conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Greek, Peggy, Shumaker with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Poetry?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Garden of Beasts'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first four paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Garden of Beasts
  Ah... Finally she found it and mounted the carriage carefully into the battered gray reader, moving the knob impatiently to locate the continuation of the story of Charles's flight.
  As she twisted the dial, the pages streamed past on the grainy screen. Geneva found the rest of the article, which was headlined:
  CHARLES SINGLETON, A VETERAN OF THE WAR BETWEEN THE STATES, BETRAYS THE CAUSE OF OUR PEOPLE IN A NOTORIOUS INCIDENT
  A picture accompanying the article showed twenty-eight-year-old Charles Singleton in his Civil War uniform. He was tall, his hands were large, and the tight fit of the uniform on his chest and arms suggested powerful muscles. Lips broad, cheekbones high, head round, skin quite dark.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know four more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Told you not to worry, girl. People aren't dangerous when they laugh. They aren't dangerous when they say friendly things on cell phones. He'd been walking slowly because that's what people do when they're talking—even though what kind of rude claimer'd make a phone call in a library? Geneva turned back to the microfiche screen, wondering; You get away, Charles? Man, I hope so.
  Yet he regained his footing and, rather than own up to his mischief, as a courageous man would do, continued his cowardly flight.
  For a time he evaded his pursuers. But escape was merely temporary. A Negro tradesman on a porch saw the freedman and implored him to stop, in the name of justice, asserting that he had heard of Mr. Singleton's crime and recriminating him for bringing dishonor upon all colored people throughout the nation. The citizen, one Walker Loakes, thereupon flung a brick at Mr. Singleton with the intent of knocking him down. However, the freedman
  But Loakes ignores the freedman's protests and runs into the street, calling to the police that the fugitive is headed for the docks.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: However, the freedman
  But Loakes ignores the freedman's protests and runs into the street, calling to the police that the fugitive is headed for the docks. People aren't dangerous when they laugh. They aren't dangerous when they say friendly things on cell phones. He'd been walking slowly because that's what people do when they're talking—even though what kind of rude claimer'd make a phone call in a library? Geneva turned back to the microfiche screen, wondering; You get away, Charles? Man, I hope so.
  Yet he regained his footing and, rather than own up to his mischief, as a courageous man would do, continued his cowardly flight.
  For a time he evaded his pursuers. But escape was merely temporary. A Negro tradesman on a porch saw the freedman and implored him to stop, in the name of justice, asserting that he had heard of Mr. Singleton's crime and recriminating him for bringing dishonor upon all colored people throughout the nation. The citizen, one Walker Loakes, thereupon flung a brick at Mr. Singleton with the intent of knocking him down.Told you not to worry, girl.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last four paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He paused and silently set the rape pack on a shelf. He took the club in both hands. He stepped closer, lifting the varnished oak rod.
  Still absorbed in the words, she read intently, oblivious to the fact that her attacker was an arm's length behind her. Thompson swung the club downward with all his strength toward the back of the girl's skull.
  The torso of the mannequin fell one way. The head another. Thompson stared for a moment. He glanced to his side and saw a ball gown draped over the bottom half of the same mannequin—part of a display on women's clothing in Reconstruction America.
  The slap of racing feet answered the question. Thompson Boyd heard her sprinting for the fire door. The man slipped the billy club into his coat, pulled out his gun, and started after her.