conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first three paragraphs for a book with the title 'A Matter of Life and Death'?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A Matter of Life and Death
  Farren wasn't far wrong in his estimations of what was going on behind the scenes as PRD edged still closer. Calls were being made, backgrounds were being checked and verifications triplicated as Sunday's bubbling dish of shame and humiliation was brought to the boil. Newspaper and broadcast lawyers were, for once, justifying their outrageous fees and everybody in the know was caught up in a fetid frenzy of collusion as they played their parts in the offensive – the type of story for which they'd joined up in the first place.
  The Splash had sourced a picture, from the Manchester Spring Forum, of Adlington, Farren and Annie together at a cocktail reception. As if this wasn't exciting enough for the picture editor, Annie's scarlet velvet dress, making the most of her attractive décolletage, was an unexpected bonus.
  Tracking down the 'Adlington Cares' campaign was a relative doddle, and the newspaper was dedicating a double page spread to all of the ads and fliers, leaving no-one in doubt that Adlington did, in fact, care very deeply about crime, health, education and welfare. His pious pronunciations on the sanctity of family life and his common sense values were a priceless gift.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Leaving the M60 at Stockport Michael joined the A6, which he followed patiently and without exceeding the speed limit for over an hour and a quarter, first through Buxton and then Matlock. Finally, reaching Duffield in Derbyshire at the lower end of the Pennines, he took a right turn off the A6, followed by another quick right until his destination came into view. Not slowing, he continued for another three hundred yards before turning off left down an unlit country road.
  Michael pulled up, and turned the car engine and lights off. Maybe because he'd completed his journey without mishap, or possibly because he knew there had been no one on the road since he'd reached Duffield, a surge of adrenalin gave him renewed determination. Now was no time for considering anything other than getting the mission over and done with.
  Opening the boot of the car, he quickly donned his protective apparel, and taking the spade, rucksack and the unlit lamp with him, made his way across the field that separated him from where he was heading – Duffield cemetery was only 250 yards away.
  Even in the dark, it only took him three minutes to find what he was looking for, aided by the detailed instructions Farren had provided him with two days before. There, on the pathway furthest away from the entrance gate, in front of the western wall of the cemetery and directly in front of a giant Ash tree which had been struck by lightning, lay the freshly dug grave of Mrs Muriel Bell. In the absence of a gravestone, which wouldn't be finished for at least another month, a small wooden cross, together with a plethora of bouquets, confirmed he had arrived at the correct place.
  Looking across the cemetery, Michael could see that he wasn't overlooked from the main road; at his back were fields. A three-quarter moon shone sufficient light across the blackened landscape to aid him in his work. He was glad he didn't have to resort to turning the lamp on.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He was glad he didn't have to resort to turning the lamp on. Finally, reaching Duffield in Derbyshire at the lower end of the Pennines, he took a right turn off the A6, followed by another quick right until his destination came into view. Not slowing, he continued for another three hundred yards before turning off left down an unlit country road.
  Michael pulled up, and turned the car engine and lights off. Maybe because he'd completed his journey without mishap, or possibly because he knew there had been no one on the road since he'd reached Duffield, a surge of adrenalin gave him renewed determination. Now was no time for considering anything other than getting the mission over and done with.
  Opening the boot of the car, he quickly donned his protective apparel, and taking the spade, rucksack and the unlit lamp with him, made his way across the field that separated him from where he was heading – Duffield cemetery was only 250 yards away.
  Even in the dark, it only took him three minutes to find what he was looking for, aided by the detailed instructions Farren had provided him with two days before. There, on the pathway furthest away from the entrance gate, in front of the western wall of the cemetery and directly in front of a giant Ash tree which had been struck by lightning, lay the freshly dug grave of Mrs Muriel Bell. In the absence of a gravestone, which wouldn't be finished for at least another month, a small wooden cross, together with a plethora of bouquets, confirmed he had arrived at the correct place.
  Looking across the cemetery, Michael could see that he wasn't overlooked from the main road; at his back were fields. A three-quarter moon shone sufficient light across the blackened landscape to aid him in his work.Leaving the M60 at Stockport Michael joined the A6, which he followed patiently and without exceeding the speed limit for over an hour and a quarter, first through Buxton and then Matlock.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last three paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Farren was already at work on his next career move but first he still had one important job to do, which is why he and Michael were in Portugal today. Ever since he'd found his real father, Farren had been determined to discover more background on Linda, his true mother. As soon as he and Michael had felt able, they'd begun to make enquiries about her, tracing her medical history first, before going back to her university days. It had been a long haul, with numerous false leads, not helped by the popularity of her surname.
  Finally, they'd had a breakthrough on the University of Manchester Alumni website when a reunion of the English Department's 1970 intake was advertised. There the private detective Farren had hired to make enquiries managed to find a student from the same year who recalled that Looby was, as far as she knew, from Essex, with an English father who'd died when Looby was in her first year, and a Portuguese mother. Boosted by this lead, they eventually discovered that Linda's mother was still alive and now living back in Portugal after the death of her daughter. Having traced her to Sesimbra, the circle was now about to be squared.
  As they headed up to the landmark Moorish fortress atop the town, Farren couldn't help but quicken his step as he neared the address he had been given. A whole new life lay ahead of him.