conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled Friends and Lovers about Helen, MacInnes, Scottish-born with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Helen MacInnes (1907-1985) was the Scottish-born American author of 21 spy novels. Dubbed the "queen of spy writers", her books have sold more than 25 million copies in the United States alone and have been translated into over 22 languages. Several of her books have been adapted into films, such as Above Suspicion (1943), with Joan Crawford.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled Friends and Lovers about Another, America's with the genre: Literature & Fiction, United States.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: "Another gem from one of America's most popular authors."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first three paragraphs for this book.. End with the sentence ' "What do you think of all this, David?" There was a smile of enjoyment on his face, possessive pride in his voice.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Friends and Lovers
  The morning mist had cleared. Now a fresh wind was blowing, curling the edges of the waves, touching them lightly with flecks of white. The sea had lost its cold grey look; the blue waters were a darker reflection of the smiling sky, intensifying its colour and emotion by their great depths. The mainland, wide stretches of heather and bracken sloping down from barren hills, ended abruptly in red granite cliffs. On this part of the coast there was no sea loch or ragged inlet to distract the swiftly moving tide in its course between the mainland and the scattered islands. There was no sign of house or croft. There was nothing but the uneven hills, silent, watchful, folding eastward, one behind the other. To the west and north and south was the Atlantic, with the lonely islands jutting out of its deep waters to break the force of its rolling waves and turn them into swirling currents.
  The men in the boat—single-sailed and small, speeding swiftly with the wind and racing tide—had not spoken since they had left Loch Innish, on the mainland. But then, David Bosworth thought, this was the kind of place where conversation was hardly necessary. He was content to watch the wide-winged gulls wheeling overhead.
  George Fenton-Stevens, who was standing upright with an arm hooked round the mast, oblivious to wind or spray or gulls, suddenly looked down at David, sitting securely in the well of the boat. "What do you think of all this, David?" There was a smile of enjoyment on his face, possessive pride in his voice.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She crossed over to the window, trying to calm herself. After all, things could be explained in letters. And things could also be misunderstood. It suddenly appeared to her that a very small, very trivial incident could cause a lot of damage.
  Gower Street was quiet now. London's Sunday sleep always seemed to begin here on Saturday evening. A few people hurried to keep a dinner engagement or strolled out for a pleasant night. Occasional taxis, some cars, but no more lorries or vans: a quiet street, an empty, lifeless street, a desolate street. And then a man came out of the darkness, halted under the lamp-post at the corner almost opposite Baker House, and stood there looking at its rows of windows. It was David. Penny rapped on the glass sharply, but she was too high up for anyone in the street to hear. She had forgotten to turn on the light, so that he could not even have seen her. But she only remembered these things as she reached the hall, and scrawled her name in the "Out until 11.30" register. He will be gone, she told herself, and dropped the pen, and ran towards the door. The sedate maid on hall duty rose from her chair and stared at the slamming door. Well, really, she thought, and opened the door curiously.
  At first David thought Penny had been hit by the taxi. But in the next moment she was on the pavement beside him, laughing as if she had not even noticed.
  The taxi driver leaned forward to add his comment. David turned to the man with an ugly look on his face, but Penny said, "Please, David," and her hand on his arm pulled him gently away. Penny, David had to remind himself, hated scenes. But it would have given him a lot of pleasure to have had one: that was the mood he had been in for this last hour or so.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: But it would have given him a lot of pleasure to have had one: that was the mood he had been in for this last hour or so. After all, things could be explained in letters. And things could also be misunderstood. It suddenly appeared to her that a very small, very trivial incident could cause a lot of damage.
  Gower Street was quiet now. London's Sunday sleep always seemed to begin here on Saturday evening. A few people hurried to keep a dinner engagement or strolled out for a pleasant night. Occasional taxis, some cars, but no more lorries or vans: a quiet street, an empty, lifeless street, a desolate street. And then a man came out of the darkness, halted under the lamp-post at the corner almost opposite Baker House, and stood there looking at its rows of windows. It was David. Penny rapped on the glass sharply, but she was too high up for anyone in the street to hear. She had forgotten to turn on the light, so that he could not even have seen her. But she only remembered these things as she reached the hall, and scrawled her name in the "Out until 11.30" register. He will be gone, she told herself, and dropped the pen, and ran towards the door. The sedate maid on hall duty rose from her chair and stared at the slamming door. Well, really, she thought, and opened the door curiously.
  At first David thought Penny had been hit by the taxi. But in the next moment she was on the pavement beside him, laughing as if she had not even noticed.
  The taxi driver leaned forward to add his comment. David turned to the man with an ugly look on his face, but Penny said, "Please, David," and her hand on his arm pulled him gently away. Penny, David had to remind himself, hated scenes.She crossed over to the window, trying to calm herself.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She looked round the table, but no one else seemed to notice. They were all talking twice as loudly as before, and laughing about things that didn't seem funny at all. Her grandfather was being very amused as he told Mr. Fairbairn something that David had said to him. She listened. Silly, she decided. No joke at all. She concentrated on spooning up the liquid ice-cream.
  David, alone with Penny in the locked compartment of the express to Scotland (ticket-collectors were quick to spot a newly married man and the tip he so unobtrusively offered), was remembering the incident too.
  David laughed. "I did think of saying it," he admitted. "And then, Penny, I couldn't make a joke of it. I really felt that way too damned badly."
  Born in Scotland, she studied at the University of Glasgow and University College, London, then went to Oxford after her marriage to Gilbert Highet, the eminent critic and educator. In 1937 the Highets went to New York, and except during her husband's war service, Helen MacInnes lived there ever since.