conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a plot for a book about Gwen, Bridges, Arthur entitled Track of the Cat.. Start with the sentence 'Track of the Cat: The squabbling Bridges family spends a harsh winter on their remote ranch in northern California in the early years of the 20th century'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Track of the Cat: The squabbling Bridges family spends a harsh winter on their remote ranch in northern California in the early years of the 20th century.\nCrude and quarrelsome middle brother Curt (Robert Mitchum) bullies his noble, unselfish eldest brother Arthur (William Hopper), while youngest brother Harold (Tab Hunter) endures Curt's abuse in browbeaten silence.\nTheir mother (Beulah Bondi) is a bigoted religious zealot and their father (Philip Tonge) is a loquacious, self-pitying drunk.\nBitter old maid sister Grace (Teresa Wright) is temporarily gladdened by the arrival of Harold's fiancé, spirited Gwen (Diana Lynn).\nTheir ancient Native American hired hand Joe Sam (Carl Switzer) alerts the family to a panther prowling the hills.\nMany years before his family was wiped out by a panther.\nJoe Sam's superstitious dread of the panther irritates domineering Curt.\nCurt and Arthur split up to track the panther while the family tensely awaits their return.\nGentle Harold tries to avoid conflict with his parents while Gwen tenderly encourages him to assert his claim to an equal share of the ranch.\nAlthough Grace tries to support her youngest brother and his fiancé, Ma Bridges spews hateful suspicion at Gwen, but she ignores the family's histrionics calmly for Harold's sake.\nBy the end of the story, the major conflicts have been resolved, but not without tragedy and loss.\nThe remaining characters seem hopeful that their ordeal may have created the basis for a happier future.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Track of the Cat
  Mechanically Anna ate a color-coordinated meal consisting of the four basic food groups, all of which tasted pretty much the same. She asked the LVN—a high school girl with overprocessed hair and a sweet, slightly vacant face—if the food was vacu-formed by Mattel. For her attempt at levity, Anna got an empty smile. However, the girl was willing to smuggle in a cup of coffee with honest-to-God caffeine so Anna forgave her her shortcomings.
  Fortified by food and stimulants, she opened the autopsy report on Ranger Drury. Much of it was chemical analyses that meant little to her. After a cursory look through, she turned to the summation and comments on the last page.
  Ranger Drury had died between seven p.m. and midnight on Friday, June 17. The cause of death was perforation of the spinal cord between the fourth and fifth cervical vertebrae. The puncture wound, one and a half inches deep, was found to have traces of animal fur at the opening and, one inch down, a fragment of a tooth from a large carnivore. There were three other puncture wounds three-quarters to one inch deep in a pattern consistent with the size of an adult lion's bite. Several animal hairs were found in the scrapes along the shoulder. There were no broken bones or other signs of trauma. Stomach contents included an incompletely digested pear and salami and cheese.
  The only other item of interest was a trace of a hallucinogen which had been found in Sheila's blood. Possibly LSD.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: No magic doors. No invisible caves. A prosaic solution in use since the Anasazi had built cliff dwellings: hand and toe holds had been chipped into the rock. From the distance they were apart, Anna guessed Karl had made them to fit his own long reach. She had to stretch precariously to reach from one to another. Twenty feet up she remembered reading that the Anasazi had often planned their stone "ladders" so an enemy, starting out on the wrong foot, would find himself halfway up without a grip, unable to ascend or descend.
  The muscles in her arms and legs were quivering by the time she pulled herself over the top. There wasn't any way she could do it safely or discreetly but merely hauled herself over the lip of stone and sprawled gasping on a natural landing fifteen or twenty feet wide.
  Her shoulder throbbed. Cracks took nearly as long to heal as breaks. Climbing fifty feet probably wasn't included under the prescription of "taking it easy." Breath and caution recovered, she sat up.
  The climb had landed her at the mouth of a small hanging valley not more than half a mile deep and about that wide. Met by an unyielding horseshoe-shaped escarpment of hard stone, the rains had carved, instead of the usual steep-sided ravine, a shallow flat-bottomed canyon. Soil, washed down the many tiny runoffs from the high country, had filled the little valley with rich fertile earth.
  Hidden from above by steep tree-covered slopes and from below by the ragged ravine-cut land dropping into Big Canyon, the valley had a mysterious quality. Like all magical lands, it was protected by a cloak of invisibility.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Like all magical lands, it was protected by a cloak of invisibility..
  Hidden from above by steep tree-covered slopes and from below by the ragged ravine-cut land dropping into Big Canyon, the valley had a mysterious quality. Soil, washed down the many tiny runoffs from the high country, had filled the little valley with rich fertile earth. Met by an unyielding horseshoe-shaped escarpment of hard stone, the rains had carved, instead of the usual steep-sided ravine, a shallow flat-bottomed canyon.
  The climb had landed her at the mouth of a small hanging valley not more than half a mile deep and about that wide." Breath and caution recovered, she sat up. Climbing fifty feet probably wasn't included under the prescription of "taking it easy. Cracks took nearly as long to heal as breaks.
  Her shoulder throbbed. There wasn't any way she could do it safely or discreetly but merely hauled herself over the lip of stone and sprawled gasping on a natural landing fifteen or twenty feet wide.
  The muscles in her arms and legs were quivering by the time she pulled herself over the top. Twenty feet up she remembered reading that the Anasazi had often planned their stone "ladders" so an enemy, starting out on the wrong foot, would find himself halfway up without a grip, unable to ascend or descend. She had to stretch precariously to reach from one to another. From the distance they were apart, Anna guessed Karl had made them to fit his own long reach. A prosaic solution in use since the Anasazi had built cliff dwellings: hand and toe holds had been chipped into the rock. No invisible caves.No magic doors
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Bob's motor's drone a pleasant burr in her ears, as comforting as the hum of bees in summer blooms, she looked across the moat at Fort Jefferson. More than the skyscrapers of Manhattan, the Golden Gate Bridge, or all of Bill Gates's cyber magic, it impressed her with man's determination to fight the world to a standstill and then reform it in his own design.
  Seventy miles out in the sea, on the unprepossessing Bush Key, the magnitude of the effort awed her. Jefferson stood three stories high and was topped with earthworks and ammunition bunkers. A coal-black tower, built as a lighthouse but demoted to a harbor light when the taller lighthouse on Loggerhead Key was finished, thrust above the battlements. The black metal of its skin gave it an unearned sinister aspect. A wide moat, meeting the fortress walls on one side and contained by brick and mortar on the other, ran around the two bastions fronting the structure. Beyond was nothing but the Atlantic. At first the moat had amused Anna. Only in the front and along the eastern wall was it bordered by land. On the two other sides its outer wall separated it only from the sea.
  When she'd first seen it, it had struck her as a conceit, the architect slavishly following the classic castle moat theme though this fort was set in a natural saltwater moat thousands of miles on one side and seventy on the other. Duncan, the island's historian and chief interpreter, had disabused her of that notion. Moats were not merely to keep land troops at bay but ships with malicious intent at their distance.
  Trailing a young couple so in love they didn't notice it was too hot to be hanging all over each other, Anna crossed the bridge. As she stepped into the imagined cool and welcome dark of the entryway she heard the shivery sound of children giggling and saw a small head vanish into a stone slot. Anna laughed because heat and boredom had yet to diminish the childlike glee the fort engendered in her: "secret" rooms where ammunition had once been stored, dark and twisted caves where arches met and clashed and crossed at the bastions, designed by an architect who must have foreseen the genius of Escher. The formidable structure was now dissolving back into the sea with infinite slowness. Lime dripped out of solution as rain worked its way through ancient mortar. Stalactites formed, growing like teeth in the long, long passages through the casemates. Standing at a corner and looking down arch after arch after arch, perspective skewed. It was easy to feel as if one were falling through time itself.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: It was easy to feel as if one were falling through time itself.. Standing at a corner and looking down arch after arch after arch, perspective skewed. Stalactites formed, growing like teeth in the long, long passages through the casemates. Lime dripped out of solution as rain worked its way through ancient mortar. The formidable structure was now dissolving back into the sea with infinite slowness. Anna laughed because heat and boredom had yet to diminish the childlike glee the fort engendered in her: "secret" rooms where ammunition had once been stored, dark and twisted caves where arches met and clashed and crossed at the bastions, designed by an architect who must have foreseen the genius of Escher. As she stepped into the imagined cool and welcome dark of the entryway she heard the shivery sound of children giggling and saw a small head vanish into a stone slot.
  Trailing a young couple so in love they didn't notice it was too hot to be hanging all over each other, Anna crossed the bridge. Moats were not merely to keep land troops at bay but ships with malicious intent at their distance. Duncan, the island's historian and chief interpreter, had disabused her of that notion.
  When she'd first seen it, it had struck her as a conceit, the architect slavishly following the classic castle moat theme though this fort was set in a natural saltwater moat thousands of miles on one side and seventy on the other. On the two other sides its outer wall separated it only from the sea. Only in the front and along the eastern wall was it bordered by land. At first the moat had amused Anna. Beyond was nothing but the Atlantic. A wide moat, meeting the fortress walls on one side and contained by brick and mortar on the other, ran around the two bastions fronting the structure. The black metal of its skin gave it an unearned sinister aspect. A coal-black tower, built as a lighthouse but demoted to a harbor light when the taller lighthouse on Loggerhead Key was finished, thrust above the battlements. Jefferson stood three stories high and was topped with earthworks and ammunition bunkers.
  Seventy miles out in the sea, on the unprepossessing Bush Key, the magnitude of the effort awed her. More than the skyscrapers of Manhattan, the Golden Gate Bridge, or all of Bill Gates's cyber magic, it impressed her with man's determination to fight the world to a standstill and then reform it in his own design.Bob's motor's drone a pleasant burr in her ears, as comforting as the hum of bees in summer blooms, she looked across the moat at Fort Jefferson