conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know a description for a book titled The Mysterious Benedict Society about Iowa, Writers, Workshop with the genre: Children's Books, Growing Up & Facts of Life?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author is a graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop. He lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, with his wife and two sons, where he teaches creative writing.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know a plot for a book titled The Mysterious Benedict Society?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Mysterious Benedict Society (series): The series deals with the adventures of four young children who are each gifted in different areas, bound by one common factor: they are either orphans or unwanted by their parents.\nThe children become involved with the strange Nicholas Benedict and his guild of assistants who are trying to stop mr Benedict's twin, Ledroptha Curtain, from taking over the world via brainwashing.\nThe children team up against the villain and his evil assistants, called the Ten Men.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first four paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Mysterious Benedict Society
  Miss Perumal sat across the table from him, but Reynie, who had no trouble reading upside down, quickly scanned the advertisement's bold-printed words: "ARE YOU A GIFTED CHILD LOOKING FOR SPECIAL OPPORTUNITIES?" How odd, he thought. The question was addressed directly to children, not to their parents. Reynie had never known his parents, who died when he was an infant, and it pleased him to read a notice that seemed to take this possibility into account. But still, how odd. How many children read the newspaper, after all? Reynie did, but he had always been alone in this, had always been considered an oddball. If not for Miss Perumal he might even have given it up by now, to avoid some of the teasing.
  Miss Perumal gave him a wry look. "Don't you play games with me, Reynie Muldoon. If you aren't the most talented child I've ever known, then I've never known a child at all."
  Mr. Rutger considered this. "Well, no harm in seeing what things are about, I suppose. I should like to know what it's about myself. In fact, why don't you prepare a report for me when you return? Say, ten pages? No hurry, you can turn it in tomorrow evening."
  Just before dawn he rose quietly, got ready with the lights off so as not to disturb his roommates (they often snarled at him for reading in bed at night, even when he used a tiny pen light under the covers), and hurried down to the kitchen. Miss Perumal was already waiting for him — she had been too excited to sleep, as well, and had arrived early. The kettle was just beginning to whistle on the stove, and Miss Perumal, with her back to him, was setting out cups and saucers.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know three more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: On the plaza, Mr. Curtain sat in his favorite spot, gazing off toward the bridge, reading a newspaper with a look of satisfaction, occasionally making a note in his journal. A few students had gathered at the edges of the plaza and in the rock garden, passing the time before supper. As always, they gave Mr. Curtain plenty of room. No one dared go near him while he was working — which is why so many jaws dropped when Reynard Muldoon was spotted walking toward him. Did the new kid not know any better? Was he just dying for a visit to the Waiting Room? No student had ever approached Mr. Curtain on the plaza before.
  Reynie guessed this, which is why his breath came so short. But keeping his shoulders squared and one hand behind his back, he did what no other student dared to do. He approached from the front, knowing he would have only one shot at this; his plan would be spoiled if Mr. Curtain turned his chair. "Mr. Curtain, sir?"
  Mr. Curtain seemed unsure whether to be angry or incredulous. "You're surprised I have pages to which I often refer?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: On the plaza, Mr. Curtain sat in his favorite spot, gazing off toward the bridge, reading a newspaper with a look of satisfaction, occasionally making a note in his journal. A few students had gathered at the edges of the plaza and in the rock garden, passing the time before supper. As always, they gave Mr. Curtain plenty of room. No one dared go near him while he was working — which is why so many jaws dropped when Reynard Muldoon was spotted walking toward him. Did the new kid not know any better? Was he just dying for a visit to the Waiting Room? No student had ever approached Mr. Curtain on the plaza before.
  Reynie guessed this, which is why his breath came so short. But keeping his shoulders squared and one hand behind his back, he did what no other student dared to do. He approached from the front, knowing he would have only one shot at this; his plan would be spoiled if Mr. Curtain turned his chair. "Mr. Curtain, sir?"
  Mr. Curtain seemed unsure whether to be angry or incredulous.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: They had completed their snow fort and were building up a supply of snowballs for the coming attack. Across the courtyard Rhonda, Constance, and Sticky were engaged in the same activity. Peeking over the top of the fort to observe the other side's progress, Reynie said, "Yes, everybody's finding their family, it seems. You have Milligan. I'm to have a mother and a grandmother. Constance gets two sisters and a father —"
  Kate snickered. "'Inclined to accept.' What gumption. Hey, you're making those too big. Try to make them about this size." She displayed one of her perfectly formed spheres to Reynie, then scooped up more snow with her new bucket (a gift from Milligan — it was exactly like her old one).
  Reynie rolled his eyes. "How could I forget? You barrage them with snowballs while I run out and gather all the ones they've thrown, so as to keep our pile from running low."
  Kate sighed. "I hate to waste a snowball, but I suppose there's always the chance you'll hit something. Fine, you can throw some."
  It has come to my attention that certain individuals wish to know my first name. If you are one of these, and if you are acquainted with the code, then I assure you the answer lies within your grasp.