conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first two paragraphs for a book with the title 'Dread Brass Shadows'
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Dread Brass Shadows
  We had snow hip-deep to a tall mammoth for four weeks, and then it turned suddenly hot and the whole mess melted quicker than you could say cabin fever. So I was out running and banging into people and things and falling on my face because the girls were out stretching their gorgeous gams and I hadn't seen one leg, let alone two, since the snow started falling.
  Running? Garrett? Yeah. All six feet two and two hundred pounds, poetry in motion. All right. Maybe it was bad poetry, doggerel, but I was getting the hang of it. In a few weeks I'd be back to the old lean and mean I'd been when I was twenty and a crack Marine. And pigs would be zooming around my ears like falcons.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: five more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: We'd hardly begun walking. Suddenly people started running around cackling at each other like the world's biggest chicken herd. They didn't act scared, they just wanted to know what was happening. Me too, you bet. I got no sense from the confusion till everybody stopped, faced the same way, and pointed.
  The shadows came first, rippling over us. Then came the monsters, out of the morning sun, a good dozen of them. Instead of drifting way up high, they were down at rooftop level, wing tip to wing tip, necks snaky and heads darting around. They screeched as they went over. MorCartha appeared from nowhere, diving for safety below.
  Nobody panicked. There was no cause. Those things were big but not massive. They couldn't carry anyone off. Maybe a cat or small dog. They didn't have the wing power to go flapping away with anything heavier.
  Somebody nearby observed, "They're cleaning out the pigeons." Which was why their heads were darting around. "One comes along ahead of the others and flushes those feathered rats, then the rest get them on the fly."
  Grimmer news, that. Some of those critters stand thirty feet tall, weigh a dozen tons, and snack on mammoths. The farmers would be in for some excitement. I told Winger, "There you go, you want to make money. I know a guy pays prime rates for thunder-lizard hides." Willard Tate used thunder-lizard leather for the soles of army boots.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last three paragraphs. Start with the sentence 'I gave her a little peck on the lips, about ten minutes' worth, on account, and a grin for interest, and said, "I'll run all the way'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I gave her a little peck on the lips, about ten minutes' worth, on account, and a grin for interest, and said, "I'll run all the way. Don't let me get too old before you—"
  I scooted. I didn't exactly run home, but I didn't waste much time. People tell me I was humming. I went straight to bed.
  Which is probably where I ought to stay, and say good-bye to running and redheads and whatever else. If I had the sense to stay in bed and keep my head under the covers, I wouldn't get into these crazy things.