conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a description for a book titled Over the Fence about Roz, Rox, Author with the genre: Children's Books
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: One day, Roz and Rox were playing catch and Roz kicked the ball so far, it went over the fence in their backyard. "Come on Roz, let's go look for the ball," Rox said. Author the author is a sophomore at Frank MCourt High School in Manhattan. She loves to read, hear great stories, and spend time with her friends. She lives in Brooklyn, NY with her parents, old brother, and her cat (and she really wants a dog too). She hopes you enjoy her story.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a description for a book titled Over the Fence about Melanie, Ontario, Nothing with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Women's Fiction
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author lives a happy and content life in a quiet area of Ontario with her beloved husband of twenty-six-plus years. Nothing means more to her than her friends and family, and she cherishes every moment spent with them. Known as the quiet one with the big laugh, Melanie works at a local university and for its football team. Her job, while demanding, is rewarding as she cheers on her team to victory. While seriously addicted to coffee, and highly challenged with all things computer-related and technical, she relishes baking, cooking, and trying new recipes for people to sample. She loves to throw dinner parties, and also enjoys travelling, here and abroad, but finds coming home is always the best part of any trip. Melanie delights in a good romance story with some bumps along the way, but is a true believer in happily ever after. When her head isnt buried in a book, it is bent over a keyboard, furiously typing away as her characters dictate their creative storylines to her, often with a large glass of wine keeping her company.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: When her head isnt buried in a book, it is bent over a keyboard, furiously typing away as her characters dictate their creative storylines to her, often with a large glass of wine keeping her company. Nothing means more to her than her friends and family, and she cherishes every moment spent with them. Known as the quiet one with the big laugh, Melanie works at a local university and for its football team. Her job, while demanding, is rewarding as she cheers on her team to victory. While seriously addicted to coffee, and highly challenged with all things computer-related and technical, she relishes baking, cooking, and trying new recipes for people to sample. She loves to throw dinner parties, and also enjoys travelling, here and abroad, but finds coming home is always the best part of any trip. Melanie delights in a good romance story with some bumps along the way, but is a true believer in happily ever after.the author lives a happy and content life in a quiet area of Ontario with her beloved husband of twenty-six-plus years.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first five paragraphs for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Over the Fence
  I am so blessed to be a member of the Kensington Publishing Corporation family. Selena James is an awesome editor and a great friend. Thank you, Selena!
  LESTER FULLBRIGHT HAD VISITED ME ONCE EVERY OTHER MONTH in the women's prison camp where I had been the state of Alabama's guest for almost two years. He was the man I'd been living with when I got arrested. He'd told me that when they let me out, I could move back in.
  But when I arrived at his house that Thursday evening, the day I got released, he looked surprised and a little annoyed when he opened the door. "Yvonne, what the hell you doing here? You ain't supposed to get out until next week!" He looked over my shoulder in both directions as he waved me in.
  I felt sure enough frumpy in my drab release outfit: a mud-colored cotton dress, matching paper-thin slippers, and dingy white bobby socks. My hair was in three limp plaits. I had a brown paper bag that contained a few pieces of underwear, the dress I'd been wearing the day they locked me up, my Bible, a comb, and two baloney sandwiches. I'd had a wallet with four dollars and some change in it when they checked me in, but it had mysteriously disappeared. Stuffed way down in my brassiere was ten dollars gate money and a bus ticket back to the county I'd been arrested in. Them two things, and the baloney sandwiches, was what every inmate got on their way out. The bus ticket hadn't done me no good, because the closest depot was even farther than my destination. The sandwiches had such a foul smell, I wouldn't have fed them to a hungry hog.
  Lester's mouth dropped open so wide, I could see all his back teeth. "Say what? You walked ten miles by yourself through dangerous Ku Klux Klan territory?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: four more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I immediately thought about Odell. Poking two women full-time for more than five years, he had probably wore his pecker down to a nub by now. Willie Frank was looking straight ahead, so he didn't see the grin on my face.
  It was a fifteen-minute ride to the jook joint. Since we had come up with a plan on how to deal with Oscar, we didn't discuss him no more during the ride. I was still concerned about how this theft thing was going to play out, but I didn't see no sense in dwelling on it. Besides, I was anxious to get in on a game. That was what I needed to focus on. By the time Willie Frank let me out, we was laughing and joking like we didn't have nary a care in the world.
  It was a good thing I had put a deck of marked cards in my pocket before I left home. If I hadn't, I would have lost every dime in my pocket.
  The other four men I had skunked had already left the kitchen, where we always played on a table with mismatched legs. Me and Cap was still sitting across from one another. He didn't look too happy. I was feeling so good, I thought I was going to bust open from all the joy in my heart. Why hadn't I thought about marking a deck of cards before? For all I knew, them suckers that had skunked my tail so many times had probably used marked cards! With that thought in mind, I didn't feel the least bit guilty. I did feel a little guilty about stealing Oscar's stuff, though. I almost wished we hadn't done it. But if we hadn't, I wouldn't have had enough spare money to get in the game tonight.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last four paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Buddy and Sadie gasped at the same time. "No, she ain't no mean person at all, and we do like her," Sadie claimed. "We talk about all the folks we know like this. But Joyce is such an oddball; we talk about her a little more than we do everybody else."
  By the end of the day, I had heard so many unflattering things about the MacPhersons' big-boned "old maid" daughter, it seemed like I'd known her for years. I felt so sorry for her. The next day when Mr. MacPherson bragged about how smart and nice and caring his only child was and how much he loved her, I told him I couldn't wait to meet her. I'd only said it to make him feel good, because I wanted to make sure I did everything possible for him to keep me on the payroll. I had heard that the stock boys before me had never lasted more than a few weeks. A couple had just up and quit, but the MacPhersons had fired all the others. I hoped that I'd get to stay a lot longer, or at least until I found a better job.
  I had just enough money to last until I got my first paycheck. Mr. MacPherson had promised that if he was pleased with my work and I got to work on time, he'd eventually give me more responsibilities and more money. He really liked me and even told me I reminded him of himself when he was my age. I told him that if I looked half as good as he did when I got to be his age, I'd be happy. That made him blush and grin, and it made me realize that complimenting a man like him could win me a lot of points. It was true that I had a lot going for me in the looks department. But I never took it for granted. People had been telling me I was cute since I was a baby. My curly black hair, smooth Brazil nut brown skin, slanted black eyes, and juicy lips got me a lot of attention. One of the main things the women liked about me and complimented me on all the time was my height, which was six feet four.
  Some women believed that old wives' tale that tall men had long sticks between their legs. I couldn't speak for other tall men, but I had enough manly meat between my thighs to keep the women I went to bed with sure enough happy. I wasn't just tall; I had a body like a prizefighter. Years of backbreaking farm labor had rewarded me with some muscles that wouldn't quit. Women couldn't keep their hands off me. When I was younger, I used to have to sneak out back doors in bars just to throw them off my trail. I was thirty-one now, so I still had a few good years left to find a wife and have children before my jism got too weak. I was between ladies now, and because my last two breakups had been so bad, I was in no hurry to get involved with another woman anytime soon. I changed my tune Monday afternoon when I met Mr. MacPherson's daughter.