conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide a description for a book titled Buried for Pleasure about Fen, Professor, Gervase with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Mystery.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Professor Gervase Fen is taking a break from his books to run for Parliament when he discovers that someone in this sleepy English village has discovered a dark secret and is using it for blackmail. The joys of politics wear off and Fen decides to investigate.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Buried for Pleasure
  On leaving Wolfe and Humbleby at the hospital, Fen went to 'The White Lion' to seek out Captain Watkyn. He was discovered lurking unhappily in the lounge under the compelling, ancient-mariner-like eye of Mr Judd, whose political albatross, the Party system, had acquired additional plumage from the previous afternoon's work in the public library, and who was now expounding this at length. Fen silenced him for long enough to ascertain that no arrangement had been made for that morning, and then uncivilly fled, driving back under a cloudless sky to 'The Fish Inn'.
  He procured coffee, and drank it perched on the garden roller, brooding disjointedly over the election and the crimes. Within the inn, Mr Beaver and his coadjutors hammered monotonously away, presently introducing a variation in the form of a saw whose voice was the voice of a corncrake in intolerable agony. Fen rose hurriedly and left the precincts. He subscribed wholeheartedly to the view of Sir Max Beerbohm that nothing so effectively inhibits thought as going for a walk, but at the moment no better alternative offered itself. He set off rather dejectedly along the village street.
  There was one turning which he had not so far investigated – a lane which led up past the Rectory and which terminated, according to an ancient sign-post, at the town of Wythendale twelve miles away. He accordingly set off along it, and presently paused at the Rectory gate to survey both the incumbent's dwelling – a large, nondescript grey building – and the incumbent himself, who, clad in disreputable flannels, was bending down to peer at a diseased-looking hollyhock in the front garden. From these objects Fen's attention soon strayed to a brightly hued insect which was perched on a twig beside the gate, and he prodded it experimentally with his forefinger. It at once stung him viciously and flew away. Fen, who lacked stoicism, uttered a cry of anguish and dismay, at which the Rector abruptly straightened up to stare in his direction. And in the instant following, a small white coffee-cup was projected from one of the upper windows of the Rectory and sailed past within a centimetre of the Rector's nose.
  Now even in the most trivial afflictions Fen regards it as the inaliena ble duty of his fellow-men to offer him instant sympathy and relief, and to continue offering them during all the lengthy period of his complainings. He would not, therefore, normally have considered it other than entirely right and seemly that the Rector, at his cry, should hasten towards him with every appearance of the deepest anxiety and solicitude; where the pastoral duties of the clergy are concerned, Fen is a particularly exigent and fussy sheep. The present circumstances, however, gave him pause. It was no doubt the Rector's business, after the first shock of surprise at being assailed with a coffee-cup, to thrust his own problem into the background of his mind and rush to succour Fen; but it was a little surprising that he should so completely ignore the coffee-cup as not even to glance in the direction whence it had come. It now lay, unbroken, on a flower-bed near him; he could not conceivably have failed to-see it, or at least to feel the wind of its passing; yet he might, to judge by his total failure to react in any of the expected ways, have been entirely unconscious of it. By the time he arrived at the Rectory gate, Fen was regarding him with some distrust. Moreover, it quickly appeared that the Rector's anxiety was functioning in the wrong direction.
  The Rector appeared to ponder deeply; and eventually arriving at a decision: 'Come in, then,' he said, unlatching the gate. 'I'm afraid you'll be thinking me very discourteous and unready to help, but the fact is that what has just occurred puts me in a rather serious quandary.'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide another paragraph.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: For an instant his face was a study in stupefaction. And then his expression changed to one of such relief and delight that Diana's heart sang.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Fen relapsed into brooding. It appeared to his peevish imagination that everyone had come well out of the week's events except himself. Humbleby, by now on his way back to London, could feel nothing but satisfaction at so conclusive a finish to the case. Diana and Lord Sanford were united at last. Jane Persimmons – whom they had seen that afternoon – was much better, and would almost certainly be persuaded to settle down with them. Mr Judd was to have the freedom of Jacqueline (Fen found himself unable to conceive the affair in terms more elevated than these) and Jacqueline had presumably some arcane justification for being satisfied with this arrangement. Captain Watkyn had achieved a professional triumph in the face of considerable odds. Boysenberry's reputation was more or less salvaged. Elphinstone would again be receiving such treatment as his egregious condition required. Mr Beaver had largely succeeded in his object of destroying his own inn.
  Olive and Harry Hitchin would be mollocking in some secluded spot, their enjoyment impaired only by the remote possibility of Olive's father coming at them with a knife. Myra was neither better nor worse off than she had been before. The Rector's poltergeist was now public property, and the Psychical Research Society would be after him at any moment, but that was no more than he deserved for deceiving Mrs Flitch. Constable Sly had been slightly wounded, but that was on account of his own stupidity, and in any case he would be about again in a day or two.... Fen gazed at the stars, and inquired of them wordlessly why he alone should be afflicted with such condign and unmerited punishment.
  The champagne was brought. The glasses were filled. 'A toast,' said Fen, 'to those who are to be married.' They drank.
  The ground trembled under them. In the back wall of the inn a crack appeared, widened, gaped. There was a sound of smashing glass. The chimney pots toppled and the tiles fell like rain. With an earthquake roar, in an enveloping mushroom of dust, the walls of 'The Fish Inn' bulged and collapsed.
  The villagers assembled to view the prodigy; but in an hour or two, tiring of the spectacle, they returned to their beds. Like looters in a devasted city, Fen's party wandered among the ruins in the moonlight, their champagne glasses still in their hands. Then Diana and Lord Sanford melted away into the night, and Mr Judd and Jacqueline followed them, and the simultaneous disappearance of Myra and Captain Watkyn suggested that they, too, had resolved to make much of time. Fen was left alone with Mr Beaver, who sat on the iron roller at the edge of the lawn with his head buried in his hands, and who in this emergency would not, Fen thought, be very congenial company.... He went to see if his car was undamaged. It was. A jagged lump of stone, he observed, had given the non-doing pig its quietus, but he did not feel impelled to mourn; the non-doing pig's fidelity had, in his opinion, never adequately compensated for its basic lack of charm. Fen climbed into the car and drove to Sanford Morvel to look for a room for the night.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: It appeared to his peevish imagination that everyone had come well out of the week's events except himself. Humbleby, by now on his way back to London, could feel nothing but satisfaction at so conclusive a finish to the case. Diana and Lord Sanford were united at last. Jane Persimmons – whom they had seen that afternoon – was much better, and would almost certainly be persuaded to settle down with them. Mr Judd was to have the freedom of Jacqueline (Fen found himself unable to conceive the affair in terms more elevated than these) and Jacqueline had presumably some arcane justification for being satisfied with this arrangement. Captain Watkyn had achieved a professional triumph in the face of considerable odds. Boysenberry's reputation was more or less salvaged. Elphinstone would again be receiving such treatment as his egregious condition required. Mr Beaver had largely succeeded in his object of destroying his own inn.
  Olive and Harry Hitchin would be mollocking in some secluded spot, their enjoyment impaired only by the remote possibility of Olive's father coming at them with a knife. Myra was neither better nor worse off than she had been before. The Rector's poltergeist was now public property, and the Psychical Research Society would be after him at any moment, but that was no more than he deserved for deceiving Mrs Flitch. Constable Sly had been slightly wounded, but that was on account of his own stupidity, and in any case he would be about again in a day or two.... Fen gazed at the stars, and inquired of them wordlessly why he alone should be afflicted with such condign and unmerited punishment.
  The champagne was brought. The glasses were filled. 'A toast,' said Fen, 'to those who are to be married.' They drank.
  The ground trembled under them. In the back wall of the inn a crack appeared, widened, gaped. There was a sound of smashing glass. The chimney pots toppled and the tiles fell like rain. With an earthquake roar, in an enveloping mushroom of dust, the walls of 'The Fish Inn' bulged and collapsed.
  The villagers assembled to view the prodigy; but in an hour or two, tiring of the spectacle, they returned to their beds. Like looters in a devasted city, Fen's party wandered among the ruins in the moonlight, their champagne glasses still in their hands. Then Diana and Lord Sanford melted away into the night, and Mr Judd and Jacqueline followed them, and the simultaneous disappearance of Myra and Captain Watkyn suggested that they, too, had resolved to make much of time. Fen was left alone with Mr Beaver, who sat on the iron roller at the edge of the lawn with his head buried in his hands, and who in this emergency would not, Fen thought, be very congenial company.... He went to see if his car was undamaged. It was. A jagged lump of stone, he observed, had given the non-doing pig its quietus, but he did not feel impelled to mourn; the non-doing pig's fidelity had, in his opinion, never adequately compensated for its basic lack of charm. Fen climbed into the car and drove to Sanford Morvel to look for a room for the night.