conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled Children of the Revolution about London, MuMu, Karachi with the genre: Travel, Specialty Travel.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author was born in Karachi. He has lived and worked for most of his life in London. He is a qualified chartered accountant and chartered tax advisor. This is his first book, but hopefully not his last. Feroze travelled with MuMu (Farida) the author - photographer, interpreter and guide. MuMu was born in Taunggyi, Burma and then lived in Karachi. She currently runs the family's property business in London. MuMu and Feroze met in London and were married in Pakistan. They have two grown up children, Sumaya and Nadir, and divide their time between their homes in London and Italy.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a title for a book about Ethiopia, Georgetown, Columbia with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Contemporary
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Children of the Revolution'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Children of the Revolution
  Lisa rolled another cigarette. Her hands were shaking slightly. 'Well, you're not.' She looked Winsome in the eye. 'You're probably thinking AIDS or pregnancy, right?'
  Only the hissing and crackling of the fire broke the silence of the next few seconds, which seemed to stretch out into even deeper unexplored terrain. Winsome didn't quite know how to respond. In a way, it was none of her business, not relevant to the case. But in another way, she had insinuated herself into Lisa's life beyond the mere facts, the truth and the lies, and she felt put on the spot. She could respond like a cop or respond like a friend, an older sister, whatever. Or she could not respond at all. Her choice.
  Lisa broke the silence and the discomfort by asking Winsome if she wanted another cup of tea. She said yes gratefully and gazed back at the poster of the beautiful half-naked man while Lisa put the kettle on.
  Neither spoke for a moment. Lisa just stared at the Doors poster in some sort of reverence, or so Winsome thought. She guessed that Jim Morrison was probably a bad boy, and not at all the kind of person her parents would have wanted her to meet. But sometimes... there was something in her that longed for such an adventure, throwing away all the maps and all the stop signs. Caution to the wind. The moment passed.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.. End with the sentence ' What can I say?''.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Paramedics had attended her at the scene, and then she had been examined briefly at the nearest hospital. Her injuries weren't serious, Oriana had said, just a few cuts and bruises, but mostly shock. She had insisted on going home. The doctors had no objection, and the local police all loved Oliver Litton, so it wasn't hard to find a volunteer to drive her. The car would be towed back later.
  Banks was sipping the slightly bitter but aromatic tea when the bell over the door pinged and Oriana walked in. She looked frazzled and drawn, which was only to be expected, given that she had probably had little or no sleep. The owner's wife, Sandy, came over to ask if she wanted anything, and she ordered a latte. The place wasn't too busy, and they had Classic FM playing quietly in the background.
  Once Oriana had sat down and removed her tan jacket, she seemed to be a little shy and uncomfortable to find herself alone with Banks in a café, even though they had already had lunch together. She was casually but stylishly dressed in jeans and russet-coloured top, with a dark green silk scarf around her neck. Banks could hear Sandy making the latte, the violent grinding of the espresso machine and the hissing of steam heating milk. It all sounded rather like someone sucking the dregs of a soft drink through a straw. 'How is Lady Chalmers?' he asked.
  Oriana kept her eyes down and stared at the tablecloth the whole time she talked. 'She's fine. Well, you know, still a bit dazed, but that's mostly from the sedative. The doctor's been, and she says she'll have a few nasty bruises but no permanent disfigurement or anything like that. He says she had a lucky escape. It was also fortunate that she wasn't driving too fast, she was wearing a seatbelt, and that the fence slowed her down even more. A little more momentum, and that would have been it.'
  Oriana glanced up at him and smiled. 'No,' she said. 'I'm sorry about phoning you so late last night. It's just so... embarrassing. I panicked. I didn't know where to turn. What can I say?'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: When they drew apart, Oriana picked up her glass, took a sip and leaned her elbow on the wall, half turning to face him.
  She laughed, then her expression turned serious, and she stared into the shadows beyond the wide water. 'I go away a lot.'
  The music started up again inside the pub, an instrumental introduction, followed by Penny's richly textured voice singing 'Queen of Hearts' to a hearty round of applause.
  Oriana picked up her glass, turned and made to walk over the lawn, glancing briefly over her shoulder. 'We'd better go inside,' she said. 'Come on. They're playing our song.'
  Banks remained by the wall. Then he saw her stretch out her hand behind her, as one might, perhaps, for a wayward child, and he laughed, took a step forward and grasped it. All the way to the pub he felt as if he were walking on air.