conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a story about Sally, Jones, Chief with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this story could be 'The Murderer's Ape'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this story.. End with the sentence ' My back aches, my arms ache and my fur is itchy with coal dust.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Murderer's Ape
  The other day the Chief gave me an old typewriter, a 1908 Underwood No. 5. He'd bought it from a scrap merchant down by the harbor, here in Lisbon. Several of the keys were broken and the release lever was missing, but the Chief knows I like fixing broken things.
  It's taken me a couple of evenings to mend my Underwood No. 5, and this is the first time I've written anything on it. Several of the keys still stick, but a pair of pliers and a few drops of oil will soon put them right.
  That will have to wait until tomorrow. It's already dark outside my cabin window. The lights from the vessels lying at anchor on the river are reflecting in the black water. I've strung my hammock and I'm about to climb into it.
  The Chief and I were lucky today. Early every morning we go to a harbor café where unemployed sailors wait round hoping to get work for the day. There is not usually anything much, but today we struck lucky and so we have been heaving sacks of coal from dawn to dusk. The pay was poor, but we need every penny we can earn. My back aches, my arms ache and my fur is itchy with coal dust.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I didn't sleep a wink that night. I was kept awake by the aching hopelessness in my heart and, as if that wasn't enough, Mr. Wilkins snored worse than a hippopotamus. I have heard sleeping hippopotamuses in the jungle, so I know what I'm talking about.
  The train traveled more slowly than I had expected, and it stopped for long periods during the small hours. By morning we were only at the city of Hyderabad, and I understood that the journey to Bhapur would take considerably longer than twenty-four hours. More like a week!
  The railway station in Hyderabad was packed with people pushing and shoving noisily. They offered fabrics, fruits, mugs of hot tea, caged birds, flowers, pictures of gods and goddesses and candies of every variety.
  Goods and money passed back and forth through the barred windows. Mr. Wilkins bought five greasy sugar doughnuts with some sort of sticky filling. He ate three of them, one after another. And he looked at me with an expression I couldn't really read—it wasn't so much unfriendly as shamefaced.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about rushed.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I didn't sleep a wink that night. I was kept awake by the aching hopelessness in my heart and, as if that wasn't enough, Mr. Wilkins snored worse than a hippopotamus. I have heard sleeping hippopotamuses in the jungle, so I know what I'm talking about. 
  The train traveled more slowly than I had expected, and it stopped for long periods during the small hours. By morning we were only at the city of Hyderabad, and I understood that the journey to Bhapur would take considerably longer than twenty-four hours. More like a week!
  The railway station in Hyderabad was packed with people pushing and shoving noisily. No sooner had our train come to a halt than vendors of every kind rushed to the windows to show their wares to the passengers on the train. They offered fabrics, fruits, mugs of hot tea, caged birds, flowers, pictures of gods and goddesses and candies of every variety. 
  Goods and money passed back and forth through the barred windows. Mr. Wilkins bought five greasy sugar doughnuts with some sort of sticky filling. He ate three of them, one after another. And he looked at me with an expression I couldn't really read—it wasn't so much unfriendly as shamefaced.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: It's been a little while since we saw Ana, because she has been on tour in Spain. Normally we meet quite often. I call into the house on Rua de São Tomé several times a week, and when I do Signor Fidardo goes over to the bakery and brings back something nice. I take the opportunity to sharpen his knives and chisels for him, and sometimes he has accordion repair work for me. My workbench is still there by the window.
  All four of us usually have Sunday dinner at Ana's place. The Chief and Signor Fidardo bring their musical instruments, and after the meal Ana sings to us. It's still the high point of the week for me.
  I can hear footsteps up on deck. Our guests have arrived! So this will have to be the last thing I write on my Underwood No. 5. I've done what I set out to do, which was to tell the truth about the murder of Alphonse Morro. It has taken me three months. And three hundred sheets of paper and four typewriter ribbons. The writing has not made my nightmares disappear completely, but they are less frequent now. And that's enough to be going on with.
  Before I go to bed tonight I shall clean, oil and polish my Underwood No. 5 and then I am going to put it at the bottom of my seaman's chest. And that is where it can stay.
  PETER GRAVES is a translator from the Scandinavian languages, known in particular for his translations of novels by August Strindberg and Selma Lagerlöf. He has received many Swedish Academy prizes for his translations.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about It's, bring.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: It's been a little while since we saw Ana, because she has been on tour in Spain. Normally we meet quite often. I call into the house on Rua de São Tomé several times a week, and when I do Signor Fidardo goes over to the bakery and brings back something nice. I take the opportunity to sharpen his knives and chisels for him, and sometimes he has accordion repair work for me. My workbench is still there by the window. 
  All four of us usually have Sunday dinner at Ana's place. The Chief and Signor Fidardo bring their musical instruments, and after the meal Ana sings to us. It's still the high point of the week for me. 
  I can hear footsteps up on deck. Our guests have arrived! So this will have to be the last thing I write on my Underwood No. 5. It's time to bring my story to a close anyway. I've done what I set out to do, which was to tell the truth about the murder of Alphonse Morro. It has taken me three months. And three hundred sheets of paper and four typewriter ribbons. The writing has not made my nightmares disappear completely, but they are less frequent now. And that's enough to be going on with. 
  Before I go to bed tonight I shall clean, oil and polish my Underwood No. 5 and then I am going to put it at the bottom of my seaman's chest. And that is where it can stay. 
  PETER GRAVES is a translator from the Scandinavian languages, known in particular for his translations of novels by August Strindberg and Selma Lagerlöf. He has received many Swedish Academy prizes for his translations.