conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a description for a book titled The Second Rumpole Omnibus about Rumpole, British, Academy with the genre: Humor & Entertainment, Humor
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author is a playwright, novelist, and former practicing barrister who has written many film scripts as well as stage, radio, and television plays, the Rumpole plays, for which he received the British Academy Writer of the Year Award, and the adaptation of Evelyn Waughs Brideshead Revisited. He is the author of twelve collections of Rumpole stories and three acclaimed volumes of autobiography.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first four paragraphs for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Second Rumpole Omnibus
  What a joy it was, I thought, to be getting away from London, far from the terrors of Judge Bullingham and my clerk Henry, and the V.A.T. man and She Who Must Be Obeyed! And then, at last, I got a splendid view of the coal heaps round the canal as the train rattled and gasped its way into Oxford station.
  Walking down the platform I was accosted by a stout person whom I didn't recognize. He was accompanied by an elderly grey-haired man whose sprouting eyebrows gave him the appearance of an anxious crustacean.
  It seemed incredible, until I remembered that standing in front of my two old friends I too must have seemed like some sort of antique or relic from the past. Simpson twitched his eyebrows and said in that high, slightly hysterical voice of his, which always sounded like a scream from the depths of the sea, 'We were all at St Joseph's together!'
  Fosdyke explained that he was also on the academic staff of my old college, being a Tutor in Modern History. We had no more time for catching up on the news of our various careers as duty called in the shape of a good-looking young girl with nice eyes, clean jeans and a knapsack full of papers.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Second Rumpole Omnibus
  What a joy it was, I thought, to be getting away from London, far from the terrors of Judge Bullingham and my clerk Henry, and the V.A.T. man and She Who Must Be Obeyed! And then, at last, I got a splendid view of the coal heaps round the canal as the train rattled and gasped its way into Oxford station.
  Walking down the platform I was accosted by a stout person whom I didn't recognize. He was accompanied by an elderly grey-haired man whose sprouting eyebrows gave him the appearance of an anxious crustacean.
  It seemed incredible, until I remembered that standing in front of my two old friends I too must have seemed like some sort of antique or relic from the past. Simpson twitched his eyebrows and said in that high, slightly hysterical voice of his, which always sounded like a scream from the depths of the sea, 'We were all at St Joseph's together!'
  Fosdyke explained that he was also on the academic staff of my old college, being a Tutor in Modern History.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: two more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I looked hard at the jury, raised an eyebrow or two, and repeated, 'You would prefer not to?' As no answer came from the witness-box I tried another question. 'Can you answer this. How long ago was the meeting in the public house in Victoria?'
  Mr X gave a puzzled look at the jury, but they looked as if they saw the point perfectly well. Then he answered, 'Yes.'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last five paragraphs. End with the sentence ' Nothing had changed and nobody seemed particularly surprised to see me.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: There was a longish silence and I didn't know whether to expect tears, abuse or a quick dash out into the street. I was surprised when at long last, she gave me a curious little half-smile and said, 'The rat!'
  She agreed and I went over to the bar where Jack Pommeroy was dealing with the arrival of the usual evening crowd. 'A bottle of your best bubbles, Jack.' I placed a lavish order. 'Nothing less than the dear old Dom to meet this occasion.' And whilst he went about fulfilling it, I saw Erskine-Brown come in and look around the room. 'Ah, Claude,' I called to him. 'I'm in the chair. Care for a glass of vintage bubbly?'
  What do you do if your hopes, built up so bravely through the testing-time of a four-horse accumulator, are dashed to the ground? What do you do if the doors to a golden future are suddenly slammed in your face and you're told to go home quietly? I called for Jack Pommeroy and told him to forget the Dom Perignon and pour out three small glasses of the Château Thames Embankment. Then I looked at Phillida sitting alone, and from her to Erskine-Brown. 'Claude,' I told him, 'I have an idea. I think there's something you should do urgently.'
  During the course of these memoirs I have stressed my article of faith: never plead guilty. Like all good rules this is, of course, subject to exceptions. For instance, readers will have noticed that having got Dennis Timson off the firearm charges, I had no alternative but to plead to the theft. So it was with my situation before She Who Must Be Obeyed. I knew that she would soon learn of my announced retirement from the Bar. If I wished to avoid prolonged questioning on this subject, no doubt stretching over several months, I had no alternative but to come clean and throw myself on the mercy of the Court. And so, that night, before the domestic gas-fire I gave Hilda a full account of the wager I had placed with Gerald, and of the fat screw's appalling treachery. 'But Rumpole,' she asked, and it was by no means a bad question, 'do you mean to say you've got no record of the transaction?'
  So it came about that at my usual hour next morning I opened the door of our clerk's room. Henry was telephoning, Dianne was brightening up her nails and Uncle Tom was practising chip shots into the waste-paper basket. Nothing had changed and nobody seemed particularly surprised to see me.