conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for a story with the title 'The Aviator's Wife'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Aviator's Wife
  Mamma dabbed her upper lip with her handkerchief; it was warm for late May, and despite being tightly bound, a few strands of her black hair had escaped, lying damp and flat against her high forehead. She was fatter than usual because soon another baby would join us. I wasn't precisely sure what her being fat had to do with a baby, but that was how it was explained to me, and when I asked what the one had to do with the other, she would not say. She told me only that young ladies weren't supposed to ask such questions.
  Still, I couldn't help but suspect that one very important piece of information was being withheld; I vowed, someday, to discover just what it was. Perhaps Mr. Dodgson would tell me.
  Pricks could have lied, given how neat I looked now, but she didn't. "Yes," was all she answered, choosing to leave the rest up to Mamma.
  Suddenly Mamma looked so tired; she closed her eyes, pressed her handkerchief against her forehead. I felt sorry for her. Babies must be very trying to get ready for.
  She smiled then, her eyes still closed. "Good girl." Then she slowly climbed the stairs, her wide skirts, in the jeweled red she favored, whispering as she brushed past us. As she went by me, she patted the top of my head.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Still, I couldn't help but suspect that one very important piece of information was being withheld; I vowed, someday, to discover just what it was. Perhaps Mr. Dodgson would tell me.
  Pricks could have lied, given how neat I looked now, but she didn't. "Yes," was all she answered, choosing to leave the rest up to Mamma.
  Suddenly Mamma looked so tired; she closed her eyes, pressed her handkerchief against her forehead. I felt sorry for her. Babies must be very trying to get ready for.
  She smiled then, her eyes still closed. "Good girl." Then she slowly climbed the stairs, her wide skirts, in the jeweled red she favored, whispering as she brushed past us. As she went by me, she patted the top of my head.
  Mary Ann held the door open for us, and we walked outside. Adjusting my parasol, I blinked at the sudden brightness of the sun; inside the Deanery everything was so gloomy and muted, with heavy sculpted carpeting and oppressive flowered paper, dark wood paneling and banisters. It was always a shock to go outside.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last paragraph.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Ina laughed at me, and I resisted the urge to poke her with my parasol, but only because we were still in the Quad and Mamma might be watching from the window.