conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about [U]ndeniable, School, Library with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Boxer and the Spy'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a plot for a book titled The Boxer and the Spy.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Boxer and the Spy: In a quiet New England town, the body of shy teenager Jason Green washes up on the shore, and the police soon claim that the death was a suicide induced by steroid addiction.\nHowever, Terry Novak, a fifteen-year-old aspiring boxer, is not so sure, especially considering that Jason was an artistic person who had no interest in sports, and thus was not the type to be taking such drugs.\nAssisted by his friend Abby, he begins an investigation of his own, and soon learns that asking too many questions can lead him into serious danger.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Boxer and the Spy
  Twenty miles north of Boston, Cabot was a rich town on the water. The houses were generally big and old and had nice yards. Along the ocean-front, on Water Street, the houses were mostly bigger and older and had long front porches where people could sit in good weather and look at the ocean.
  The boy liked to walk around town after dark and look in windows. He liked to see the lives being lived in the lighted interiors. Men reading newspapers, women making supper, kids doing homework. He didn't peek in, he just looked as he walked by and felt somehow comfortable looking at the regular people doing regular things. He didn't like to stay home so much after supper because ever since his father died, his mother wouldn't eat supper. She'd give him his and sit with him while he ate, and drink. In a little while she would get weeping and hug him and tell him he was all she had, and it would make him really uncomfortable. So he'd go out for a walk until she got so drunk she'd fall asleep on the couch. He had gotten the timing of it down pretty well, so when he came home, he could go right to bed. In the morning there would be no mention of it. The boy didn't have too many friends. He wasn't mean or anything, but a lot of kids thought he was a sissy because he didn't like sports, and he liked old movies, and he liked to draw. He knew that, but he couldn't change himself. He could only be what he was.
  There was a sort of closed-in space on the beach, at the far end, near the bathhouse, among the big smooth rocks that stuck out into the ocean, where the boy liked to sit sometimes and think about things, and wait for his mother to drink herself to sleep. It was a cloudy night, but warm for March, and the boy was comfortable in the shadows of his place in the rocks.
  The man and woman had stopped and stood perhaps three feet from the boy, above the high water line, looking out over the dark ocean.
  She laughed and patted his cheek and turned and walked away down the beach. He watched her as she went. The clouds that had hidden the moon drifted so that he could see her in the moonlight as she turned up the path and walked toward the street where they had parked separately. The moonlight seemed to the boy as bright as day. The man turned back and looked directly at the boy. Their eyes met.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me three more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Today we going to do some fists of fury," George told Terry. "We going to move round the heavy bag to the left and we going to keep hitting it as fast as we can.... Left-right combo, bang, bang."
  Terry moved left as he pounded the bag. He could feel the sweat begin to gather along his arms and shoulders. George was right, once he began to feel the stuttered rhythm of the punches, they came faster. It wasn't so much bang, bang as ba-bang, ba-bang.
  The change in direction had messed up his rhythm, and it took him a couple of circuits of the bag to get it back. Then he made one full circle of the bag in good ba-bang.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Today we going to do some fists of fury," George told Terry. "We going to move round the heavy bag to the left and we going to keep hitting it as fast as we can.... Left-right combo, bang, bang."
  Terry moved left as he pounded the bag. He could feel the sweat begin to gather along his arms and shoulders. George was right, once he began to feel the stuttered rhythm of the punches, they came faster. It wasn't so much bang, bang as ba-bang, ba-bang.
  The change in direction had messed up his rhythm, and it took him a couple of circuits of the bag to get it back.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last paragraph.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A lifelong resident of Massachusetts, he and his wife, Joan, currently live in Cambridge, where Mr. Parker has on more than one occasion stepped into the boxing ring—but just for the fun of it.