input with options: ROLAND HELD HIS BODY STIFF AS HE FACED THE CATHAR FORTRESS and watched the tall wooden doors swing open. He saw now that the fire of that final night's battle, now fifteen days past, had left no structure standing but the stone keep. Inside the limestone walls stood forlorn, crude shelters made of tent cloths spread over blackened beams. Cries of farewell and loud wailing came from the battlements above and from the open gateway, as the condemned emerged from the fortress, a long line of men and women in black. Roland's heartbeat broke its rhythm. During the fifteen days of grace granted under the terms of surrender, he had waited in camp with the other crusaders. Now that Diane and Perrin were safely off on the road to Paris, he felt impelled to be with the Cathars in their final moments, to bear witness. He had volunteered, despite his dread, to help escort the prisoners to their execution. Those Cathars who joined the Catholic religion would now be allowed to leave in peace, though they would be forced to give everything they owned to the Church and wear the yellow crosses for the rest of their lives. But those who clung to their faith would die. As the Cathars emerged, a man-at-arms directed each to stop at a table beside the doorway, where two Dominican friars sat with parchment scrolls. The friars recorded the name of each person about to die. This meticulous record-keeping, Roland thought, was one source of the Inquisition's power. At the head of the procession was the Cathar bishop. Bertran d'en Marti's head glowed with the red-gold rays of the low afternoon sun striking his white hair, as if it were already enveloped in flames. "Form around them," called the leader of Roland's party. Roland reluctantly stepped forward with the other crusaders. His longsword and dagger swung heavy at his waist. He wore them only because, as a knight, he was expected to. He had left his helmet and mail shirt back in his tent. Question: After the end of this story, Roland: === The answer to the above question is
output: felt unwilling and hesitant

input with options: Overnight the clouds had rolled in and the summer was dead. I sat at my office window and drank coffee, looking out on a dirty brown Saturday that smelled like rain. Somebody knocked at the door and I swiveled around to see Pete McGreggor from down the hall. "Busy?" he asked. I shook my head and he came in, closing the door behind him. He poured a cup of coffee and sat down across from me. "Big shakeup last night," he said. "I just got a call to defend one of the Preacher's errand boys." "So they finally got to him," I said, remembering the furor that had raged in the newspapers a few months before. The law had never been able to break up the Preacher's drug operation, even though it was notorious as the biggest in Texas. "How'd they do it?" "It's very hush-hush," he said, steam from his coffee making his hair seem to ripple. "They squelched the story at the papers, hoping to pull in a couple more fish, I guess. But what I gather is that the thing was pulled off from the inside, from somebody high up in the organization. But nobody knows exactly who it was that sold out." "It'll all come clean at the trial, I suppose." He nodded. "Sooner than that, I expect. The DA told me confidentially that they'll have everything they need by five o'clock tonight. You'll see it all on the evening news." A sharp rapping came at the door and Pete stood up. "You've got business. I'll leave you to it." "It's probably bill collectors," I said. "I'll yell if they get rough." He opened the door and pushed past the two policemen that were waiting outside. They were both in uniform, but I only knew one of them. That was Brady, the tall, curly headed one that looked like an Irish middleweight. His partner was dark and nondescript, sporting a Police Academy moustache. Question: What was notorious all over Texas? === The answer to the above question is
output: The Preacher's drug operation

input with options: I have waited tables, but before that, our friend group were regulars at several local “open all night” establishments. Our favorite was the Denny's about ten miles outside of downtown Savannah, and we had a regular waitress that was AWESOME. As a side note, I met her several years later and found out we were a major help putting her daughter through school. We had one kid in our group who was a perpetual problem, a wannabe at everything. He just tried too freaking hard to be the center of attention. Well, he joined us ONCE in a trip to Denny's. I mean we pulled up in six cars, all packed to the gills at 3a.m. and took up almost half of the restaurant. We get done, our favorite waitress drops the check, and this goofball says something about “dine and dash.” We all just looked at him like he had grown a penis in the middle of his forehead and was trying to screw anyone within spitting distance with it. This kid wasn't driving, it would be a ten mile walk through neighborhoods that were questionable during the daytime, and he is talking about not just stiffing our favorite waitress on a tip, but walking out without paying? Are you kidding me? “Ryan. If you do that, you will be left beaten and bloody in the parking lot and EVERY ONE of us will participate.” He hanged his head and coughed up his share of the bill, but he still didn't leave a tip. She made over five bucks a head in tips every time we walked in the door. Several of us were servers, bartenders, bouncers, and a couple strippers. Tips were how a lot of us put food on the table, and chemicals in our system. We shared when we had a good night. Needless to say, Ryan never joined us on a run to Denny's again. Question: What did the waitress's daughter major in? === The answer to the above question is
output:
not enough information