Write a question from the passage such that it identifies a character (a person or a thing) in the passage.

[EX Q]: The night when she thought she would finally be a star, Maria Isabella du'l Cielo struggled to calm the trembling of her hands, reached over to cut the tether that tied her to the ground, and thought of that morning many years before when she'd first caught a glimpse of Lorenzo du Vicenzio ei Salvadore: tall, thick-browed and handsome, his eyes closed, oblivious to the cacophony of the accident waiting to occur around him.
Maria Isabella had just turned sixteen then, and each set of her padrinos had given her (along with the sequined brida du caballo, the dresses of rare tulle, organza, and seda, and the diadema floral du'l dama -- the requisite floral circlet of young womanhood) a purse filled with coins to spend on anything she wanted. And so she'd gone past the Calle du Leones (where sleek cats of various pedigrees sometimes allowed themselves to be purchased, though if so, only until they tired of their new owners), walked through the Avenida du'l Conquistadores (where the statues of the conquerors of Ciudad Meiora lined the entirety of the broad promenade) and made her way to the Encantu lu Caminata (that maze-like series of interconnected streets, each leading to some wonder or marvel for sale), where little musical conch shells from the islets near Palao'an could be found. Those she liked very much.
In the vicinity of the Plaza Emperyal, she saw a young man dressed in a coat embroidered with stars walk almost surely to his death. In that instant, Maria Isabella knew two things with the conviction reserved only for the very young: first, that she almost certainly loved this reckless man; and second, that if she simply stepped on a dog's tail -- the very dog watching the same scene unfold right next to her -- she could avert the man's seemingly senseless death.
[EX A]: Who was watching the man?

[EX Q]: Roland felt his stomach knotting. Having ridden out of the city through the Saint-Denis Gate, he now was nearly home, and the hurt inside was cutting so deep that he thought it would drive him mad. He repeated again and again the pledge he had just made to Nicolette: I am your true troubadour, now and forever. It felt like a knife stabbing into him.
I do love her, as I have not loved any other - except Diane.
Under his fur-lined mantle he was sweating, despite the bone-deep chill of the January night.
Was my pledge to Nicolette a lie?
No, not now that Diane has vowed herself to God.
He had always believed that a man or a woman could love but one person. For all the years he had loved Diane, he had accepted that as a sacred law of Love. It was the way things should be. But it was not the way they were. Not for him.
What if I had known, that day I saw Nicolette at Chinon, that Diane was still alive? I would have wanted Nicolette just as much, but would not have begun this. There would have been no messages, no song in her garden. But I was sure Diane was dead. There was nothing but a memory of a younger time to check my feelings for Nicolette.
And then, when I found Diane again, I could not have her. I had lost her forever. So at last I wrote again to Nicolette.
But tonight, when Nicolette would have let me make love to her - and how I want her! - I could not go beyond an embrace and a kiss.
Not as long as I still love Diane.
When he had set out, a full moon had hung low above the huddled rooftops of the university town. Now the silver disk was high overhead, and he could discern the small house he had bought two years ago with money he brought with him from Sicily.
[EX A]: Who would let Roland make love to her?

[EX Q]: I had the joy, absolute joy, of observing an ER nurse just about lose it and the poor pompous MD (who had left the room) was still clueless. I was in the ER with my dad and my sister. It was late. Dad had taken a tumble, hit his head and because he was on a blood thinner, he had to be checked out at the ER. This ER was in the same hospital we always went to. As we completed the history etc. I noted "stroke effecting speech." They had a complete synopsis of dad's history which I gave them as we checked in. Dad is getting tired and his speech was getting more slurred. My Dad was in work clothes. I was in something pretty casual and my sister was in the same clothes (business attire) that she had put on at 6 a.m. I am sure we looked pretty ragged. In waltzes Dr. Hotshot. He looks around and asks my sister and I who we are. My sister introduced us making sure to introduce me as "Dr. Lea (I think that was the first, last, and only time she called me ‘Dr."). He then turns to my dad and asked what happened. Knowing how difficult it is to understand Dad, I start to answer. My bad. The doctor abruptly stops me and says, "I didn't ask you. I want him to tell me." In hindsight, I realize he wanted to hear dad's speech as a part of his assessment. Dad begins. His speech is slow and very very slurred. Dr. Hotshot looks totally befuddled. Dad had gotten out about 3 sentences out when Dr. Hotshot stops him and abruptly asks, "Does he always talk like that?" My sister, without missing a beat, replies, "No, sometimes he speaks French." As I am trying to not swallow my head to keep from laughing, I notice the nurse in the room has buried her mouth in her shoulder. Dr. Hotshot exits. A scan shows no damage. And, for the record, Dad never did learn to speak French.
[EX A]:
Who is Dr. Hotshot

