conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first four paragraphs for a book with the title 'Wards of Faerie'
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Wards of Faerie
  There was an extended silence. "I will go to Varfleet," Bombax declared. "Better Callahorn than a return to the Federation cities. Men and women possessing such skills as those you describe, Mistress, can be found in the Borderlands."
  Khyber was surprised. "I gathered from your disagreement with my intentions you would prefer to stay here."
  Pleysia shrugged, her smooth features wrinkling. "I might not agree with your decision to include others in our efforts to find the Elfstones, but that doesn't mean I don't intend to take part in the search. I don't trust Allanon, but I do support you. I am disagreeing, Mistress, not withdrawing."
  She said it calmly, without rancor or disgruntlement. Khyber was impressed. "Your point is taken. I will send you both. Carrick can go into the Eastland with Seersha. Where will you go, Pleysia?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: four more paragraphs. Start with the sentence 'He thought momentarily of the mysterious notes he had received suggesting he was responsible for Edinja's death, wondering again at their source'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He thought momentarily of the mysterious notes he had received suggesting he was responsible for Edinja's death, wondering again at their source. Could it possibly be Arodian? He couldn't fathom how the man had managed it, but he didn't dismiss the possibility outright. If the notes stopped coming after tonight, he would know.
  He paused momentarily at the steps leading down to the fantail, fidgeting and edgy as he searched for and found a solitary figure standing at the aft railing. Lehan Arodian, watching the first silvery rays of sunlight creep above the horizon.
  Drust recovered his composure. "Of course not. I noticed you from the command deck and came down to say good morning. Beautiful sunrise, isn't it?"
  Arodian shook his head as he turned to face Drust. "The truth isn't in you, is it? You knew you would find me here. Why not admit it?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last five paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Arling did not understand. Asking her to bring word of this to the others was unbearable. Why choose her as opposed to another? Why ask this of her when so much else was happening?
  But this was selfish thinking, and she would not speak it aloud to her Mistress. She was a Chosen, and the Chosen did not complain—ever—of what was asked of them during the time of their service.
  That was as much as she could manage to repeat before the enormity of what the Ellcrys was saying tightened about her throat in an iron grip of such fear that she choked on the rest. She saw it now. She saw what she was being asked to do.
  Instantly, Arlingfant was up and running, her dark hair flying out behind her in a tangle. She broke away from the touch of the Ellcrys, from the voice in her head, from the realization of what was being asked of her and how her life would be altered forever. She felt cold and hot all at once.
  She knew the story. All of the Chosen had known since the time of Amberle Elessedil, who was the last to be called. The tree was said to live forever, and some believed it was so. But the truth was a different matter. The tree had a finite life; centuries long, yes, but finite. When its time was up, the tree always selected one among the Chosen to take from it a seedling, to carry that seedling to the Bloodfire, to immerse it in the flames and then return to become...
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: ... When its time was up, the tree always selected one among the Chosen to take from it a seedling, to carry that seedling to the Bloodfire, to immerse it in the flames and then return to become. The tree had a finite life; centuries long, yes, but finite. But the truth was a different matter. The tree was said to live forever, and some believed it was so. All of the Chosen had known since the time of Amberle Elessedil, who was the last to be called.
  She knew the story. She felt cold and hot all at once. She broke away from the touch of the Ellcrys, from the voice in her head, from the realization of what was being asked of her and how her life would be altered forever.
  Instantly, Arlingfant was up and running, her dark hair flying out behind her in a tangle. She saw what she was being asked to do. She saw it now.
  That was as much as she could manage to repeat before the enormity of what the Ellcrys was saying tightened about her throat in an iron grip of such fear that she choked on the rest. She was a Chosen, and the Chosen did not complain—ever—of what was asked of them during the time of their service. Why choose her as opposed to another? Why ask this of her when so much else was happening?
  But this was selfish thinking, and she would not speak it aloud to her Mistress. Asking her to bring word of this to the others was unbearable.Arling did not understand