conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for a story with the title 'The Garden Party'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Garden Party
  Swannell thought that Violet Mayfield had made a valid point. Her basement, he thought, would be the sort of accommodation sought by bottom feeders in London's underworld, the very lowest in the food chain.
  Tom Ainsclough half glanced at her. 'You mean that we let him believe that he could negotiate commuting a plea of guilty to involuntary manslaughter in return for a reduced sentence when we both knew such was never going to happen? I mean, not after the mess he made of "Stepney" Stevenson's face and head?'
  Harry Vicary sat behind his desk and leaned slowly backwards in his chair. Frankie Brunnie, Penny Yewdall, Tom Ainsclough and Vic Swannell sat silently in a semicircle in front of Vicary's desk.
  Harry Vicary took the tube to Leytonstone. From Leytonstone Underground Station he walked casually up Church Lane, which was lined with small shops and which had flats above them. When at the top of the lane, outside the church itself, he chose to extend his walk by turning down Leytonstone High Street, despite always finding it fume filled, being too narrow in his view to accommodate the volume of traffic which it now carried. He looked calmly into the shops as he walked past them and, crossing the road, he walked up Michael Road and thus into suburbia. He crossed over Mornington Road, being a quiet street of owner-occupied housing, and then joined Bushwood, and thus enjoyed the expanse of green that was Wanstead Flats, and which, he believed, allowed Leytonstone to breathe. Without the Flats or the park beyond the Flats, he reasoned, there would be little breathable air in the borough. He turned left into Hartley Road, being a neat terrace of late nineteenth-century terraced housing, with small gardens in front of the houses to separate them slightly from the pavement and larger gardens to the rear. As he opened the front door his wife stepped forward and embraced him warmly.
  Later that evening, after he and his wife had shared a perfectly cooked shepherd's pie, helped down by a jug of chilled water, they walked out arm in arm, both by then clothed in casual wear. They walked to the centre of Leytonstone and entered the Assembly Rooms, wherein they sat with a number of other people, a few of whom they recognized and acknowledged in a quiet, friendly manner. At the appointed time the visiting speaker stood and addressed the group, saying, 'Hello, I am Mary Jane and I am an alcoholic,' whereupon Harry and Kathleen Vicary, along with all the other persons in the room, replied, 'Hello, Mary Jane.'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Elizabeth Petty shrugged. 'Thanks, darling, that will keep me going for a whole month or until some fat old punter says, "How much? There's younger ones down the street knocking it out for half that", whichever comes first; probably the latter knowing my Donald Duck. But thanks anyway, and it's a fact that I am not far short of thirty; the first thirty years is all but behind me and that's the most important isn't it? The first thirty years dictate the rest. That's when you lay your foundations; that's when you marry well if you can, start your family.'
  The front door of the house was opened slowly, but also in a rapid response to Harry Vicary's pressing of the front doorbell. Vicary removed his panama and said, 'Hello, Mr Meed, I am DI Vicary of the Murder and Serious Crime Squad of New Scotland Yard. We spoke on the phone.'
  Donald Meed, frail and elderly, extended his hand. 'Thank you for the phone call, I appreciated the advance notice.' Donald Meed was a tall man and was dressed casually in summer clothes. He stepped sideways and invited Harry Vicary to enter his home. Vicary stepped into a neatly kept, clean-smelling hallway and was then shown into a spacious, airy lounge which was also neatly and cleanly kept, but given Mr Meed's frailty it seemed to Vicary to speak of a visiting housekeeper, rather than good housekeeping on the part of Mr Meed. The house itself was, thought Vicary, a late Victorian or early Edwardian building. Detached, it stood on Staveley Road, Chiswick, with a small, well-manicured front garden, with a stone path which led to the centrally placed front door. Once in the living room and seated, Vicary cast an eye round the room and found it all appropriate to Mr Meed's age and social position. It had a strong, immediate post World War Two feel, with sober-minded decoration. The rear garden, which could be seen from the sitting room, was, like the small front garden, lovingly tended and, like the interior of the Meed household, it also spoke of hired help.
  Penny Yewdall scanned the interior of the Victoria Arms in Canning Town. She saw its appeal. It had, she thought, a very solid yet welcoming interior. The roof was lower than the cavernous interior of The Neptune at Seven Kings, where a few days earlier she and Tom Ainsclough had made enquiries about one Desmond Holst. The windows of the Victoria Arms were of frosted glass, with the name of a long defunct brewery etched on them, and through which could be glimpsed the occasional red double-decker London bus as it whirred past. The bench seats and chairs in the pub were of upholstered maroon and the tables were solid metal supports topped by a thick, highly polished wooden surface. The carpet was of a darker maroon than the seats and chairs. The bar was of carved, and also similarly highly polished, wood. The television set was tuned in to a sports channel, but, mercifully in Yewdall's opinion, the sound was turned to mute. The only other customers in the Victoria Arms that morning were an elderly man who sat engrossed in the horse racing pages of a tabloid and a few feet beyond him an elderly woman, who in turn was engrossed in a schooner of port and who mumbled to herself intermittently. Yewdall and Liz Petty occupied a corner seat, as far from any overhearing ears as they could. 'Oh, well.' Liz Petty lifted her vodka and coke to her lips. 'It's five o'clock somewhere; your health, darling.'
  Petty took another sip of her vodka. 'One evening, Pearl was having a real bitch with the guy, telling him what a wimp he was, "You really are, Des, you're a proper wimp. You turned out no good, you're just not up to it any more, no bottle at all", and how "Father" would have been ashamed of him. So, Pearl, the woman who slapped Sandra Barnes, was the wife of Des, who I also heard being called "Desmond" by another of the geezers.'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: 'Thanks, darling, that will keep me going for a whole month or until some fat old punter says, "How much? There's younger ones down the street knocking it out for half that", whichever comes first; probably the latter knowing my Donald Duck. But thanks anyway, and it's a fact that I am not far short of thirty; the first thirty years is all but behind me and that's the most important isn't it? The first thirty years dictate the rest. That's when you lay your foundations; that's when you marry well if you can, start your family.'
  The front door of the house was opened slowly, but also in a rapid response to Harry Vicary's pressing of the front doorbell. Vicary removed his panama and said, 'Hello, Mr Meed, I am DI Vicary of the Murder and Serious Crime Squad of New Scotland Yard. We spoke on the phone.'
  Donald Meed, frail and elderly, extended his hand. 'Thank you for the phone call, I appreciated the advance notice.' Donald Meed was a tall man and was dressed casually in summer clothes. He stepped sideways and invited Harry Vicary to enter his home. Vicary stepped into a neatly kept, clean-smelling hallway and was then shown into a spacious, airy lounge which was also neatly and cleanly kept, but given Mr Meed's frailty it seemed to Vicary to speak of a visiting housekeeper, rather than good housekeeping on the part of Mr Meed. The house itself was, thought Vicary, a late Victorian or early Edwardian building. Detached, it stood on Staveley Road, Chiswick, with a small, well-manicured front garden, with a stone path which led to the centrally placed front door. Once in the living room and seated, Vicary cast an eye round the room and found it all appropriate to Mr Meed's age and social position. It had a strong, immediate post World War Two feel, with sober-minded decoration. The rear garden, which could be seen from the sitting room, was, like the small front garden, lovingly tended and, like the interior of the Meed household, it also spoke of hired help.
  Penny Yewdall scanned the interior of the Victoria Arms in Canning Town. She saw its appeal. It had, she thought, a very solid yet welcoming interior. The roof was lower than the cavernous interior of The Neptune at Seven Kings, where a few days earlier she and Tom Ainsclough had made enquiries about one Desmond Holst. The windows of the Victoria Arms were of frosted glass, with the name of a long defunct brewery etched on them, and through which could be glimpsed the occasional red double-decker London bus as it whirred past. The bench seats and chairs in the pub were of upholstered maroon and the tables were solid metal supports topped by a thick, highly polished wooden surface. The carpet was of a darker maroon than the seats and chairs. The bar was of carved, and also similarly highly polished, wood. The television set was tuned in to a sports channel, but, mercifully in Yewdall's opinion, the sound was turned to mute. The only other customers in the Victoria Arms that morning were an elderly man who sat engrossed in the horse racing pages of a tabloid and a few feet beyond him an elderly woman, who in turn was engrossed in a schooner of port and who mumbled to herself intermittently. Yewdall and Liz Petty occupied a corner seat, as far from any overhearing ears as they could. 'Oh, well.' Liz Petty lifted her vodka and coke to her lips. 'It's five o'clock somewhere; your health, darling.'
  Petty took another sip of her vodka. 'One evening, Pearl was having a real bitch with the guy, telling him what a wimp he was, "You really are, Des, you're a proper wimp. You turned out no good, you're just not up to it any more, no bottle at all", and how "Father" would have been ashamed of him. So, Pearl, the woman who slapped Sandra Barnes, was the wife of Des, who I also heard being called "Desmond" by another of the geezers.'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Snakebite, who carried a golf club, Rainbird, and the man they called The Baptist. They had, she noted, aged a little, as was to be expected, but they were definitely the same three men whom she had first seen, amongst other men, at that dreadful party nearly ten years ago.
  It was then, 'Long Liz' Petty would later recall, just as Rainbird and The Baptist were stepping backwards to allow Snakebite room to swing the golf club, that the air was rent by the sound of klaxons, of barking dogs, of shouts, of squealing tyres. The three men turned away from Petty and looked towards the house, and Petty also turned and ran... instinctively realizing there was then some hope of escape. She ran beyond the remnants of the fire to the very bottom of the garden and then turned. She saw police officers in uniform and also in plain clothes spill out of the rear door of the house and on to the lawn... amongst them she recognized Penny Yewdall.
  She saw Snakebite lift the golf club as if to strike at the officers... and continued to watch as The Baptist slowly took it from him and dropped it on the grass. She saw a police officer, a male, step forward and approach Rainbird, and she was able to read his lips as he said, 'It's over... Arnie. It's all over.'
  Penny Yewdall smiled. 'Yes, it was a good result, a very good result. Rainbird, Herron, Magg, McAlpine, Primrose and Harley all with multiple life sentences... Pearl Holst, with ten years for conspiracy to murder, with four years for procuring for the purposes of prostitution swallowed up in that. I dare say that that will please her family no end. Your testimony and Davinia Bannister's testimony, and you putting your hair in the shed where Convers and Tyrell had done the same thing seven years earlier – nice DNA profiles to be had there to match the bones dug up in a wood in Enfield. And the Forensic Accountants are looking at their assets, Rainbird and Co.'s assets, I mean. Anything that cannot be proven to have been obtained lawfully, or bought with lawfully earned money, will be seized and sold off as proceeds of crime and the money donated to the public purse. So, if they come out, they'll come out to very little at all. A very nice result all round.'
  The room was hushed. The man and woman stood up together, holding hands. The man said, 'Hello. We are Harry and Kathleen and we are alcoholics.'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the first sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: They had, she noted, aged a little, as was to be expected, but they were definitely the same three men whom she had first seen, amongst other men, at that dreadful party nearly ten years ago.
  It was then, 'Long Liz' Petty would later recall, just as Rainbird and The Baptist were stepping backwards to allow Snakebite room to swing the golf club, that the air was rent by the sound of klaxons, of barking dogs, of shouts, of squealing tyres. The three men turned away from Petty and looked towards the house, and Petty also turned and ran... instinctively realizing there was then some hope of escape. She ran beyond the remnants of the fire to the very bottom of the garden and then turned. She saw police officers in uniform and also in plain clothes spill out of the rear door of the house and on to the lawn... amongst them she recognized Penny Yewdall.
  She saw Snakebite lift the golf club as if to strike at the officers... and continued to watch as The Baptist slowly took it from him and dropped it on the grass. She saw a police officer, a male, step forward and approach Rainbird, and she was able to read his lips as he said, 'It's over... Arnie. It's all over.'
  Penny Yewdall smiled. 'Yes, it was a good result, a very good result. Rainbird, Herron, Magg, McAlpine, Primrose and Harley all with multiple life sentences... Pearl Holst, with ten years for conspiracy to murder, with four years for procuring for the purposes of prostitution swallowed up in that. I dare say that that will please her family no end. Your testimony and Davinia Bannister's testimony, and you putting your hair in the shed where Convers and Tyrell had done the same thing seven years earlier – nice DNA profiles to be had there to match the bones dug up in a wood in Enfield. And the Forensic Accountants are looking at their assets, Rainbird and Co.'s assets, I mean. Anything that cannot be proven to have been obtained lawfully, or bought with lawfully earned money, will be seized and sold off as proceeds of crime and the money donated to the public purse. So, if they come out, they'll come out to very little at all. A very nice result all round.'
  The room was hushed. The man and woman stood up together, holding hands. The man said, 'Hello. We are Harry and Kathleen and we are alcoholics.'