 9 |
f085_14 | f085 | 14 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | What character believes Patch belongs to him? | Belief_states | [
"Toro",
"not enough information",
"Snout",
"A strange squirrel"
] | 2 | 10 |
f085_15 | f085 | 15 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | After the end of the text, Patch might: | Subsequent_state | [
"Decide to live underground",
"not enough information",
"Start a war between rats and squirrels",
"Discover the source of the unsavory smell"
] | 3 | 7 |
f085_16 | f085 | 16 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | What is probably true about Patch? | Entity_properties | [
"He is hungry.",
"not enough information",
"He is weaker than Snout.",
"He is the last surviving member of his tribe."
] | 0 | 8 |
f085_17 | f085 | 17 | fiction | {
"author": "Jon Evans",
"title": "Beasts of New York",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/evansjother07beasts_of_new_york/0.html"
} | When Patch finally found his way out of the seed-pod, Toro was gone, and there were rats all around him. Some hid beneath the huge black seed-pods, some scuttled in the shadows of the nearby mountain. Patch knew from their smells there were at least a dozen of them.
There was another smell too, mixed with that of the rats. The very same unsavory squirrel-smell he had detected in Silver's abandoned drey.
"What do you want?" Patch asked, from his perch atop the mound of seed-pods. He was concerned but not yet frightened. Rats and squirrels were neither friends nor enemies. Squirrels were bigger and stronger, but rats were far more numerous. There were legends of long-ago wars between the two species, but no squirrel Patch knew had ever been attacked by rats. Squirrels lived aboveground, in the sun; rats frequented the night and the dark underworld. Of course, squirrels found rats disgusting and disagreeable -- but so did all other animals.
An unusually large rat climbed up to the top of a seed-pod. It was almost as big as Patch himself. Rats usually avoided light, but this one stood unafraid beneath the sun, and demanded: "Who are you?"
"I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe, of the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Who are you that asks?"
"I am Snout," the rat replied. "Why are you here?"
"I came to look for food."
"This is our food. These mountains are ours."
"Your food?" Patch asked, bewildered. There was no ownership of food in the Center Kingdom, not until it had actually been eaten. "That's ridiculous. It's food. It belongs to whoever finds it first."
"Then you belong to us," Snout hissed. "Because we are the rats who will suck the marrow from your broken bones." | Who lives above ground? | Character_identity | [
"Squirrels",
"Snout",
"not enough information",
"Rats"
] | 0 | 7 |
f086_0 | f086 | 0 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | When did Cynthia meet Troy? | Temporal_order | [
"While in high school",
"After she got her job at First State Bank",
"not enough information",
"After graduating from college"
] | 0 | 6 |
f086_1 | f086 | 1 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | Where does Troy work? | Unanswerable | [
"not enough information",
"Bank",
"Music store",
"Golf course"
] | 0 | 5 |
f086_2 | f086 | 2 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | Who thought he should start exercising again? | Belief_states | [
"not enough information",
"Cynthia's husband",
"Troy",
"Greg"
] | 3 | 12 |
f086_3 | f086 | 3 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | What is Troy's job? | Unanswerable | [
"not enough information",
"Banker",
"Minister",
"Football coach"
] | 0 | 7 |
f086_4 | f086 | 4 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | What subject did Cynthia likely major in? | Entity_properties | [
"Psychology",
"Finance",
"not enough information",
"Education"
] | 1 | 6 |
f086_5 | f086 | 5 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | Who was a vice president at First State Bank? | Character_identity | [
"not enough information",
"Greg",
"Troy",
"Cynthia"
] | 3 | 8 |
f086_6 | f086 | 6 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | How long ago did Cynthia move back to Marshall? | Temporal_order | [
"twenty years ago",
"not enough information",
"Three years ago",
"two years ago"
] | 2 | 8 |
f086_7 | f086 | 7 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | What physical features of himself is Greg self conscious about? | Factual | [
"Legs and feet",
"Hairline and stomach",
"Breath and hygiene",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 6 |
f086_8 | f086 | 8 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | Who is a part-time music minister? | Character_identity | [
"Cynthia",
"not enough information",
"Greg",
"Troy"
] | 2 | 7 |
f086_9 | f086 | 9 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | After the story, Greg will probably: | Subsequent_state | [
"give Cynthia advice.",
"never see Troy again",
"call to First State Bank",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 5 |
f086_10 | f086 | 10 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | Where did Cynthia grow up? | Factual | [
"Chicago",
"Greenville",
"Marshall",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 6 |
f086_11 | f086 | 11 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | How long has Cynthia probably been afraid of Greg? | Event_duration | [
"six months",
"not enough information",
"1 week",
"2 years"
] | 3 | 8 |
f086_12 | f086 | 12 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | How long did Cynthia probably attend East Texas University? | Event_duration | [
"9 years",
"1 year",
"not enough information",
"4 years"
] | 3 | 6 |
f086_13 | f086 | 13 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | Why Cynthia was dressed up? | Causality | [
"She is a professional golfer",
"not enough information",
"She is a music teacher",
"She is a Vice President of a bank."
] | 3 | 7 |
f086_14 | f086 | 14 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | Who Cynthia belives to be abusive? | Belief_states | [
"Greg",
"Music minister",
"Troy",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 9 |
f086_15 | f086 | 15 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | Why did Cynthia move to her current town? | Causality | [
"not enough information",
"To go back to college",
"To live closer to her mom",
"To flee from an abusive relationship"
] | 2 | 7 |
f086_16 | f086 | 16 | fiction | {
"author": "Robert Burton Robinson.",
"title": "Bicycle Shop Murder",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/robinsonrbother08Bicycle_Shop_Murder/0.html"
} | A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.
Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.
"I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We've been married for two years."
Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20's. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.
"Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there's a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he's calling me names, and throwing things.
"Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he'd never do it again."
"Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?" It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.
"No. It doesn't matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don't know what to do. I want to leave him, but I'm afraid he'll come after me." | What is probably true of Troy? | Entity_properties | [
"He hates alcohol.",
"He never drinks alcohol.",
"He likes alcohol",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 8 |