conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Freddie, British, Former with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Driving Force'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first paragraph for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Driving Force
  We watched the rest of the races, all, that is, that were shown. Isobel phoned again in midprogram at four to report all well; she was going off home. One of the local horses Harve had driven to Cheltenham had won, had I noticed?
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is four more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Most of the drivers were in the canteen when I arrived on the Friday. The sky outside was gloriously pink and ginger, high, clear and cold. In the canteen the tea looked the color of teak with strength to match, and white plastic tea-spoons stood upright in the sugar bowl.
  Harve had already set off to Wolverhampton. I checked the other assembled drivers against the list I'd copied from the computer screen and found them all well briefed by Harve and Isobel. I realized I'd left a lot to those two since Tuesday night and had been more affected than I'd acknowledged by the rattling of my brain.
  Phil, Dave and Lewis were there, Lewis showing no sign of the flu. Nigel, despite his late return the evening before, exuded undiminished animal strength. Aziz smiled, as ever. A bunch of others looked at their watches, drank their tannin, used the washroom and ambled out on a collective mission to pick up most of the Pixhill horses that were running that afternoon at Lingfield Park.
  Dave was down to go with Aziz in the nine-van on a broodmare mission to Ireland. Both men had arrived in plenty of time, and I asked Dave to come along to my office as I had something to discuss with him. He came in his usual happy-go-lucky way, carrying his tea mug and wearing an amiable unsuspecting expression.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He came in his usual happy-go-lucky way, carrying his tea mug and wearing an amiable unsuspecting expression. The sky outside was gloriously pink and ginger, high, clear and cold. In the canteen the tea looked the color of teak with strength to match, and white plastic tea-spoons stood upright in the sugar bowl.
  Harve had already set off to Wolverhampton. I checked the other assembled drivers against the list I'd copied from the computer screen and found them all well briefed by Harve and Isobel. I realized I'd left a lot to those two since Tuesday night and had been more affected than I'd acknowledged by the rattling of my brain.
  Phil, Dave and Lewis were there, Lewis showing no sign of the flu. Nigel, despite his late return the evening before, exuded undiminished animal strength. Aziz smiled, as ever. A bunch of others looked at their watches, drank their tannin, used the washroom and ambled out on a collective mission to pick up most of the Pixhill horses that were running that afternoon at Lingfield Park.
  Dave was down to go with Aziz in the nine-van on a broodmare mission to Ireland. Both men had arrived in plenty of time, and I asked Dave to come along to my office as I had something to discuss with him.Most of the drivers were in the canteen when I arrived on the Friday.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last two paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I was aware that Guggenheim and Aziz were slithering under the horse van. Guggenheim scrambled out with visions of immortality in his eyes, cuddling the white plastic carrier as if it contained the Holy Grail.
  Nina came to stand beside me. I put my arm round her shoulders. It felt right there. Eight and a half years didn't matter.