conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide a description for a book titled Lost Boy Lost Girl about Underhill, Mark, BLACK with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A new psychological thriller from the co-author of the massive international No 1 bestseller BLACK HOUSE. From the ferocious imagination of the author springs a nerve-shredding new chiller about the persistence of evil. A woman kills herself for no apparent reason. A week later, her teenage son disappears. A madman known as the Sherman Park Killer has been haunting the neighbourhood, but Underhill believes that Mark's obsession with a local abandoned house is at the root of his disappearance. He fears that Mark came across its last and greatest secret -- a lost girl, one who has coaxed Mark deeper and deeper into her mysterious domain. Only by following in their footsteps will Underhill uncover the shocking truth.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about Tim, Underhill, Millhaven, vanished.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A new psychological thriller from the co-author of the massive international No 1 bestseller BLACK HOUSE. From the ferocious imagination of the author springs a nerve-shredding new chiller about the persistence of evil. A woman kills herself for no apparent reason. A week later, her teenage son disappears. The vanished boy's uncle, Tim Underhill, returns to his home town of Millhaven to discover what he can. A madman known as the Sherman Park Killer has been haunting the neighbourhood, but Underhill believes that Mark's obsession with a local abandoned house is at the root of his disappearance. He fears that Mark came across its last and greatest secret -- a lost girl, one who has coaxed Mark deeper and deeper into her mysterious domain. Only by following in their footsteps will Underhill uncover the shocking truth.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Lost Boy Lost Girl
  Which was exactly what Lloyd-Jones wanted him to think, he realized. He had no real interest in Timothy Underhill; he wanted to amuse himself. No mere incarceration could keep him from playing his games.
  Lloyd-Jones gave him a smile of pure sympathy. Light danced in his slightly close-set eyes. 'Let's think about that a little more. I understand from reading about your friend that he gets many of his – shall we say, inspirations? – from public records. So clever, I've always thought. If you can remember, I'd be very interested to know if it was something in the public records that brought my name to Mr Pasmore's attention. And to yours, of course.'
  Lloyd-Jones blinked, and some of the suppressed glee drained from his face. He recovered almost instantaneously. 'Oh, yes, of course. I bought that little place as an investment, then never did anything with it. Let's go on to something a great deal more important to me.
  The room seemed to be a degree or two warmer and a bit darker and dimmer, as if the overhead lights were failing.
  Lloyd-Jones regarded Tim as he would a charming though backward pupil. 'Why in the world should you and Mr Pasmore have been interested in that little house on Michigan Street?'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide three more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The trail beaten down by Mark and Jimbo, then by Mark alone, straggled toward the wooden steps and the kitchen door from the lawn on the south side of the house. There were no other signs of passage through the backyard.
  Pohlhaus began ambling along toward the back of the yard and the big fence. He was moving slowly and keeping his eyes on the ground. After a little while, I realized that Pohlhaus was moving in a straight line for about six feet, then turning on his heel and reversing himself along the path he had just taken. In effect, he was creating a grid, which then could be linked to other grids until every inch of the weedy ground had been inspected.
  The forensic team showed up, and after introducing me, Pohlhaus went inside to show them the basement and the bloodstains. The patrolmen rolled up and were organized to put up crime-scene tape and keep civilians away.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about shuffled, nothing.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The trail beaten down by Mark and Jimbo, then by Mark alone, straggled toward the wooden steps and the kitchen door from the lawn on the south side of the house. There were no other signs of passage through the backyard. 
  Pohlhaus began ambling along toward the back of the yard and the big fence. He was moving slowly and keeping his eyes on the ground. I shuffled here and there, positive I would find nothing. After a little while, I realized that Pohlhaus was moving in a straight line for about six feet, then turning on his heel and reversing himself along the path he had just taken. In effect, he was creating a grid, which then could be linked to other grids until every inch of the weedy ground had been inspected. 
  The forensic team showed up, and after introducing me, Pohlhaus went inside to show them the basement and the bloodstains. The patrolmen rolled up and were organized to put up crime-scene tape and keep civilians away.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The bulldozer snorted and jerked to a halt, rocking on its treads. Thompson, who had been treading backward in front of the machine as it delicately sliced away a thin layer of earth, shouted, 'Sergeant! We got one!'
  All three men at the bottom of Philip Underhill's backyard walked over the defeated fence and into the alley. Officer Thompson scraped the blade of his shovel across the strip of earth, then bent down. Using one of his space gloves, he tugged into view a gray-green human hand, then an entire forearm, encased in a white sleeve.
  Pohlhaus waved them back. The brothers retreated to Philip's lot line and looked on as the first of the adolescent dead began his journey upward into daylight.
  For professional assistance in the writing of this novel, thanks go to Visconti pens (Van Gogh and Kaleido), Boorum & Pease journals (900–3 R), and Kathy Kinsner (eighty words a minute); for moral and emotional support during the writing of this novel, grateful thanks to Lila Kalinich and Susan Straub; for her inspired editing, profound thanks to extraordinary Lee Boudreaux.
  Peter Straub was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. His bestselling novels and story collections have been translated into more than twenty languages. He has won the British Fantasy Award, four Bram Stoker Awards and two World Fantasy Awards. For a decade he lived in Ireland and England, and he now lives in New York City with his wife, Susan, the director of Project Read to Me.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Thompson, who had been treading backward in front of the machine as it delicately sliced away a thin layer of earth, shouted, 'Sergeant! We got one!'
  All three men at the bottom of Philip Underhill's backyard walked over the defeated fence and into the alley. Officer Thompson scraped the blade of his shovel across the strip of earth, then bent down. Using one of his space gloves, he tugged into view a gray-green human hand, then an entire forearm, encased in a white sleeve.
  Pohlhaus waved them back. The brothers retreated to Philip's lot line and looked on as the first of the adolescent dead began his journey upward into daylight.
  For professional assistance in the writing of this novel, thanks go to Visconti pens (Van Gogh and Kaleido), Boorum & Pease journals (900–3 R), and Kathy Kinsner (eighty words a minute); for moral and emotional support during the writing of this novel, grateful thanks to Lila Kalinich and Susan Straub; for her inspired editing, profound thanks to extraordinary Lee Boudreaux.
  Peter Straub was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. His bestselling novels and story collections have been translated into more than twenty languages. He has won the British Fantasy Award, four Bram Stoker Awards and two World Fantasy Awards. For a decade he lived in Ireland and England, and he now lives in New York City with his wife, Susan, the director of Project Read to Me.