conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for a book with the title 'The Joiner King'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Joiner King
  There was a knock on the door. Dagga made a slight adjustment to her clothing to enhance her homicidal capabilities, and Thrackan said, "Who is it?"
  It was his chief of communications, an Etti named Mdimu. "Beg pardon, sir," he said, "but the advance party for the joint maneuvers has entered the system."
  The Yuuzhan Vong frigate analog, which looked like a large brownish green lump of vomit, arrived escorted by two squadrons of coralskippers, which looked like rather uninteresting rocks. Thrackan's official bodyguards—whom he would not have trusted to guard his body if they were the last on Ylesia, and who were most likely in the pay of various factions of the Senate anyway—shuffled into line and presented their amphistaffs.
  Maal Lah's appearance was presentable, for a Yuuzhan Vong. Unlike Nom Anor, with his brand-new plaeryin bol implant—this eye replacement even larger and nastier than the one he had lost—or Shimrra, who was so scarred and mutilated that his face looked as if it had gone through a threshing machine, Maal Lah's regular features were still recognizable as features. He'd restrained the impulse to carve himself up in honor of his vicious gods, and for the most part settled for red and blue tattoos. Thrackan could actually look at him without wanting to lose his lunch. If he let his eyes go slightly out of focus, the tattoos formed an abstract pattern that was almost pleasing.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Des took a quick look around. The chamber was empty except for the two of them, standing less than half a meter apart. Not a surprise; Des usually chose caverns far off the main tunnel network. It had to be more than mere coincidence that Gerd was here.
  Des had known Gerd for as long as he could remember. The middle-aged man had been friends with Hurst, Des's father. Back when Des first started working the mines at thirteen, he had taken a lot of abuse from the bigger miners. His father had been the worst tormentor, but Gerd had been one of the main instigators, dishing out more than his fair share of teasing, insults, and the occasional cuff on the ear.
  Their harassments had ended shortly after Des's father died of a massive heart attack. It wasn't because the miners felt sorry for the orphaned young man, though. By the time Hurst died, the tall, skinny teenager they loved to bully had become a mountain of muscle with heavy hands and a fierce temper. Mining was a tough job; it was the closest thing to hard labor outside a Republic prison colony. Whoever worked the mines on Apatros got big—and Des just happened to become the biggest of them all. Half a dozen black eyes, countless bloody noses, and one broken jaw in the space of a month was all it took for Hurst's old friends to decide they'd be happier if they left Des alone.
  Yet it was almost as if they blamed him for Hurst's death, and every few months one of them tried again. Gerd had always been smart enough to keep his distance—until now.
  Gerd spat on the ground at Des's feet. "You don't even know what day it is, do you, boy? Kriffing disgrace is what you are!"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: "You don't even know what day it is, do you, boy? Kriffing disgrace is what you are!".
  Gerd spat on the ground at Des's feet. Gerd had always been smart enough to keep his distance—until now.
  Yet it was almost as if they blamed him for Hurst's death, and every few months one of them tried again. Half a dozen black eyes, countless bloody noses, and one broken jaw in the space of a month was all it took for Hurst's old friends to decide they'd be happier if they left Des alone. Whoever worked the mines on Apatros got big—and Des just happened to become the biggest of them all. Mining was a tough job; it was the closest thing to hard labor outside a Republic prison colony. By the time Hurst died, the tall, skinny teenager they loved to bully had become a mountain of muscle with heavy hands and a fierce temper. It wasn't because the miners felt sorry for the orphaned young man, though.
  Their harassments had ended shortly after Des's father died of a massive heart attack. His father had been the worst tormentor, but Gerd had been one of the main instigators, dishing out more than his fair share of teasing, insults, and the occasional cuff on the ear. Back when Des first started working the mines at thirteen, he had taken a lot of abuse from the bigger miners. The middle-aged man had been friends with Hurst, Des's father.
  Des had known Gerd for as long as he could remember. It had to be more than mere coincidence that Gerd was here. Not a surprise; Des usually chose caverns far off the main tunnel network. The chamber was empty except for the two of them, standing less than half a meter apart.Des took a quick look around
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last three paragraphs.. End with the sentence '"'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: In the doorway stood a man, middle-aged, clean-shaven, his hair graying from brown. He was of below-average height, his eyes a startling green. He wore the brown robes of a Jedi. His hands were on his belt, his own lightsaber still dangling from it.
  He was Valin's father, Jedi Master Corran Horn. But he wasn't, any more than the woman behind Valin was Mirax Horn.
  Yet Valin's voice was soft when he spoke. "They may have made you a virtual double for my father. But they can't have given you his expertise with the lightsaber."