conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know a description for a book titled The Face-Changers about guide, Jane, Whitefield with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Can a woman who's rescued countless victims now save herself from an unknown enemy? After over a decade as a "guide" who helped people in trouble disappear, Jane Whitefield has promised her new husband that she will never work again. But she is asked to perform her magic just one last time.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Face-Changers
  She had bought without question the statement that Quinn was dead. It had seemed inevitable, even overdue. Selling commodities and services to criminals was a risky activity. Sid had stayed in that house in Minneapolis with lookouts and armed guards, while Quinn, and sometimes Christie, had traveled the country foraging for things that could be had only from people who didn't care about laws, and delivering them to people who used them to commit crimes. All transactions had been in cash. When Jane had heard they were both dead, she had been only mildly surprised.
  Of course they would be dead—if not now, then next week, or next year. The only part of the announcement that had even held her attention was that she had trouble imagining Sid without them. When she had tried to bargain with him, she had been surprised that the one who left the bigger void was not Christie. Christie had always floated in the background like some weird wraith, the only constant in Sid's fortress, where everything was always in motion and even Sid couldn't hold onto one identity for long. But now it seemed to Jane that Christie must just have been a young woman who had gotten some kind of titillation out of the excitement that surrounded Sid's repulsive person.
  It was Quinn that Jane had kept missing. She had kept thinking of him while Sid was talking, catching herself glancing suddenly into the shadows and expecting to see him. It occurred to her that he probably had been in the house that night. She had somehow sensed it—maybe smelled some subtle personal scent that human beings gave off, or heard him in another room whispering to Sid's kids, just below the level of conscious hearing.
  That made her wonder why Sid had not told Quinn to kill her. That was the way it would have been done. Quinn was the permanent second in command, the junior partner. He had always made her tense and careful, not because he wouldn't do as Sid asked, but because she had never seen him experience a moment of reluctance. It had been as though his craziness had been worse than Sid's, and Sid's deliberation and physical torpor had held it back from its natural excesses.
  Jane still wasn't sure why Sid had not killed her. He had sent the two teams of men all over the country looking for Dahlman. She sensed that she had missed something, so she tried to remember events in order. After that night, the men had not come close to Dahlman. Maybe they had stopped looking. As soon as Sid had seen that Dahlman was in Jane's hands, he had quit. Was that what he had wanted? Yes. He had, maybe on the spot, decided he liked the idea of having Dahlman disappear. It was much better than having him dead. If Dahlman was killed, then the police could not escape the conclusion that someone must have done away with him, and wonder who. If Dahlman just vanished, then the only killer was Dahlman.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know five more paragraphs? Start with the sentence 'Jane ducked to avoid the impact, but the gun caught the back of her head in a glancing blow that knocked her forward and made her see a red afterimage'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Jane ducked to avoid the impact, but the gun caught the back of her head in a glancing blow that knocked her forward and made her see a red afterimage. Then she realized that the car had already reached the end of the grass. It shot outward, and it felt for a moment as though they were suspended in the air, and then the car began to fall. Jane's seat belt seemed to tighten and drag her down out of the sky.
  For a second she was aware that Christie was rising behind her in the back seat, both hands pressed against the ceiling to keep it away from her. Jane straightened her spine and sat up in her seat, looked out the windshield, and tried to see the surface of the river below. It was all darkness. She waited a second, then another, and then came the shock.
  The car seemed to stab downward into the water at an angle. There was a bang as the airbag exploded out of the hub of the steering column and flattened Jane against her seat and, at the same time, a heavy thump as Christie was thrown forward behind her. Almost immediately, Jane heard a rushing noise in the dark, like a waterfall, and then the sensation of cold water on her feet.
  It took Jane a second or two to determine that she could move. She fought the airbag to free her right arm, unbuckled her belt, and slipped sideways to the passenger side. She fell against the dashboard. The car was sinking front-first, the heavy engine weighing it down.
  The water began to rush in faster. Her legs were in water up to the hip. Then she could hear more water, and she could feel that it was coming in through the weakened seal around the windshield. Jane listened, but she couldn't hear Christie, so she tried to stare between the front seats toward the floor of the back seat.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last four paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Jane seemed to ponder for a moment, as though she were compressing a great many complex matters, then answered, "Being alive."
  Marshall smiled. "Me too." He started again, looking at her intently. "I know you must have heard Richard Dahlman turned out to be innocent. All the evidence—a witness, tape recordings, videotapes even—all turned up miraculously. The charges were dropped."
  He looked down at his feet. "There was a woman I met not long ago who reminded me of you. She gave me a present." He reached into his pocket and handed her a small black box that looked like a transistor radio. "This is something I thought you might like."
  This was the first night of Green Corn. This morning babies born since Midwinter had been given names, and adults who were taking on new names had announced them. Tomorrow there would be the chanting of personal thanks for good fortune and accomplishments, the appearance of the Society of Faces to cure the sick, and more food and dancing. And on the final day, there would be the casting of the peach pits, one side white and the other burnt black. The pits would be thrown down and read, over and over, until the black side or the white side triumphed, in imitation of the eternal battle between the Creator and his identical twin brother, the Destroyer.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The pits would be thrown down and read, over and over, until the black side or the white side triumphed, in imitation of the eternal battle between the Creator and his identical twin brother, the Destroyer."
  Marshall smiled. "Me too." He started again, looking at her intently. "I know you must have heard Richard Dahlman turned out to be innocent. All the evidence—a witness, tape recordings, videotapes even—all turned up miraculously. The charges were dropped."
  He looked down at his feet. "There was a woman I met not long ago who reminded me of you. She gave me a present." He reached into his pocket and handed her a small black box that looked like a transistor radio. "This is something I thought you might like."
  This was the first night of Green Corn. This morning babies born since Midwinter had been given names, and adults who were taking on new names had announced them. Tomorrow there would be the chanting of personal thanks for good fortune and accomplishments, the appearance of the Society of Faces to cure the sick, and more food and dancing. And on the final day, there would be the casting of the peach pits, one side white and the other burnt black.Jane seemed to ponder for a moment, as though she were compressing a great many complex matters, then answered, "Being alive.