conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Prize, Guardian, Children's with the genre: Children's Books, Growing Up & Facts of Life?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Dragonfly Pool'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first two paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Dragonfly Pool
  When he had read Tally's letter through twice and taken it upstairs to the aunts, Dr. Hamilton made his way to the surgery. He walked with a light step, ready for the question his patients always asked about his daughter.
  Clemmy gave an art class in which she told them about a Spanish painter called Goya, who fell ill and became deaf and rather mad and shut himself up in a gloomy house away from everybody and people thought the poor old man was finished—but afterward they found that he had covered all the walls of his house with strange, dark pictures. Then she drew the blinds in the art room and told the children to select their paints without turning on the light, and they grumbled and fussed—and found that they had made paintings in colors they hardly knew existed. The next day she retired to the kitchen and made pancakes for the whole school.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Kit was carried in wrapped in a red blanket; his soaked clothes had been taken away to be dried. When he saw Matteo he stretched out his arms to him, and as Matteo took him, he began at once to pour out his adventures. Surprisingly this boy who was afraid of almost everything did not seem to be in a state of shock. It was as though he realized that he had become a person of immense importance, and sitting in the constable's office, with an interpreter taking down his words, Kit told his story clearly and well. What he described most chillingly were the two men who had kidnapped him.
  Matteo put the question to Kit—with a warning eyebrow raised—and Kit understood and said, "I think they thought I was somebody else. Someone with rich parents who would pay a ransom, and when they found I wasn't they decided they had to get rid of me."
  Back in the hotel Kit was surrounded and hugged and praised, all of which he thought was only right and proper.
  Magda, who was always so good when things had been sad and difficult, rubbed Kit's wrists and ankles and borrowed a hot-water bottle for him from the hotel, and it was agreed that no one would ever be cross with him again. But when Karil said, "It was me they were after, wasn't it?" Kit, after a glance at Matteo, told the truth.
  So Matteo had been right about what he had said at the dragonfly pool. The men who had assassinated his father would stop at nothing till he, too, was in their possession.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: When he saw Matteo he stretched out his arms to him, and as Matteo took him, he began at once to pour out his adventures. Surprisingly this boy who was afraid of almost everything did not seem to be in a state of shock. It was as though he realized that he had become a person of immense importance, and sitting in the constable's office, with an interpreter taking down his words, Kit told his story clearly and well. What he described most chillingly were the two men who had kidnapped him.
  Matteo put the question to Kit—with a warning eyebrow raised—and Kit understood and said, "I think they thought I was somebody else. Someone with rich parents who would pay a ransom, and when they found I wasn't they decided they had to get rid of me."
  Back in the hotel Kit was surrounded and hugged and praised, all of which he thought was only right and proper.
  Magda, who was always so good when things had been sad and difficult, rubbed Kit's wrists and ankles and borrowed a hot-water bottle for him from the hotel, and it was agreed that no one would ever be cross with him again. But when Karil said, "It was me they were after, wasn't it?" Kit, after a glance at Matteo, told the truth.
  So Matteo had been right about what he had said at the dragonfly pool. The men who had assassinated his father would stop at nothing till he, too, was in their possession.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Pom-Pom had lived with the government-in-exile throughout the war, and the news that his bride had passed away in Brazil had come as a considerable relief. Uncle Fritz had intended to do what he could to save the ancient line of Outer Mongolian pedestal dogs, but the journey would have been arduous and Pom-Pom, in human terms, was already over a hundred years old. When the little dog died at last (not in Uncle Fritz's arms but on his feet) it did not seem right that he should lie in a London pet cemetery surrounded by traffic and fumes, and since the mountains of Mongolia were out of reach, Uncle Fritz had brought his ashes back to the high peaks of Bergania and interred them there.
  The party from Delderton had not expected a big turnout, but when it got about that the little creature who lay under their soil had freed their prince from a cruel and sadistic bully, a surprising number of people came to pay their respects—and with them came the stonemason and his family, for it had not been easy to inscribe the unusual poem in a foreign language neatly onto the gravestone and he wanted to make sure that all was well.
  When news of Pom-Pom's death reached Delderton, O'Hanrahan had organized an epitaph competition—and now Karil stepped up to the tombstone and while everyone bowed their heads respectfully, he read out the winning entry.
  There had been some doubt about the last line, but when it was put to the vote this was the poem that was judged the best and Kit flushed a modest pink, for the winning entry had been his.
  Then from higher up the mountain there came the sound of "The Last Trump" played on Matteo's sackbut—and realizing that nobody could have had a more fitting send-off, the mourners linked hands and ran down to the buses that were waiting to take them to the station—and home.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about working, removed, covering, produced.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Pom-Pom had lived with the government-in-exile throughout the war, and the news that his bride had passed away in Brazil had come as a considerable relief. Uncle Fritz had intended to do what he could to save the ancient line of Outer Mongolian pedestal dogs, but the journey would have been arduous and Pom-Pom, in human terms, was already over a hundred years old. When the little dog died at last (not in Uncle Fritz's arms but on his feet) it did not seem right that he should lie in a London pet cemetery surrounded by traffic and fumes, and since the mountains of Mongolia were out of reach, Uncle Fritz had brought his ashes back to the high peaks of Bergania and interred them there. 
  The party from Delderton had not expected a big turnout, but when it got about that the little creature who lay under their soil had freed their prince from a cruel and sadistic bully, a surprising number of people came to pay their respects—and with them came the stonemason and his family, for it had not been easy to inscribe the unusual poem in a foreign language neatly onto the gravestone and he wanted to make sure that all was well. He had been working to a deadline but now, as he removed the cloth that had been covering his handiwork, he knew that he had produced a masterpiece. 
  When news of Pom-Pom's death reached Delderton, O'Hanrahan had organized an epitaph competition—and now Karil stepped up to the tombstone and while everyone bowed their heads respectfully, he read out the winning entry. 
  There had been some doubt about the last line, but when it was put to the vote this was the poem that was judged the best and Kit flushed a modest pink, for the winning entry had been his. 
  Then from higher up the mountain there came the sound of "The Last Trump" played on Matteo's sackbut—and realizing that nobody could have had a more fitting send-off, the mourners linked hands and ran down to the buses that were waiting to take them to the station—and home.