conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first four paragraphs for a book with the title 'The House of Mirth'
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The House of Mirth
  He leaned unpleasantly close in order to convey this suggestion, and she fancied she caught a significant aroma which explained the dark flush on his face and the glistening dampness of his forehead.
  The idea that any rash answer might provoke an unpleasant outburst tempered her disgust with caution, and she answered with a laugh: "I don't see how one can very well take country drives in town, but I am not always surrounded by an admiring throng, and if you will let me know what afternoon you are coming I will arrange things so that we can have a nice quiet talk."
  His voice had risen sharply with the last words, and Lily flushed with annoyance, but she kept command of the situation and laid a persuasive hand on his arm.
  She smiled as she spoke, letting her eyes rest on his in a way that took the edge from her banter and made him suddenly malleable to her will.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The House of Mirth
  He leaned unpleasantly close in order to convey this suggestion, and she fancied she caught a significant aroma which explained the dark flush on his face and the glistening dampness of his forehead.
  The idea that any rash answer might provoke an unpleasant outburst tempered her disgust with caution, and she answered with a laugh: "I don't see how one can very well take country drives in town, but I am not always surrounded by an admiring throng, and if you will let me know what afternoon you are coming I will arrange things so that we can have a nice quiet talk."
  His voice had risen sharply with the last words, and Lily flushed with annoyance, but she kept command of the situation and laid a persuasive hand on his arm.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: three more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He continued to stand before her, in his dogged weakness. "Is it—need it be? Mightn't there be circumstances—?" he checked himself, slashing at the wayside weeds in a wider radius. Then he began again: "Miss Bart, listen—give me a minute. If we're not to meet again, at least let me have a hearing now. You say we can't be friends after--after what has happened. But can't I at least appeal to your pity? Can't I move you if I ask you to think of me as a prisoner—a prisoner you alone can set free?"
  Lily's inward start betrayed itself in a quick blush: was it possible that this was really the sense of Carry Fisher adumbrations?
  She paused a moment, moved in spite of herself by this reminder of her influence over him. Her fibres had been softened by suffering, and the sudden glimpse into his mocked and broken life disarmed her contempt for his weakness.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last five paragraphs. Start with the sentence 'Roman goddess of love, who sprang from the sea; she is depicted on a seashell in the painting The Birth of Venus, by Sandro Botticelli'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Roman goddess of love, who sprang from the sea; she is depicted on a seashell in the painting The Birth of Venus, by Sandro Botticelli.
  The reference is to signs of disrepair, as one would find in Pompeii, an ancient Roman city on the Bay of Naples buried by an eruption of Mount Vesuvius in A.D. 79.
  Four-wheeled carriage with two double seats facing each other. †Early automobile based on the design of a two-passenger carriage.
  A reference to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem "The Cross of Snow" (1879): "In the long, sleepless watches of the night."
  The phrase echoes a line from "Ode to a Nightingale" (1819) by John Keats: "emptied some dull opiate to the drains."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first four paragraphs for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The House of Mirth
  He leaned unpleasantly close in order to convey this suggestion, and she fancied she caught a significant aroma which explained the dark flush on his face and the glistening dampness of his forehead.
  The idea that any rash answer might provoke an unpleasant outburst tempered her disgust with caution, and she answered with a laugh: "I don't see how one can very well take country drives in town, but I am not always surrounded by an admiring throng, and if you will let me know what afternoon you are coming I will arrange things so that we can have a nice quiet talk."
  His voice had risen sharply with the last words, and Lily flushed with annoyance, but she kept command of the situation and laid a persuasive hand on his arm.
  She smiled as she spoke, letting her eyes rest on his in a way that took the edge from her banter and made him suddenly malleable to her will.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: five more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Lily interrupted her with a deep blush of displeasure. "Please let us drop the subject, Carry; it's too odious to me." And to divert her companion's attention, she added with an attempt at lightness: "And your second candidate? We must not forget him."
  Miss Bart did not cry out; she sat silent, gazing thoughtfully at her friend. The suggestion, in truth, gave expression to a possibility which, in the last weeks, had more than once recurred to her; but after a moment she said carelessly: "Mr. Rosedale wants a wife who can establish him in the bosom of the Van Osburghs and Trenors."
  But in reality it lingered with her long after Mrs. Fisher had taken leave. She had seen very little of Rosedale since her annexation by the Gormers, for he was still steadily bent on penetrating to the inner Paradise from which she was now excluded, but once or twice, when nothing better offered, he had turned up for a Sunday, and on these occasions he had left her in no doubt as to his view of her situation. That he still admired her was, more than ever, offensively evident; for in the Gormer circle, where he expanded as in his native element, there were no puzzling conventions to check the full expression of his approval. But it was in the quality of his admiration that she read his shrewd estimate of her case. He enjoyed letting the Gormers see that he had known "Miss Lily"—she was "Miss Lily" to him now—before they had had the faintest social existence, enjoyed more especially impressing Paul Morpeth with the distance to which their intimacy dated back. But he let it be felt that that intimacy was a mere ripple on the surface of a rushing social current, the kind of relaxation which a man of large interests and manifold preoccupations permits himself in his hours of ease.
  The necessity of accepting this view of their past relation and of meeting it in the key of pleasantry prevalent among her new friends was deeply humiliating to Lily. But she dared less than ever to quarrel with Rosedale. She suspected that her rejection rankled among the most unforgettable of his rebuffs, and the fact that he knew something of her wretched transaction with Trenor, and was sure to put the basest construction on it, seemed to place her hopelessly in his power. Yet at Carry Fisher's suggestion a new hope had stirred in her. Much as she disliked Rosedale, she no longer absolutely despised him. For he was gradually attaining his object in life, and that, to Lily, was always less despicable than to miss it. With the slow, unalterable persistency which she had always felt in him, he was making his way through the dense mass of social antagonisms. Already his wealth and the masterly use he had made of it were giving him an enviable prominence in the world of affairs, and placing Wall Street under obligations which only Fifth Avenue could repay. In response to these claims, his name began to figure on municipal committees and charitable boards; he appeared at banquets to distinguished strangers; and his candidacy at one of the fashionable clubs was discussed with diminishing opposition. He had figured once or twice at the Trenor dinners and had learned to speak with just the right note of disdain of the big Van Osburgh crushes; and all he now needed was a wife whose affiliations would shorten the last tedious steps of his ascent. It was with that object that, a year earlier, he had fixed his affections on Miss Bart; but in the interval he had mounted nearer to the goal, while she had lost the power to abbreviate the remaining steps of the way. All this she saw with the clearness of vision that came to her in moments of despondency. It was success that dazzled her; she could distinguish facts plainly enough in the twilight of failure. And the twilight, as she now sought to pierce it, was gradually lighted by a faint spark of reassurance. Under the utilitarian motive of Rosedale's wooing she had felt, clearly enough, the heat of personal inclination. She would not have detested him so heartily had she not known that he dared to admire her. What, then, if the passion persisted, though the other motive had ceased to sustain it? She had never even tried to please him; he had been drawn to her in spite of her manifest disdain. What if she now chose to exert the power which, even in its passive state, he had felt so strongly? What if she made him marry her for love, now that he had no other reason for marrying her?
  It was in this frame of mind that, striking back from the shore one morning into the windings of an unfamiliar lane, she came suddenly upon the figure of George Dorset. The Dorset place was in the immediate neighbourhood of the Gormers' newly acquired estate, and in her motor-flights thither with Mrs. Gormer, Lily had caught one or two passing glimpses of the couple; but they moved in so different an orbit that she had not considered the possibility of a direct encounter.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Gormer, Lily had caught one or two passing glimpses of the couple; but they moved in so different an orbit that she had not considered the possibility of a direct encounter. "Please let us drop the subject, Carry; it's too odious to me." And to divert her companion's attention, she added with an attempt at lightness: "And your second candidate? We must not forget him."
  Miss Bart did not cry out; she sat silent, gazing thoughtfully at her friend. The suggestion, in truth, gave expression to a possibility which, in the last weeks, had more than once recurred to her; but after a moment she said carelessly: "Mr. Rosedale wants a wife who can establish him in the bosom of the Van Osburghs and Trenors."
  But in reality it lingered with her long after Mrs. Fisher had taken leave. She had seen very little of Rosedale since her annexation by the Gormers, for he was still steadily bent on penetrating to the inner Paradise from which she was now excluded, but once or twice, when nothing better offered, he had turned up for a Sunday, and on these occasions he had left her in no doubt as to his view of her situation. That he still admired her was, more than ever, offensively evident; for in the Gormer circle, where he expanded as in his native element, there were no puzzling conventions to check the full expression of his approval. But it was in the quality of his admiration that she read his shrewd estimate of her case. He enjoyed letting the Gormers see that he had known "Miss Lily"—she was "Miss Lily" to him now—before they had had the faintest social existence, enjoyed more especially impressing Paul Morpeth with the distance to which their intimacy dated back. But he let it be felt that that intimacy was a mere ripple on the surface of a rushing social current, the kind of relaxation which a man of large interests and manifold preoccupations permits himself in his hours of ease.
  The necessity of accepting this view of their past relation and of meeting it in the key of pleasantry prevalent among her new friends was deeply humiliating to Lily. But she dared less than ever to quarrel with Rosedale. She suspected that her rejection rankled among the most unforgettable of his rebuffs, and the fact that he knew something of her wretched transaction with Trenor, and was sure to put the basest construction on it, seemed to place her hopelessly in his power. Yet at Carry Fisher's suggestion a new hope had stirred in her. Much as she disliked Rosedale, she no longer absolutely despised him. For he was gradually attaining his object in life, and that, to Lily, was always less despicable than to miss it. With the slow, unalterable persistency which she had always felt in him, he was making his way through the dense mass of social antagonisms. Already his wealth and the masterly use he had made of it were giving him an enviable prominence in the world of affairs, and placing Wall Street under obligations which only Fifth Avenue could repay. In response to these claims, his name began to figure on municipal committees and charitable boards; he appeared at banquets to distinguished strangers; and his candidacy at one of the fashionable clubs was discussed with diminishing opposition. He had figured once or twice at the Trenor dinners and had learned to speak with just the right note of disdain of the big Van Osburgh crushes; and all he now needed was a wife whose affiliations would shorten the last tedious steps of his ascent. It was with that object that, a year earlier, he had fixed his affections on Miss Bart; but in the interval he had mounted nearer to the goal, while she had lost the power to abbreviate the remaining steps of the way. All this she saw with the clearness of vision that came to her in moments of despondency. It was success that dazzled her; she could distinguish facts plainly enough in the twilight of failure. And the twilight, as she now sought to pierce it, was gradually lighted by a faint spark of reassurance. Under the utilitarian motive of Rosedale's wooing she had felt, clearly enough, the heat of personal inclination. She would not have detested him so heartily had she not known that he dared to admire her. What, then, if the passion persisted, though the other motive had ceased to sustain it? She had never even tried to please him; he had been drawn to her in spite of her manifest disdain. What if she now chose to exert the power which, even in its passive state, he had felt so strongly? What if she made him marry her for love, now that he had no other reason for marrying her?
  It was in this frame of mind that, striking back from the shore one morning into the windings of an unfamiliar lane, she came suddenly upon the figure of George Dorset. The Dorset place was in the immediate neighbourhood of the Gormers' newly acquired estate, and in her motor-flights thither with Mrs.Lily interrupted her with a deep blush of displeasure.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last three paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The story begins to take on some of the light of a melodrama as it reaches its climax in Monte Carlo, when Lily is expelled from the Dorsets' yacht. Of course, in afterthought it is incredible that supposed ladies and gentlemen should behave quite so despicably, that George Dorset should stand by so basely, that Jack Stepney should be so grudging, that nobody should raise a finger to help Lily except Selden, who takes her to a hotel in a cab. But as one reads it, it is altogether convincing. The hunted creature is at bay; it is the whole brute world against, not the principles of Lily Bart, or even the good taste of Lily Bart, but simply, in the last analysis, against the beauty of Lily Bart. Lily's beauty is the light in which each of her different groups would like to shine, but when they find that it illuminates their ugliness they want to put it out. It is a beauty, however, that is indestructible, even in poverty, even in death, a beauty that the Trenors and Dorsets, with all their taste and money and ingenuity, can never hope to duplicate, a beauty that is the haunting symbol of what society might be—and isn't.
  As adversity deepens, he notices a subtle change in her appearance. It has lost the transparency through which fluctuations of the spirit were sometimes tragically visible and has fused into a hard, brilliant substance. Later, at the reading of Mrs. Peniston's disinheriting will, we see her "tall and noble in her black dress." Rosedale meets her in the street, drooping with lassitude, and is struck by the way the dark penciling of fatigue under her eyes and the morbid, blue-veined pallor of her temples bring out the brightness of her hair and lips. He sees her beauty as a "forgotten enemy" that has lain in ambush to spring out on him unawares. And Selden, watching her for the last time kneeling on the hearthrug, will remember long afterward "how the red play of the flame sharpened the depression of her nostrils and intensified the blackness of the shadows which struck up from her cheekbones to her eyes." A few hours later he is to see her on her narrow bed, "with motionless hands and calm, unrecognizing face, the semblance of Lily Bart."
  Poor Mr. Selden, it is not really his fault. He is a victim of the plot requirements. He has to keep stating to Lily the values of spiritual independence, and he can do so only where he can find her—in the social world. Consequently he strikes the reader as a man who cannot pass up a party, a sort of Ward McAllister posing as a Thoreau. The only way that Mrs. Wharton could have saved him would have been to represent him as a man who hated society and frequented it only to see Lily. But such a man might have won Lily away from it, so Selden must be made a tepid lover as well as a seeming hypocrite.