conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a description for a book titled The Piano Tuner about Harvard, Thailand-Myanmar, Piano with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author received his bachelor's degree in biology at Harvard in 1998 and spent a year studying malaria on the Thailand-Myanmar border, where much of The Piano Tuner was written. He then went on to become a medical student at the University of California, San Francisco. A seasoned lecturer, brilliant and inexhaustable, he couldn't be more promotable.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first paragraph for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Piano Tuner
  The boy was standing, shrugging into his jacket. He took the man's hand. "Good-bye," he said. "Take care." He strode off on long thin legs.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Piano Tuner
  The boy was standing, shrugging into his jacket. He took the man's hand. "Good-bye," he said. "Take care.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: four more paragraphs. End with the sentence ' The more champagne he drank, the more he loved Africa.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Mr. Carlin kept winning. In a short time Ayo had lost all her chips. He offered her some more but she refused. "You're the lucky one tonight." Somebody kept bringing more drinks to the table.
  He became absorbed in the game. He got two tens, split them, got another ten and an eight. He split the other ten and got a queen. The dealer had thirteen, pulled an ace and then a king. Mr. Carlin gathered up the chips. He began betting five-naira chips, won for a while, and then began to lose. He wanted to stop while he was still ahead.
  Although he found himself agreeing with her, Mr. Carlin looked at his watch and saw that it was 2:00 A.M. But he knew he had an excuse for his wife: he was winning, he couldn't quit, the casino stayed open until four o'clock. "All right," he said, "a bottle of champagne."
  They sat at a small table in a dark corner of the casino. Mr. Carlin felt as if he were in a movie. He struck the matches for her cigarettes with one hand, a trick he had learned in the Army. The noise, the smoke, the lights in the room hummed and whirled. He felt light-headed but in control. They talked about Africa and he told her about the huge water-tree, how he loved to look at it, sit under it, listen to it and smell its fragrance. The more champagne he drank, the more he loved Africa.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last four paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Sally liked walking to the cloth market outside of Os-hogbo, where Vida would sell their work and buy the raffia string and the white cotton they used. One afternoon on the way back from the market she met a woman with a sick child. "She's burning up with fever," Sally said, her hand on the child's dry forehead. She brought them home with her and treated the child as best she could—she had learned a lot from Andrew—giving clear directions to the mother for continued treatment. A few weeks later the woman returned and left two large water pots on the porch. As the year progressed there were more of these incidents. Sometimes women from the small neighboring villages would bring their children to the house. They were afraid of the large hospital in Oshogbo, though they would go there if Sally told them to, and they would never stay in her house.
  In this way, time had gone placidly by, like the Oshun River flowing by her house. Tonight, holding Jim's letter in her hand and looking back on her ten years in Africa, Sally had difficulty remembering what happened when. Andrew was dead, she knew that; he had gone back to England and then died. And she hadn't seen Manu for a long time: he had returned to his village in the north to become chief. He told Sally that she could be one of his wives any time she wanted. She thanked him and thought she'd rather not. "You could be one of my husbands, though."
  But it had been several years since she had a visit from Manu. Now her house was truly like a shrine, surrounded on all sides with the artifacts of Yoruba life and religion. The monkeys had moved back in to the third floor and were her pets. At night they would look out the windows when the young men stood before the house, silent in the moonlight; occasionally the door would open and one would enter...
  And now Jim's second letter had arrived today. He and her father were at the University and would be coming to get her tomorrow. They were terribly worried, they had heard awful stories, they feared for her life. Sally smiled as she read this.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Sally liked walking to the cloth market outside of Os-hogbo, where Vida would sell their work and buy the raffia string and the white cotton they used. One afternoon on the way back from the market she met a woman with a sick child. "She's burning up with fever," Sally said, her hand on the child's dry forehead. She brought them home with her and treated the child as best she could—she had learned a lot from Andrew—giving clear directions to the mother for continued treatment. A few weeks later the woman returned and left two large water pots on the porch. As the year progressed there were more of these incidents. Sometimes women from the small neighboring villages would bring their children to the house. They were afraid of the large hospital in Oshogbo, though they would go there if Sally told them to, and they would never stay in her house.
  In this way, time had gone placidly by, like the Oshun River flowing by her house. Tonight, holding Jim's letter in her hand and looking back on her ten years in Africa, Sally had difficulty remembering what happened when. Andrew was dead, she knew that; he had gone back to England and then died. And she hadn't seen Manu for a long time: he had returned to his village in the north to become chief. He told Sally that she could be one of his wives any time she wanted. She thanked him and thought she'd rather not. "You could be one of my husbands, though."
  But it had been several years since she had a visit from Manu. Now her house was truly like a shrine, surrounded on all sides with the artifacts of Yoruba life and religion. The monkeys had moved back in to the third floor and were her pets. At night they would look out the windows when the young men stood before the house, silent in the moonlight; occasionally the door would open and one would enter...
  And now Jim's second letter had arrived today. He and her father were at the University and would be coming to get her tomorrow. They were terribly worried, they had heard awful stories, they feared for her life.