conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for a story with the title 'Scandal Takes a Holiday'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Scandal Takes a Holiday
  The Illyrian knew the ropes. He gave the waiters a tip in advance, so they would point him out to anyone who asked for him. He left another tip on the bill when he left. While that meant he could be sure of a welcome if he came here again, the lavish behavior also meant the staff very clearly remembered him.
  I had no wish to hang around while members of the Fourth Cohort jumped all over the place like fleas on a scruffy dog. But the night was young, and I needed to think. I started to walk.
  A short stroll took me away from the river and into the Forum on its western side. As an attempt to avoid the vigiles, that was a disaster: more of the Fourth were lined up in rows at the foot of the Capitol. I could see Rubella with them, so although they looked sick that they were missing the wine-shop inspection, they were on their best behavior. In general, most never saw the cohort tribune. They stared at him curiously.
  Petronius was seconding Rubella, chewing his thumb and looking bored. I also recognized Fusculus, Petro's deputy in Rome. Fusculus, an increasingly rotund, happy fellow, appeared to be the duty officer in charge tonight. He had formed up a small group in a halfhearted honor guard. The vigiles do not wear uniforms or carry armor, so they cannot parade with their gear highly polished, and insofar as they drill, it consists of lifesaving tips and equipment practice. They are reluctant to march. A vigiles salute is likely to be derisive. Neat lines don't put out fires. If someone in the crowd here had screamed for help, the Fourth would have shown themselves to be good men. But ceremonial was not their strength.
  So a shambolic group, of all heights and body weights, were shifting about in their motley homespun tunics, while Fusculus gave benign instructions when he felt like it. Relaxed by nature, Fusculus enjoyed catching villains; that was so he could pick their brains for a treatise on the underworld. He was an expert on criminal cant; this hobby had taken him far beyond the norms of laundry-snitching and the confidence trickster's happy finesse of a plump mark, into farricking, boogle-squiddling, and the long toddle (which he told me once was a shorter version of marathon-running, which in Aventine street slang means fleeing justice). However, Fusculus defiantly had no interest in tonight's long-winded civic bollocking, where his men had to stand arse-aching beside a diplomatic podium. Diplomacy? The Rome vigiles do not bother with such etiquette.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Informers hope to take the lead in questioning, but when your job entails invading places where you are unwelcome, you soon learn to let interrogations proceed the other way around. "His name is Diocles."
  He shrugged. "I have no idea." He knew, all right. This man would steal from anyone—but he would want to be certain whose loot he was hijacking.
  I had no faith in this promise of a safe return to land. If the crew once decided I had been watching them too closely, I was definitely done for.
  I lost priority. Cotys turned away, to discuss some ship's business with a big, competent-looking man who seemed to be his sailing master. They checked over the side at intervals. A sailor asked Cotys something and glanced at me wickedly; further mischief was being planned. The sailor, a runt with a broken nose who looked as if he spent both voyages and shore leave fighting with all comers, disappeared down a half-ladder that led to the storage hold.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Petronius then told me that the vigiles had been given a lead on Caninus' whereabouts. Gaius Baebius, of all people, had reported seeing him. When Gaius was taking his breakfast at the Dolphin in Portus that morning, Caninus had slunk into the brothel opposite, the Damson Flower. Rubella and Brunnus had taken a posse and would arrest the attaché if he was still on the premises.
  We did not have to wait long. While we sat there, Rubella, Brunnus, and an armed group brought the captured attaché for his reckoning. We remained at our post, merely pulling in our feet to avoid the dust they kicked up. The prisoner was almost invisible, at the center of the escort. But I noticed that, perhaps to disguise himself at the brothel, Caninus was heavily painted. Of his fabled beaded slippers there was no sign: his feet were bare. His long tunic hung off him in rags. He slumped limply, as the vigiles held him by the arms. They must have started working him over at the brothel.
  The prisoner and escort vanished into the shadowed interior. Then for once someone hauled the mighty doors across behind them. The vigiles were seeking their own dreadful privacy for what would happen next. The thud of the heavy bar which clenched the tall doors shut echoed up the empty street.
  Petronius and I then sat on in the afternoon sunlight, two old friends with very long memories, sharing a quiet drink.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Gaius Baebius, of all people, had reported seeing him. When Gaius was taking his breakfast at the Dolphin in Portus that morning, Caninus had slunk into the brothel opposite, the Damson Flower. Rubella and Brunnus had taken a posse and would arrest the attaché if he was still on the premises.
  We did not have to wait long. While we sat there, Rubella, Brunnus, and an armed group brought the captured attaché for his reckoning. We remained at our post, merely pulling in our feet to avoid the dust they kicked up. The prisoner was almost invisible, at the center of the escort. But I noticed that, perhaps to disguise himself at the brothel, Caninus was heavily painted. Of his fabled beaded slippers there was no sign: his feet were bare. His long tunic hung off him in rags. He slumped limply, as the vigiles held him by the arms. They must have started working him over at the brothel.
  The prisoner and escort vanished into the shadowed interior. Then for once someone hauled the mighty doors across behind them. The vigiles were seeking their own dreadful privacy for what would happen next. The thud of the heavy bar which clenched the tall doors shut echoed up the empty street.
  Petronius and I then sat on in the afternoon sunlight, two old friends with very long memories, sharing a quiet drink.