conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a description for a book titled The Graveyard Shift about Bryan, Brandon, Missing with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Bryan and Brandon are the authors of the collaborative novels "The Missing Link," "Dead and Moaning in Las Vegas," and "The Sensationally Absurd Life and Times of Slim Dyson." They also author the popular web-comic abeerfortheshower(dot)com.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first paragraph for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Graveyard Shift
  When the times change, all men change with them. So many of both the friends and critics of the police talk as if police constables were not men.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: five more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: At various times, the girls paraded along the catwalk, displaying their ample charms in a manner the Lord Chamberlain would have found very difficult to accept. All the time, the comedian kept up a line of patter that verged on the obscene.
  There was sweat on the faces at the tables in the half light beneath the catwalk, lust and desire and grasping hands that reached up to touch the legs of the girls parading above.
  Finally, there was a sudden gasp as a completely naked coloured girl appeared from behind the curtains and started a slow, careful promenade that reduced the room to silence and awe. She half turned, the room was plunged into darkness and a light bulb flashed between her ample buttocks.
  Nick turned to reach for his drink and found Molly standing a few feet away looking at him. She was somewhere in her late twenties, a striking redhead in a green dress that showed off to advantage a figure that was still worth looking at. There was strength in her face, a touch of arrogance, but when she looked at Nick and smiled, there was nothing but warmth there.
  She shook her head. 'Not here. This is strictly for the mugs and that goes for the kind of booze we sell them too. Let's go up to my office.'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: At various times, the girls paraded along the catwalk, displaying their ample charms in a manner the Lord Chamberlain would have found very difficult to accept. All the time, the comedian kept up a line of patter that verged on the obscene.
  There was sweat on the faces at the tables in the half light beneath the catwalk, lust and desire and grasping hands that reached up to touch the legs of the girls parading above.
  Finally, there was a sudden gasp as a completely naked coloured girl appeared from behind the curtains and started a slow, careful promenade that reduced the room to silence and awe. She half turned, the room was plunged into darkness and a light bulb flashed between her ample buttocks.
  Nick turned to reach for his drink and found Molly standing a few feet away looking at him. She was somewhere in her late twenties, a striking redhead in a green dress that showed off to advantage a figure that was still worth looking at. There was strength in her face, a touch of arrogance, but when she looked at Nick and smiled, there was nothing but warmth there.
  She shook her head. 'Not here. This is strictly for the mugs and that goes for the kind of booze we sell them too. Let's go up to my office.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last five paragraphs. Start with the sentence 'Grant came through the door, moving with incredible speed for a man of his weight, a constable at his shoulder'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Grant came through the door, moving with incredible speed for a man of his weight, a constable at his shoulder. He caught her wrists, pulling her away. 'All right, lad, I'll take her.'
  The constable took her other arm and she went through the door between them, looking over her shoulder, face twisted with hate, the stream of filth never ending, fading across the yard into the rain.
  He stood staring into space, feeling for a cigar­ette mechanically. He placed it in his mouth and a match flared. He turned, looked into the dark, tortured face of Chuck Lazer for a moment, then leaned to the light.
  Nick didn't reply. He walked out of the room, passed along the corridor and stood in the porch, staring out at the driving rain.
  In 1995 Jack Higgins was awarded an honorary doctorate by Leeds Metropolitan University. He is a fellow of the Royal Society of Arts and an expert scuba diver and marksman. He lives on Jersey.